A Pastel Day

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December 14, 2022, San Clemente- I walked along Dana Point Harbor’s southern flank, whilst waiting for my friend, Janet, to arrive for our customary lunch, a signature part of any southern California visit, since 2011. Much was the same, along the boardwalk, with an addition that honours Dana Point’s recent history. Here is a tall ship that is moored among the charter boats and private yachts, at the southern edge of the harbour.

The Curlew, originally moored in Dana Point Harbor, in the 1920s.

Janet has been a corresponding friend, since my Xanga days (2008-11). Our lunches have been followed by short walks along one or another of Orange County’s beaches or botanical gardens. More recently, we have met for extended conversations at Harpoon Henry’s, with its west-facing view of the harbour. Dana Point Harbor will be undergoing a facelift, of sorts, over the next few years. Hopefully, Henry’s will be spared.

Today was a far quieter day, weather-wise, as an extended period of sunshine seems to be taking root, in the Southwest, which includes “SoCal”. It assumed a rather pastel hue, in the sky and along the beach front. After conversing with Janet for about an hour, I came back to House of Trestles, rested a bit, then visited Trestles Beach, a favourite of some surfers. I found the ocean rather calm, with a lone surfer having packed up and carrying his board and gear off the beach. Trestles is rather flat and somewhat removed from the cliffs, thus giving it a pastel feel, as well.

Trestles does share information about the sport, which I had not encountered on any other beach.
Trestles Beach, named for the adjacent railroad trestles that lie just to the east.

It was a fine, somewhat quieter day, following the roiling cloudy and stormy period earlier in the week. I found little to clean up, at Trestles Beach. It seems the surfers do a good job policing their own.

Celebrations and Stress Tests

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December 7, 2022- The 13-year-old pulled the hood of his coat tightly over his head, keeping that head down, as much as possible, while making it clear that he was trying to follow instructions, as best he could. Such is the daily life of a recent refugee from a place where conflict rages. The reactions of people, especially young people, who are in an outwardly safe place while inwardly reeling from all they have seen and heard, smelled and felt, over the past months and years of their lives, run the gamut from manic energy to gross task avoidance to abject terror. The stress they must feel is extreme, palpable and is with them 24/7.

This is the rough part of December, for many: Pearl Harbor was attacked 71 years ago; the best friend of a good friend died two years ago; the finances of many are being hammered, as the December Doldrums, the worst time of year for investors, play out and the days inch shorter.

Of course, in short order, celebrations will pick up, as will the stock market- in mid-month. Solstice will come and the days will get imperceptibly longer. The victims of war, however, will need all manner of understanding and support. As conflicts rage, young people are living with grandparents, aunts and uncles-while their parents are back in the conflict zone-enduring God knows what. The children know, the children fear and the children tremble.

In another city, a 14-year-old stabbed herself, was rushed to hospital and thankfully was saved from physical death. Only unconditional love, which has poured out on social media and, hopefully, will pour out from her family, will restore her emotional and mental health. I saw that girl’s face in my mind, though I have never seen her image anywhere else. I heard her shaky voice, pleading to be loved.

As the First World’s and ten-percenters’ financial doldrums subside, and as the the celebrations of various holidays pick up, let us make a special effort to envelop those under stress with an uncommon love and unstoppable efforts at understanding. No child, indeed, no person, should be left behind.

Perhaps That’s Why….

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November 12, 2022- “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate….”-Strother Martin, as Captain, in “Cool Hand Luke”.

I was raised to be clear in my communication with others, to not be ambiguous. As long as I have been faithful to that childhood teaching, things have gone quite well. I have, in all honesty, only been deeply, viscerally hated by someone, three times in my life. All three came from lapses of communication-either failure to listen, from stubbornness despite getting the message or from not being direct in my messaging.

I thought of this, while having lunch at a local diner, and hearing a familiar litany of complaints about our state’s leadership. It occurs to me that, while the goal of many is to increase inclusivity in the life of the community, the process is missing its target-either because the reformers are still playing the same zero sum game that got us into trouble in the first place or because they have something to hide. I am not much for conspiracy theories, so my money is on the former.

