Tales from the 2016 Road: The Other Half Gives

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 13, 2016 in Community, Hiking and Nature, Historical, Social, Travel

July 3, 2016, Ponca City- I spent about forty minutes visiting this spacious northern Oklahoma town’s three major landmarks, all associated with the oil magnate, E.W. Marland, and his family.

Prior to arriving here, I stopped at the roadside memorial to Chief Joseph, logistics chief of the Nez Perce, in the mid-Nineteenth Century. The captive Nez Perce, native to Idaho, had been brought here, to Tonkawa, in 1877, and made to remain there, until 1884. They were allowed to return to Idaho, then, and given the choice of becoming Christian and staying in Idaho, or retaining their old ways, and being moved to Colville, Washington. Chief Joseph and his band chose the latter. Below, is the photo of the memorial to him.

Memorial to Chief Joseph, Tonkawa, OK

Ponca City, in Osage country, has among the earliest ties to the petroleum industry in Oklahoma. It is, nonetheless, among the state’s most spacious and well-appointed communities. Here is a look at downtown.

Grand Avenue, Ponca City

City Hall is also strikingly modern.

Ponca City Hall

There are two homes, built by E.W. Marland, which feature prominently in Ponca City’s civic life. Marland’s Grand Home, built by him in 1916, now serves as the city’s cultural center and Indian Museum.

Veranda, Marland’s Grand House, Ponca City

Full view of Marland’s Great House, Ponca City

Original Marland Oil Company Flag Staff, Ponca City

Ernest Whitworth Marland had a sincere respect for the sacrifices made by women, on the prairie, and had this statue built, in their honour.

Pioneer Woman Statue, Ponca City

The Marland Mansion, where the family lived after 1916, is the centerpiece of a city park, and is maintained in the spirit of the early 20th Century. I toured the grounds, as the interior is not open on Sundays.

The Marland children, George and Lydie, are honoured with statues, at the northern and eastern ends of the property, respectively.

George Marland

Lydie Marland

The mansion itself was built in grand, European style. Ernest was a generous man, and did not spare himself or his family of that largesse.

Marland Mansion, Ponca City

There is a wealth of flora on the grounds.

Rhododendron bush, Marland Mansion, Ponca City

There is an extensive walking trail around the grounds, which I did not have time to explore, given my invitation to a Fourth of July gathering, east of Joplin.

The pond, though, lends a serenity, and a wildness, to this most epicurean of parks.

Pond, Marland Mansion grounds

The park is a refreshing place for Poncans to gather, so in my view, E.W.’s largesse has had a good long-term effect. Now, as long as we keep moving towards cleaner energy….

NEXT UP: Christmas in July

Tales from the 2016 Road: The Long Walk of 1864

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on July 8, 2016 in Historical, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

Entrance to Fort Sumner National Monument,NM

July 1, 2016, Fort Sumner, NM- There are several places in the United States, that every citizen should see, if for no other reason than to know that unity is a delicate thing. Fort Sumner, a place of captivity for thousands of people, in the 1860’s, is such a place.

I have known, and worked with, Navajo (Dineh) and Hopi people, for several years. The Dineh, along with the Mescalero Apache (Indeh) people, were forcibly removed from their ancestral lands, in 1864, by one of the most unfortunate edicts of President Lincoln, who had a blind spot, where Native Americans were concerned. He never stopped being an Indian fighter.

The people endured the harsh life of captives, very similar to what the Japanese internees endured in the camps of World War II. The difference was that the Dineh and Indeh people built the camps, including the quarters of their overseers. Many died of disease and starvation, in this squalid place.

The people were released in 1868, on orders from President Andrew Johnson, who had no real axe to grind with the Navajos or Apaches. They walked homeward, and the Navajo wept, when they spotted one of their sacred mountains, Mount Taylor, east of Albuquerque.

Here are some of the sights that presented themselves to me, during my visit here, this morning. The first shows the pyramid-like structure that houses the museum displays and theater, that tells the story of the Long Walk. The ranger initially interpreted my foregoing the film, as a sign of disinterest in the actual events. A conversation, afterward, corrected that misconstruance.

Monument Headquarters, Fort Sumner, NM

The second photo shows the area, as it might have appeared when the captives first arrived in Bosque Redondo, as the woods were called back then. The Commemoration Stone, first brought here by Navajo Nation President Peterson Zah, in 1994.

Nature Trail, Fort Sumner, NM

Commemoration Stone, Fort Sumner, AZ

The descendants of both Navajo and Mescalero Apache internees, and many others from various tribes, bring items of dedication to this memorial site.

