August 2, 2023- A photo has gone viral today, of a stern-faced man, in Niamey, Niger, holding up a sign that says, in French, “Long live Putin”. There appeared to be about five hundred people around him, in the photograph, at a rally organized by the new self-appointed leader of that impoverished West African nation. How many were there of their own volition is debatable, but if they were brought there under duress, or with the promise of perquisites/rewards, the adulation for the autocratic leader of the Russian Federation will soon fade. It would not surprise me to learn that the man mentioned above was put up to holding the sign, by soldiers of the Wagner Group, who are ubiquitous in the Sahel region. He certainly did not look very happy to be there.
In a nutshell, I attribute the ease with which demagogues can rise to power, in impoverished nations, to the legacy of colonialism. When personal agency or a sense of community is cut off, by interlopers, for the sake of satisfying the greed of those invaders, the resentment simmers. This will prove as true for the Russians, as it has for the western European colonizers of yore. The only path to overcoming poverty among the masses is unity-under a democratic system, not under the yoke of a tyrant-be he home-grown or foreign-born.
This brings me to Florida-and the notion that slavery was beneficial to the enslaved. That this trope was first advanced by a professor of history, who is himself African-American, does not impress me in the least. Anyone can excuse abusive or oppressive conditions, and offer up a silver lining. More convincing is the umbrage taken to this cockamamie nonsense, by several Black Conservatives. They may ascribe to the noble concept of self-reliance, but attach to it anything that says their ancestors benefitted from having been enslaved, and the cord, rightfully, is cut.
Everything, as Dr.Thomas Sowell once wrote, is a trade-off. If you enslave a people, you break their self-reliance. If you steal agency from another person, then they learn dependency, and you now have an albatross around the neck. If, on the other hand, a person is empowered, honoured and granted agency for life, then society has one more individual who can actually contribute the gifts given by the Divine-on her/his own.
July 31, 2023- Everyone appreciated the readings, music and the spread on my friend’s table. Organizing and moderating an event that honours “perfection” was an all-day affair, but as the name itself implies, was well worth the day.
Costco was a good place to be guided by the unseen, in picking out refreshment items that would both appeal to the eyes and palate, while offering nutritional balance. I try to avoid “junk food”, when planning a set table, and it worked out quite nicely, unless one considers fresh-baked frosted pound cake as junk-admittedly a relative term, anyway. It was a festive occasion, this Spiritual Feast of Perfection, so why not a (guilty) pleasure. All else was light and nutritious.
The devotional program also was varied, and songs that honour the concept of perfection were interspersed between readings, and carried the evening. It is noteworthy that each of us has an element of perfection within us. Some, like yours truly, hide it better than others, but we all have such a seed inside. I see it in those, like the unhoused people I helped feed this evening, before the Spiritual Feast and in those who work at jobs that they may sometimes view as thankless. I see it in the faces of my Baha’i friends and in those of each human who I encounter every day, both here in the Prescott area and when I am on the road.
So, if you so wish, click on this song and ponder how the Divine sends us Perfect Guides, from time to time and to each part of the planet.
July 28, 2023, Carson City– The cast was set to dancing and jumping about, in this version of the spell cast by a cheekier version of the Wicked Witch of the West. W3 did not feel like even hinting at opium being an acceptable diversion and so came the Jitterbug, whose weapon was getting everyone to dance until they dropped from exhaustion. The classic dance marathon, instead of deadly poison, was a tad more family friendly-but W3 still asked Scarecrow if he wanted to play ball.
“The Wizard of Oz” first came into my consciousness when I was about nine, and we started watching it, as a family, once a year. When I hit my mid-teens, the watch party shifted to a gathering of friends-still a time for laughs and feigned fright. Seeing that it has not lost its appeal is re-assuring. There is much that is not ersatz about our culture, and these are the totems that I hope will remain.