The zero sum gambit, in this case, is that conservatives have to give up something so that the historically marginalized, the cast-offs, can get what’s theirs. Zero sum games, whether played by the Right or by the Left, generate push back from those left out.

What if there is actually enough to go around? What if the problem is one of distribution, and not one of supply? The answers to these questions do not fall on the descendants of the enslaved, the small farmers, the overseers or the middle class townspeople. They do not fall to the First Nations people who were driven before the homesteaders, nor to the homesteaders themselves. They do not fall to the immigrants and their descendants. They fall instead to those who devised the system based on zero sum philosophy. Was their goal, is their goal still, to build a society that will primarily benefit the few? There are those who will freely admit that is the case, while chortling at how good their lot in life is, as a result. There are still others who nervously, even heatedly, deny any ill intent. Yet, those who are hearing them are not fooled. Some feel powerless; others feel a need to lash out and attack-even physically. Yet, there are those of us who see through all of it and know who the wire pullers are.

What we have here is failure to honestly communicate. The time when that tactic stops working is close at hand. People across the spectrum are learning to speak with one another, civilly and honestly. They are comparing notes and building plans that will benefit one and all, not just a few.

Perhaps that’s why we can trust in an optimistic view.

The Carson Loop, Day 3: Sea of Lava

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October 17, 2022, St. Anthony, ID- The boys noted a white ball cap, at the bottom of the small crater. One of them asked if he might shimmy down and retrieve it-which of course brought his father’s gentle but firm negative response. The presence of the family of five was a delightful addition to one of the most impressive flows of lava rock in the continental United States: Craters of the Moon.

This was my main draw to eastern Idaho, with Three Bears Inn, a cozy family home here in St. Anthony, a very close second. Three Bears is a serendipitous find, coming about when someone at Hotels.com misinterpreted my request for a room in St. Anthony, Newfoundland, last June. I was offered a room here, as compensation, for the charge that was incurred then.

The day started, somewhat chilly, in Jordan Valley, with a convenience store breakfast sandwich the only morning meal option. After a fashion, I headed off towards Idaho’s Owyhee Region. The name is a corruption of “Hawai’i”, coming from fur trappers having brought a crew of Native Hawaiians to the area, in 1819. Three of the Hawaiians embarked on an exploration of the Owyhee River’s canyonlands, but never returned to the base camp. The name Owyhee has been bestowed on the area, spanning parts of Oregon, Idaho and Nevada, in their honour.

Owyhee Overlook, Idaho
Owyhee Overlook, Idaho
Owyhee Overlook, Idaho

I continued past Boise, which will be a stop on the way back to Carson City, and found Little Camas Valley, where some of Idaho’s fall foliage was on view.

Oaks of the Little Camas, south central Idaho
Basalt outcropping, Little Camas
Basalt promontory, Little Camas

The presence of so much basalt, all along Highway 20, interrupts the constant presence of sage brush, as does the large presence of agriculture-both corporate and small scale. The Snake River Plain, from Fairfield in the west to Ashton in the east, is a prime potato growing region. Just shy of Arco, however, Craters of the Moon’s lava fields interrupts the farmlands, as much as the soil itself was created and enriched by the flow. This is the bounty of the Great Idaho Rift.

Here are some scenes, north of the actual monument grounds, and along Idaho Route 20.

Lava beds, north and west of North Crater, which is the central point of the Monument.
Lava bed, along Rte. 20

Pioneer Mountains, above the lava beds

Entering the Monument, which focuses on North Crater and its nearby flows, I encountered a family of four, joyfully coming back from a short walk in the lava field across from the Visitor Center. Here is what they saw.

A determined and lonely pine rises above sage and stone.
Older lava flow, at base of North Crater
Dwarf buckwheat is one of the more prolific flowering plants that has adapted to the lava beds.
Inferno Peak, a hikeable cinder cone.