Memorial Site, Fort Sumner, NM

Barracks for US Army troops, Fort Sumner National Monument, NM

The above is an example of the structures which captives were forced to build, for the housing of their overseers.

Below is a flock of Churro Sheep, raised by Navajos and now viewed as an heirloom breed, for the quality of their wool and meat.

Churro Sheep, Fort Sumner National Monument, NM

This visit, which I had planned for quite some time, was a sobering reminder of just how far we have come, and a caution of how far we can fall backwards, in our inter-human connections. Like Manzanar, and Berga, Germany, it is a place that the smug and self-assured would do well to see, as a wake-up call.

NEXT UP: Return to Amarillo’s Happy Southwest 6th Street.

Yuma Is for The Warm of Heart

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on June 19, 2016 in Historical, Travel

June 17, 2016, Yuma- This citrus capital of the West has become my go-to pit stop, en route to San Diego and Chula Vista, as I-8 is a less perplexing route to my son’s street, than CA 15 was.

Yuma has been known to hit 120 during this hottest of desert summer months. That puts it in the same league as Phoenix and Palm Springs. Nonetheless, a brief stop here is a pleasure. There are enough diverse attractions in the area to keep my camera and I busy, over the next two drives out to see my pride and joy. Besides the Algodones Dunes and the Colorado River Wetlands Trail, which I visited the last time I was here, there are the Territorial Prison, Martinez Lake, Santillan House and the area that occupied me this afternoon: Historic Downtown. It’s a small area, but Main Street, even in the 102 degree heat, is worth weaving in and out of the air-conditioned buildings. There is much to be said for a town with two theaters within a two-block radius of one another. Then, there is Lutes Casino, a family-friendly restaurant-bric-a-brac palace that offers a full range of old-fashioned fountain treats, as well as diner food and a full bar.

So, here’s a look at Main Street, Yuma:

Downtown’s West Entrance

Hotel San Carlos is downtown Yuma’s largest.

This is the larger of two cinemas on Main Street.

The desert CAN be pretty in summer. This lot is up for lease.

This courtyard had one drawback. The ice cream shop is closed until next Monday.

A few fountains grace Main Street. This is the largest.

Inside Lutes casino: I enjoyed a praline pecan malted milk.

The establishment is far more interesting than it looks.

For those heading in earnest, between Phoenix and San Diego, Yuma has done a fine job of offering a safe haven-even in the sizzling summer.

Stair-stepping, In Kodachrome Land, Part 1: Pioche

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on June 7, 2016 in Historical, Travel

June 3, 2016, Pioche, NV- It was not a hard choice, as to where to stop for the night, yesterday. Little Pioche, just west of the Utah state line, is a budding Virginia City or Bisbee. It has all the charm of the better known mining towns, so my stay at Motherlode Motel was a no-brainer. I came this way in 1980, on the way back to Flagstaff, from Oregon.

The drive involves what I call stair-stepping: U.S. 93 goes on to Panaca, just east of Pioche; then there is a drive on two contiguous state highways, to Cedar City; this is followed by an alley-oop, over the Cedar Mountains on Utah Highway 56, to U.S. 89, which goes to Page, on the southern shore of Lake Powell. From here, I would continue the process, taking AZ Route 98 to the Navajo Nation town of Tsegi, U.S. 160 to Indian Route 59, just east of Kayenta, then IR 59 to Many Farms, U.S. 191 to AZ 264, at Ganado, then the 191 again to I-40, and a couple of Navajo roads, which I will mention later, to Native American Baha’i Institute of Learning.

So, the rest of this is fairly simple. The rugged Southwest is meant to be enjoyed, within the boundaries of preparedness and common sense. This was the fourth day of Big Heat. Even in mountain-girt Pioche, it would hit 85 today. The sizzle was already evident, as I walked the short distance from motel to downtown.

Motherlode Motel, Pioche, NV

The Lincoln County Courthouse and Mountain View Lodge attract the visitor, en rout to Main Street.

Lincoln County Courthouse, Pioche, NV

Mountain View Lodge, Pioche, NV

It is recorded that President Herbert Hoover stayed here, in 1930. A more earthy sort of clientele would have opted for the accommodations shown below.

Overland Hotel and Saloon, Pioche, NV

There was, however, an Opera House in town, which may have appealed to Mr. Hoover.

Thompson Opera House and Gem Theater, Pioche, NV

Before going in for a hearty breakfast at the historic Silver Cafe, a stroll along Main Street was in order.