Children and teens are almost universally dear to my heart. One of the dearest was on stage as a Munchkin, her time under the klieg lights about five minutes of play time and a few minutes at the end. In our pre-play conversation, I re-assured her that this is how just about everything starts. The first jobs are almost always the equivalent of a small role, with few lines. It is approaching the task with aplomb, with the confidence that one is going to do the small stuff well and move up the ladder, to a place that is deserved, that makes the dream become reality.
So she did her small role well, being visible and audible from where I was sitting, with her grandmother, in the second row. Afterward, the three of us went to a fast food place and each got an orange cream shake. We talked of the importance of agency, which she has already stood for, as she described an incident in which she asked that officials remove a poster she finds offensive. She heard us say: “Good on you and keep standing for justice, even when-especially when, it’s hard.”
I will always stand beside her, her brother, cousins and any other young person who is looking at being hazed or subjected to injustice.
July 27, 2023, Carson City- One of my favourite chain eateries, of which there are few, is Black Bear Diner, which started in the city of Mount Shasta, CA, in 1995, and has now expanded throughout the western half of the U.S.
It was at Grants Pass’s Black Bear that my day got revved up. The counter crew, like crews in most restaurants, are a well-working team. A lovely, perky young lady at the register told me it was her first day-and I noticed that the rest of the crew was solicitous and helpful towards her. She is likely to have a good run there. The food was excellent, as always.
Mount Shasta itself was prominent during the first part of my drive towards Carson City. A first time visitor to the area stopped at the western vista point, off I-5, just after I got there and asked what mountain that was. She proceeded to take several snaps of the peak, from different vantage points. I was happy taking one, from there.
About an hour later, heading towards Reno, on the Lassen Highway, I stopped at another “Vista Point”, to find that Mount Shasta was pretty much hidden from view by the tall pines. Lifting a bit of litter from the stop, because Mount Shasta is just majestic and doesn’t need our trash in view, even from thirty miles away.
Mount Shasta peeks through the pines, taken from the south.
There was no time to make a stop at Lassen peak that would have done it any justice, so I turned left towards Susanville and Reno. The damage done to the forests on Mount Lassen’s northern and western flanks, and in the mountains near Susanville, is heart-wrenching to see. Thankfully, fire has spared this area so far this year, but it’s unfortunately very early yet. In the intermediate future, one of my sojourns will entail a three-day stay in one of the cabins at Lassen Volcanic National Park.
In my heart, with Prescott my primary Home Base, there are several others-Carson City chief among them, that very much feel like home. That’s as it should be. I settled into the small America’s Best Value here, and spent about two hours visiting with Michele, very much like a sister, at Betsy’s Big Kitchen, a rather nice in-casino establishment, serving sizable portions of fine comfort food.
My main reason for being here will happen tomorrow, as a Munchkin takes the stage.
I was told, some time ago, that the homeless community along Washington State’s southern tier had been removed, by sending the lot across the Columbia River, to Portland. Being skeptical that this is even something that could be pulled off, without a whimper from a city that was already choking with a large unhoused community in its downtown and other neighbourhoods, the last time I visited (2015), I went to Vancouver (WA) this morning, after checking out of the motel in Kelso.
Vancouver, not to be confused with the much-larger city in British Columbia, has a lovely park along the Columbia River, and pleasant, clean downtown and uptown sections. It also has the manicured Fort Vancouver, a well-maintained National Park site, whose historic homes are leased to residents and businesses. Living wherever they can put up tents, usually in nooks and crannies along the Columbia, are the remnants of the unhoused community, admittedly smaller than those of Portland, Seattle or Tacoma, but in Vancouver, nonetheless. Denial of a problem will never make it go away. Whoever passed that information along to people down at my Home Base, in Prescott had probably not been to Vancouver.
I took a walking loop to the banks of the Columbia, then around to Esther Short Park, after first enjoying a vanilla latte at Brewed, a small, but efficient coffee shop, combined with a bar and small bakery, on Main Street. Not far from Brewed, there is a parking lot with murals on two of the walls.