I made the hike to the top of Inferno Peak in ten minutes. There, to greet me, was the Leaning Juniper of the Craters.

Lone juniper, atop Inferno Peak
Resilient sage and mature buckwheat, Inferno Peak summit
Big Craters, from the summit of Inferno Peak

Red cinder, Inferno Peak summit

The last focus of this visit was on the Spatter Cones, small volcanoes-or as one of the little girls present called, “Baby Volcanoes”.

Here was the place where I encountered the family mentioned at the beginning of this post.

Lastly, I stopped at Devil’s Orchard, an otherworldly group of standing lava rock. The place was so named by a visiting Christian preacher, in the early twentieth century.

Basalt standing in Devil’s Orchard

The scope of Craters of the Moon surpasses Arizona’s Sunset Crater, and rivals Lassen. It will be a stop along the way to future visits to Yellowstone and Grand Teton. For now, I settle in for a day or so, with new friends at Three Bears Inn: A strong couple, three sons and a daughter, two cats and two ducklings. Everything is just right.

Confluence of Holidays

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October 10, 2022- Canadian Thanksgiving and Indigenous People’s Day/Columbus Day (U.S.) have shared calendar space for many years now. Canadian Thanksgiving has been observed since 1879, and in a statutory manner since 1957. Columbus Day was first observed on the tricentenary of Christopher Columbus’s landing on San Salvador Island, Bahamas, in October, 1792, in New York. The fact that he never set foot in the mainland U.S. was seen as superfluous. It became a national holiday, for one year, after the lynching of eleven Italian immigrants in New Orleans, on the occasion of the 400th Anniversary of the landing, in 1892. A yearly proclamation, commemorating the landing started on October 12, 1934, and continued observance as a Federal holiday, from October, 1968, after lobbying by the Knights of Columbus and other Italian-American groups. In October, 2021, the holiday began to officially share Federal recognition with Indigenous People’s Day-a Presidential acknowledgement of both the contributions of Italian-Americans and First Nations peoples, as well as of the sufferings endured by the latter.

Each time these holidays occur on October 10, they share the date with the National Day of the Republic of China (Taiwan). This was the National Day on mainland China, under Kuomintang rule, from 1911-1945. The People’s Republic acknowledges the date as the anniversary of the Xinhai Revolution, which ended Qing rule, but not as a public holiday. I had the pleasure of being in Taiwan, on the occasion of Double Tenth, in 1988. It is as festive and patriotic an occasion as Independence Day, in the U.S.

All this makes October 10, also auspicious this year for occurring in a time of full moon, possessive of particularly vibrant human energy. I noted that, while helping serve a Columbus Day lasagna and salad dinner, under a tent canopy, to the homeless men and women who are regulars on Monday nights. People seemed a lot more relaxed and congenial than they sometimes are.

Regina

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September 8, 2022- She passed, as she had lived-Stoically, without the pain that some blinkered souls had wished upon her and mindful of the overarching love that many, even in nations that are rivals to her own, felt towards her in life.

I was never much for the idea of colonialism-or paternalism, for that matter. That there are still countries which are “owned” by others, including the territories of the United States, seems quaint, in an insipid way. That there was ever a legal system that permitted one ethnicity to subject another to legal chattelhood, or to a second class status, seems sinister at the least, and pure evil at worst.

Some fuss has been raised at the fact that a 22-year-old Elizabeth Windsor visited Cape Town, at the inception of apartheid, and did not send thunderbolts down on its initiators. She was probably kept from the decision-making process, but no matter. A ceremonial royal can occasionally mount a bully pulpit, but not often. Her influence in most issues was far more sublime, delivered with a sly remark or a piercing look.

To most, Queen Elizabeth II’s life, and its end, have been occasions for catharsis-either love for how she conducted herself on the world stage, or vitriol for the way Britain treated some of its colonies, prior to the decolonization of the mid- Twentieth Century. She herself struck me as a benign presence, who nonetheless rose to greet her challengers and critics with the same stoic mien that she employed with well-wishers. She was also capable of listening to her Prime Ministers and Cabinet Secretaries, and of advancing with the times. How many nonagenarians keep a Twitter account or a YouTube channel?