Historic Silver Cafe, Pioche, NV

Main Street, Pioche, NV

Mining Concern, west of Main Street, Pioche, NV

The pleasant little park at the end of Main Street was established in the 1980s. The original developers were killed in an auto accident, in 1986, whereupon the community banded together and finished the job.

Heritage Park, Pioche, NV

The Mary Louise Mine Entrance (sealed), Heritage Park, Pioche, NV

Like many Western towns, Pioche attracted some free spirits. This Spiritist Hall existed for a time, in the early Twentieth Century.

Channel of Light Building, Pioche, NV

A downhill view of Main Street, Pioche, NV

After breakfast in the bustling cafe, another quick stroll back to Motherlode Motel brought my brief visit to an end. I did notice one last remnant of the Wild West.

Old “Social Club”, Main Street, Pioche, NV

A quick drive up the hill was in order, before leaving town, for Cathedral Gorge.

Pioche Hills

The town, and its surrounding hills, were named for Francois Pioche, an immigrant from France, who became a mining entrepreneur. He built the mining concerns here, in 1868-9.

My day was just starting, but it’s best to split the tale into three parts. Next post will showcase Cathedral Gorge and Panaca, as the hills fade away into the Great Basin.

Hiroshima

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on May 28, 2016 in Historical, Poetry

May 25, 2016, Prescott-

The blue light flashed and took its toll

both within the plane and without,

hearts and minds rolled.

The force of the minute,

brought down the mighty,

and the sky, for a time,

was, alternately, smoky black

and shimmering white.

This was no punishment for Nanking,

Corregidor.

or Bataan.

It was, in fact.to limit even more blood

on the crowded sands.

In two days’ time,

some 71 years later,

a sublime view of peace

will be offered,

by a target of haters.

No apology,

just resolve.

Be the peace

you want to see.

In Honour Of….

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on April 28, 2016 in Historical, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Spiritual

April 28, 2016, Prescott- I took today off from work, as we Baha’is are so advised, on Holy Days such as this- the Ninth Day of the Ridvan Festival; the Day when, 163 years ago, Baha’u’llah revealed His Station to family and closest associates, while preparing to follow lawful orders and proceed overland, from Baghdad to Constantinople (Istanbul). Their departure would begin in earnest, three days later.

We will gather as a community and celebrate the Anniversary, 1 1/2 hours from now, with sacred readings, contemplation and a fine meal. Baha’u’llah and His entourage, by contrast, frequently had scant food and drink- especially when on the dusty path, northward from Iraq and across Anatolia. The Messengers of God always take on suffering, if only to show us that it can be overcome, in the end.

Ours is not a Faith of asceticism, nor is it favourable towards over-indulgence. We do well, He says, to share good fortune, and not lose heart, in times of scarcity. The former is largely the result of dispassionate hard work. The latter is a reminder that this is a life meant for character building, which can best be achieved in the face of trials. So, at least, is my understanding of it all.

He came to bring unity to mankind- and gave us a blueprint, slowly being understood, and accepted, by more people. It must, however, be done willingly by each individual. The days of forced conversion are being seen for what they were, and will not be repeated.

The Moon Is Green

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on March 17, 2016 in Historical, Personal Values, Seafaring, Striving, Uncategorized

March 16, 2016, Prescott- I’ve had an affection for things Celtic, since long before things Celtic became trendy. My half-English mother forbade the playing of Irish music in the house, but she’s come around to at least allow its play, on the music channels of her cable service.

My own affection for such is part of a lifelong connection with those who are close to the soil. So, I feel bonds with the indigenous- not only my Penobscot ancestors on my paternal grandmother’s line, but all Native Americans, Inuits, Siberians, Hawaiians, Australian aboriginals and those whom I called, in my childhood ignorance, “the natives” (tribal Africans).

I associate Celts, ancient Teutons, Slavs and the nomadic peoples of the Eurasian steppe with the land, also. It seems they ravaged one another, in wave after wave, and usually just as the one group was settling into sedentary life, there came the next horde.

That’s been the way of humanity, since we headed up, out of Africa, and wherever else we may have mastered the art of upright mobility, and spread across the continents. We have so often looked to the other’s yard, for prosperity- or at least for a change of scene. Indigenous people had these conflicts, too, though when the Europeans came to these shores, with visions of commerce and gain, the American peoples were in the process of establishing a peaceful network of trade routes, from southeast Alaska and the taiga of Canada, to Tierra del Fuego, and so many points in between. It is highly likely that there was trading between the Aleuts and the people of Japan; between the Greenland Inuit and the peoples of Scotland and Norway (even before Iceland was settled); and, possibly, between the seafaring people of what is now northeast Brazil and the kingdoms of western Africa. Then, too, nobody could hold a candle to the masters of the ocean: Those who went east, from the Malay Peninsula, and became the Micronesians and Polynesians, or west, and became the Malagasy.

We face, possibly in my lifetime, if not in my son’s, a decision about the proper use of the resources on our planet’s Moon, then those of at least the near planets of our solar system. Green- the colour of many of our wardrobes, tomorrow, will continue to have different connotations to different people. Mean green, or gentle green? Commerce, at any cost, or careful stewardship? It seems this has gone on, since Croesus minted his first coins, or even since the nations that pre-dated the Great Flood, if one believes in such things.

Where are you, in this debate? (My Xangan friends, in particular, please know that I don’t take umbrage at contrary opinions, even if I get a little spirited once in a while.) Express yourselves, and Erin Go Bragh!

Portrait of the Poet

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on February 2, 2016 in Education, Historical, Poetry, Spiritual, Striving

February 1, 2016, Prescott-

The Winter Scavenger Hunt prompt says “artist”, not “poet”, but a poet IS an artist.

Today begins the month “officially” set aside as Black History Month. African-Americans certainly are not limited to any given point along a year, in terms of their impact on our nation’s history. Yet, why quibble? We do well to reach as far back as possible, in comprehending the spirit and drive that gives each individual, regardless of ethnicity or melanin level, the capacity for great achievement.

The first published African-American poet, Phillis Wheatley, was brought to Boston at the age of 8, from either Gambia or Senegal. She was given the name Phillis by her captor, Peter Gwinn, and sold as a slave to a tailor named John Wheatley. The Wheatley family taught Phillis to read and write, encouraging her to study the Classics.

Phillis began to write her own poetry at the age of 14. She drew the favourable attention of both British and American leaders of both politics and thought, having audiences with the Lord Mayor of London and George Washington. Thomas Paine published her work in the Pennsylvania Gazette, and she drew favourable commentary from Voltaire.

Things went sour for Phillis, after her master died. Though she was freed, under the terms of his will, and married a Free African-American grocer, John Peters, the prevailing view of society was not favourable towards African-Americans. The Peters’ struggled financially, John was imprisoned, in 1784 and Phillis, along with their infant son, died shortly thereafter, she being only 31.

Here is a sample of her poetry, which drew on both Christian and animist influences, as well as ancient Greek and European Enlightenment thought.

“On Virtue”

O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height t’ explore, or fathom thy profound.
But, O my soul, sink not into despair,
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand
Would now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head.
Fain would the heav’n-born soul with her converse,
Then seek, then court her for her promis’d bliss.

Auspicious queen, thine heav’nly pinions spread,
And lead celestial Chastity along;
Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,
Array’d in glory from the orbs above.
Attend me, Virtue, thro’ my youthful years!
O leave me not to the false joys of time!
But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.
Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee,
To give me an higher appellation still,
Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,
O thou, enthron’d with Cherubs in the realms of day.^[9]

Phillis had conflicting feelings about slavery, recognizing, on one level that it was the cruelest of institutions, while simultaneously expressing the view that captivity had served her well, by bringing her to Christianity.

In any event, I see Phillis Wheatley as the first great African-American woman, in public life.

The Road to 65, Mile 364: The Stuff That Matters

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on November 28, 2015 in Community, Family, Hiking and Nature, Historical, Matters of Faith, Personal goals, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Travel

November 27, 2015, Chula Vista- The brisk walk from Aram’s apartment to the area’s Costco was a two-mile round trip. I carried a small box, with salad fixings and a brick of sharp cheddar. I could have driven, or taken the bus. Instead, I was inspired, both by my own tradition and by a tourist in New York, who preferred to walk uptown from One World Trade Center, so as to “see what I’m passing.”

Having made two long journeys, this past year, I can say I saw alot. There are differences between the Pacific Northwest and the Gulf Coast, but also key similarities. Both are humid and moist. Both have people who are passionately close to the sea. Both require crossing starkly beautiful deserts, if one approaches by road or rail. Both have compelling stories to share and both have celebratory traditions. The Native Americans and First Nations peoples of Oregon, Idaho, Washington, British Columbia and southeast Alaska have civilized traditions and lore going back thousands of years. So do the Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Miccosukee, Alabama, and the hybrid nation we call the Seminole. The story of the Aboriginals of North America matters, immensely.