When Donald Trump, on an official visit, walked ahead of her, the Queen just shook her head and kept walking at her own pace. She knew that certain people would just do as they’ve always done, and would have to reap the consequences of their actions, regardless of input from anyone else.

In seven decades, Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor, “Her Majesty” to most, and Elizabeth, to a select few, kept her nation’s image far more cogent and vital than a lesser personage might have. There may not be another like her, for a good many years.

Rest in Peace, Your Majesty.

El Camino Real

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September 6, 2022, Gallup- Last night, it came to me that much of the messaging I’ve been getting of late, as to what course of action should be followed, has come to me through other people. This morning, though, the message was loud and clear-devote the morning to Taos and its surroundings, especially along El Camino Real-the “King’s Road” towards Santa Fe, along the East Rim of Rio Grande Gorge.

Taos has been a town through which I passed, not spending much time there-until today. With a commitment to myself to drive as far as this old mining town, I freed up a few hours to make friends in Taos, as well as time to stop and see people I love dearly in Santa Fe, Madrid and Moriarty.

So, parking KIA in a free dirt parking lot, I walked a long a row of art galleries, not purchasing anything this time, though I will spend more time picking out at least two art pieces, on a future visit, weather-permitting, in December.

Here are a few of the shops along Kit Carson Way.

View of Couse Center, a forum for promoting arts in Taos.
Garden in courtyard, Mission Gallery

As last winter’s New Mexico visit was centered on the O’Keeffe Museum, so I fully expect to devote a few hours to the Couse Center, in the days between Christmas and New Year’s. I will be able to get a good cup of hot coffee at World Cup, at the east edge of Taos Plaza.

Drink for thought, World Cup Coffee House, Taos
World Cup is the Taos link in my chain of connections

An energizing visit with a mix of very hard-working people and laid-back former attorneys and factory workers established this connection, much as prior encounters at Henry and The Fish and Double C’s Diner did for Santa Fe and Moriarty, respectively.

Like Santa Fe, Taos has La Fonda Hotel in its Plaza. Here is a look at the lobby and its hearth.

Lobby of Taos La Fonda Hotel
Fireplace, lobby of Taos La Fonda Hotel
Alley, off north side of Taos Plaza

After this, I went south, about three miles, to Ranchos de Taos, the original Spanish Land Grant settlement. Here, there is a smaller plaza, and Iglesia San Francisco de Asis.

This is the central church of Ranchos de Taos

Heading towards Santa Fe, I came upon a spot where Rio Grande is flowing rather rapidly, and another, where the river is more languid.

Note the small rapids in two spots along the Rio Grande. (East Rim of Rio Grand Gorge)

A few miles south, here is a fishing spot, favoured by local residents.

I will be back, again, weather-permitting, very soon. The rest of the day saw short, but very genial visits with friends at Henry & The Fish, Java Junction (Madrid) and Double C Diner,where I got a take-out meal, as it was too early for dinner. The chicken enchiladas were just as tasty, when I got to Colonial Motel, here in Gallup, as they would have been had I dined in. Having good friends at a coffee shop or eatery is even more important to me than the fare itself.

Finding friends all around, this has been a marvelous journey.

Golden Wrap-up

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July 17, 2022- Upon the conclusion of each journey I’ve taken, since 2011, at least one family member asks “What was the highlight of your trip?” I can most often rattle off something that stands out, yet there is, truth be known, more than one highlight-especially when I’ve been away from Home Base for a month.

The two anchors, as it stands, were the first stop, Homolovi State Park, where I returned an arrowhead to its guardians, the ancestors of the Hopi people, and L’Anse aux Meadows, where the first Europeans of record met the Indigenous people of the Americas. It would seem an ironic twist to have laid the artifact back in sacred soil, when so much of the San Francisco Peaks, an area holy to many First Nations people, was under siege from a fire, apparently ignited by a random camper trying to burn his refuse. It was my first instruction from my spirit guides.