Having hiked up Mt. Verstovia, along East Glacier Trail, six miles around Ketchikan, all over Manzanar, on two more segments of Black Canyon National Recreation Trail, and along the Prescott Circle, not far from my place of residence, I feel continually blessed by nature, health and mobility. The environment matters, enormously.

I spent time among the historical remnants of early European settlers and missionaries, in Santa Barbara, San Luis (now called Tallahassee) , San Antonio, Wrangell and Sitka. They wreaked havoc on those they found in the area already, thinking that educating the “savages” and exploiting the natural resources were their twin obligations to King and Country. Their successors followed suit, and I saw the results- some worthy of respect, (Tonopah, Bellingham and Moscow,ID), for the honest labour that modestly claimed a share of the resources of land and sea. Others, like the ravaging of Native Peoples in Sitka and Hoonah, the slaughter of Chinese immigrants in Hells Canyon and the internment of Japanese-Americans, as recorded for posterity, at Manzanar and Poston, stand as reminders of just how far we have to go. The historical record matters, tellingly.

I returned to work, towards the end of this, my 65th year, secondarily to recoup some of my financial resources, but primarily because the well-being of yet another rising generation needs whatever champions who can arise. I will work another five years or so, as long as my health and the goodwill of the powers that be remain strong. The people we call “Millennials” and “Generation Z” matter, beyond measure.

I will miss Margaret and Ardith Lambert, Tom Boyd, my Xanga friends who called themselves Inciteful and Sister Mae, and feel the losses of several friends’ parents, whom I never met, but sense their character, in the people their children, who are my friends, have become. Losses matter, achingly.

I visit with my son, not as often as I would like, but when our mutual schedules permit. I communicate with my immediate and extended families, again not as regularly as is desired, but often enough that we know we are there for one another. I visited with an elder in Colorado, at the beginning of this year, attempted to spend time with another elder in Florida, though to no avail, and did visit with people I regard as family, in Alabama, Mississippi, California,Nevada, Washington and Alaska. Family loves, quarrels, understands, misunderstands, hides, seeks and ultimately stays in bond. Family matters, indelibly, and yes, to answer an online friend’s plaint- family includes friends.

Central to all has been Faith. Looking back at the past 6 1/2 decades, I could never have survived my own missteps and foibles, or the trials sent my way, without knowing that there is something greater, Someone Indestructible, always seeing and caring. Belief, and the Faith Community, matter, in primacy.

So, my road to 65 nears an end. It has been vast, long, alternately wide and narrow, by turns straight and curving. It started at the end of a year of intense expansion of personal boundaries and ends at the beginning of a year of unknowns. Decisions made by others will figure greatly in my course of action. Time goes on.

The Road to 65, Mile 362: Passing Through Yuma

Posted by Sagittarian Seeker on November 26, 2015 in Hiking and Nature, Historical, Travel

November 25, 2015, Chula Vista- After getting my Nissan serviced, and a few other errands, which are always necessary before departing Prescott, I headed down the mountain, towards San Diego, and a holiday weekend with the most important person in my life.

This time, I opted for a twist. Turning onto AZ 95 south, at Quartzsite, in Arizona’s Outback, I headed down to the southwest AZ city of Yuma, underrated largely because of its status as the hottest spot, in a state that is very hot from May to October.

Nowadays, though, Yuma is very, very pleasant, and it was quite cool, when I rolled up Prison Hill, for a walk around the East Wetlands and along the exterior of Yuma Territorial Prison Historical State Park (about which, more, on my next visit in mid-March).

The Wetlands trail takes the walker down to the Colorado River, which is in fairly good shape right now. Here are a few scenes of what I encountered. (These are what the new and improved Word Press offers as a photo collage, under Windows 10. Just click on the photo, to see the caption.)

A view of the East Wetlands, from atop Prison Hill

The East Wetlands, Yuma

The Colorado River, Yuma

A view of the Colorado River and East Wetlands, Yuma

The prison wall, Yuma Territorial Prison State Historical Park

Aram, in his abode

The Prison Graveyard, Yuma Territorial Prison State Historical Park, Yuma

The rest of the journey was spent navigating high speed, rather frenetic holiday fellow travelers: Crowded road from Yuma to El Centro, a bit quieter from there to Alpine and bustling again, until I got to Chula Vista. In Alpine, I enjoyed a decent Gyro plate at Greek Village Grill, which sits tucked away in a restaurant mini-mall, on the south end of downtown. The town itself looks worthy of further exploration, when it is light out.

For now, as indicated above and at the second from lower right, I will be happily celebrating Thanksgiving, the Day of the Covenant (see next post) and the 65th anniversary of the arrival of a squawling, but eventually happy, baby boy.