From there, the road presented a mix of family and friend visits, with stops at places of historical, social, natural and spiritual significance. The historical gems included Marland Mansion, in Ponca City, OK; Prescott, ON Riverwalk; St,. Joseph’s Oratory, Montreal; Provincial Assembly Building, Fredericton, NB; Shediac, NB; the villages and towns along the Cabot Trail, NS-especially Cheticamp and Ingonish; L’Anse aux Meadows, NL; St. Croix Island International Peace Monument, ME; State Capitol, Nashville TN. These, of course, each have natural features that add luster to the historical aspects of the place. This is especially true of L’Anse aux Meadows, with its stark subarctic and maritime beauty.

The natural treasures also included Lake Ontario Park, Kingston, ON; Moosehead Lake, Greenville, ME; Wilmot Park, Fredericton; Bras d’Or Lake and Cape Breton Highlands, NS; Gros Morne and Terra Nova National Parks, NL; Pippy Park, St; John’s, NL; Deer Lake Park, NL; Fundy National Park, NB; anywhere along the coast of Maine; Natchez Trace Parkway, TN. and of course, the open Atlantic Ocean.

Spiritually, I felt especially at ease in and around the Baha’i House of Worship, Wilmette, IL ; Lake Ontario Park; St. Lawrence Riverwalk, Prescott, ON; Waterfront Park, Shediac; looking out anywhere along Bras d’Or Lake; Grand Faillante, French Mountain and Green Cove, Cape Breton Highlands; Matthew Head, Fundy National Park; Green Acre Baha’i School, Eliot, ME; Natchez Trace; and Centennial Park, Nashville.

Socially, my family and I were there for one another, in Sarcoxie, MO; Boothbay Harbor, ME; Saugus and Lynnfield, MA; Exton, PA and Grapevine, TX. Likewise, long-time friends in Enid, OK; Mishawaka, IN; Oley, PA; Crossville, TN; Amarillo, TX and Moriarty, NM made travel a lot lighter. I also feel like lasting new friendships were made in Montreal; McAdam, NB; Wycocomagh, Bras d’Or Village and Eskasoni, NS; Doyles, St.Lunaire-Griquet and Grand Bank, NL; Jonesboro and Perry, ME (the last, as long as the cranky restaurant owner isn’t around); Hohenwald, TN and Tallulah, LA. I missed friends in Wilkes-Barre and Bedford, PA; Harrisonburg, VA; Wildersville, TN; other family members in Maine, Massachusetts and Pennsylvania- and I will see them again. The purpose in all this journeying is indeed to “make new friends and keep the old”, as the old children’s tune goes.

For the time being, I will quickly get back into life here at Home Base. Baha’i camp, near Flagstaff, a day of dog-sitting and whatever else surfaces will keep me in peace and harmony for the rest of July. We’ll talk about August and September, a little later.

Certitude

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July 14, 2022, Grapevine- The Republic of France celebrated the day, 233 years ago, when the Nation’s most-hated prison, La Bastille, was stormed by a mob, as the people were fed up with the dissembling of Louis-Auguste (Louis XVI) and what they perceived as the oppressive policies of the nobility, acting in concert with the Church. The chaos that swirled around that nation, both before and after the trials and executions of Louis and his wife, Marie Antoinette, led only to the rise of the equally autocratic, if more effective in leadership, Napoleon Bonaparte.

The life of a nation, like the lives of individuals, families and communities, depends upon a delicate mix of certitude and flexibility in the face of change. The former without the latter can easily turn into rigidity and oppressiveness. The latter, without the former can be just more wishy-washy foolishness, changing with the wind and tides.

The great Spiritual Teachers have each told us to be discerning, thoughtful and motivated by love. This requires a lot of work, daily and long-term, to maintain both one’s individual life plan and to support loved ones in theirs. My own certitude actually depends on flexibility. I have seen people I love dearly end up feeling broken and hopeless, because their way was not chosen over the highway; because things did not proceed according to what they, alone, deemed best -especially for others. It could have been the same in my life, had I not accepted the concepts of listening to even my harshest critics and gleaning the best of ideas and beliefs they espoused, which actually turned matters around, on a few occasions.

While none of us is spared the grief and pain that accompany life on this plane of existence, neither is that life solely a matter of gritting one’s teeth and enduring excruciating pain, for decades on end. There are opportunities and there is always a way out of the rubble-even if it takes a lot of digging.

The Parthenon, Natchez Trace, and The Sanctity of Family

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July 10, 2022, Florence, AL- The woman, standing 5’2”, and looking for all the world like a present-day Madonna, arrived at her family’s gathering, and instantly commanded the room. Her strapping teenaged son, who had been alternating between being a responsible big brother and goofing around, for the benefit of the three girls at the teenagers’ table, straightened up with a brief, sharp glance from Mama. Her husband, likewise, exercised a measure of control- distributing portions of food and drink from the adults’ table. to the teens and the younger children. The after-church dinner thus proceeded smoothly, in the small, cozy southern Tennessee eatery. I sensed, though, that there was nothing but love in this family-no patriarchy, per se, just a devoted couple who treasure all their children, and one another.

I had left my friends’ house, in a bucolic section of Crossville, a little after 10 a.m., stopping for a few photographs along the route I had taken to yesterday’s Food Truck event. The most breathtaking was this view of Sparta, TN, from an overlook.

I was given an inkling to spend a bit of time in Nashville, a city that I have tended to overlook, in many of the journeys across our home continent. So, a brief visit was first made to the Tennessee State Capitol.

I headed out of downtown, along a route that took me to The Parthenon, a recreation of the original building by that name, in Athens, Greece. Tennesseans treasure the Classical Age, and this museum is the centerpiece of Centennial Park, a vast and salubrious gathering place for all of Nashville. This lush urban park was dedicated in 1897, one year after the centenary of Tennessee’s statehood. Parthenon has two floors: The first hosts special collections of art; the present exhibit being selections from the private collection of James M. Cowan, a Tennessee native and businessman base din the Chicago area. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5e305abfabc0e4424fd1454a/t/5f0ceb6694be7a33f9f830bf/1594682228862/15139+Parthenon+Cowan+brochure_PROOF+%281%29.pdf

On the second floor, there stands an impressive statue of the Greek goddess Athena. Here are some scenes of the lady, the building and the park itself.

The true circumstances of this woman’s life are lost in the mists of time; yet it is clear that she had a powerful personality, being influential in a variety of areas, from education and craftsmanship to the conduct of warfare. That such personages were dubbed gods and goddesses, by pastoral people, is not surprising.

I wandered about the park itself, after spending about a half hour in the museum, which was about to close, anyway. Here’s Lake Watauga, just north of the Parthenon.

After this long overdue attention to the delights of Nashville, I headed west and took in a sliver of Natchez Trace Parkway, which I encountered while looking for Loveless Cafe, a small restaurant southwest of Nashville. The Trace runs for 440 miles, from Nashville to Natchez, and offers a fine cross-section of Southern wilderness.

The Falls themselves were a trickle, as were other waterfalls in the area. The South could use more rain, as could any number of places. I left the Parkway and spotted a sign for Hohenwald, a town whose name means “High Forest”, in German. It has a sanctuary for elephants and is a haven for people in recovery. It is also home to very devout people, including the family mentioned above. The women and girls were conservatively dressed; the men and boys looked more like they had been working a bit. Nonetheless, they were all very relaxed and could have been any close-knit family, anywhere-an attractive, happy bunch. The very sweet waitress took good care of all of us, and it made for a pleasant end to a solemn (Martyrdom of the Bab) but hopeful day. I came to this northern Alabama town, on the Tennessee River, around 9:30.

I will long remember the strong women, both real and stuff of legend, encountered today. It was interesting that, just before leaving Centennial Park, I encountered two young men who claim to worship God the Mother.