The Skagit, Yamhill, and other nations, have not lost their dignity.Nor, for that matter, have the Hispanics who come here for agricultural work.The African-American community here seems small, but holds its own.Columbia River, at I-5 Bridge, Vancouver. “Boat of Discovery”, commemorating the visit here, by Captain George Vancouver’s fleet.A long wall emanates from this plaza, honouring veterans of all “foreign” conflicts, from the War of 1812 to Iraq and Afghanistan.Clock Tower, Esther Short Park. The park was being readied for a special event, when I happened by.
Having a couple of errands to do, across the river, I gave myself an hour to explore Fort Vancouver. The post was established to safeguard U.S. control of the mouth of the Columbia River-with .British, Russian and Spanish claims not fully resolved.
Here is the flag staff, in the midst of the parade ground. This was a serious parade ground!Grant House, intended for use by Ulysses S. Grant, when he was stationed here, in the 1850s. He never lived in this mansion, on Officers’ Row.Here is a view of the Enlisted Barracks, south of the Parade Grounds.These cannons were replicated, from descriptions of the originals, by local high school students, from 1990-92. They are owned by the City of Vancouver, which supplied the materials.This was the residence of General O.O. Howard, the post commander from 1874-80.The Artillery Barracks-It struck me that this could house a lot of people.Non-commissioned Officer’s HousingMarshall House, home to General George C. Marshall, during his duty here, prior to World War II.This pavilion honours the Chinese diaspora to Oregon and Washington. Chinese immigrants faced horrific treatment in the Pacific Northwest, during the late Nineteenth, and much of the Twentieth, Centuries.
After leaving Vancouver, I made my way across the bridge to Portland, getting my Pastini fix, with a late lunch at the Italian food chain’s Northeast Portland branch. Then, it was time to locate and purchase a new adapter, to house my photo SIM card and post these and other scenes. It took me all over North Portland. At one point, I stopped in front of a crosswalk, so that a young lady could cross. One would have thought I had held up the President, for the insistent beeping from behind me. The lady shot a dignified, but definitely disapproving, glance at the impatient motorist and gave me a gentle smile.
The shop I eventually found was a Best Buy, on the far northeast side. Its location afforded a fairly lightly-trafficked way out of Portland, so I missed all but a small amount of rush hour. Still ahead, however, was the large influx of participants, family members and spectators at the Junior Olympics, which I learned was being held in Eugene, Springfield, Albany, Corvallis and Roseburg. All of those cities’ accommodations were either occupied or were priced exorbitantly by the Law of Supply and Demand. After gassing up in Eugene, I made my way down to Grants Pass, and got a reasonably-priced overflow room. My last thoughts of the day, though, are wishes for the kids to be successful at their sport-and more importantly, to have a good experience.
July 25, 2023, Kelso, WA- The two Border Patrol agents saw the large amount of stuff in Sportage’s back area, naturally wanted to have a closer look. They found nothing in the cooler, but a freezer bar that is badly in need of refreezing. They found nothing of interest among the camping equipment, but my personal digital scale, which I have wrapped in a Red Cross blanket. “How does one use a bath scale in the woods?”, asked the senior agent. “One doesn’t”, I replied. “It’s for use when I am in a room with tile or wooden floors”.
That satisfied them, and I was kindheartedly welcomed back, as they chuckled and shook their heads. Shakespeare said it best: “A bit of nonsense now and then is relished by the best of men.” I continued on my way, to the town of Blaine and Peace Arch State Park.
Pine grove, Peace Arch State Park, Blaine, WAThe border meets the sea, Peace Arch State ParkRiot of colours, Peace Arch State ParkApropos of our time, here is a description of the great Paul Robeson’s calling out to the world, from a flatbed truck, at this very park, in the 1950s.Peace Arch, from south side (Blaine).Peace Arch, from north side (White Rock)Totem Pole raised to correct historic wrongs, Peace Arch Provincial Park, White RockMaple Leaf Garden, White Rock, BCPeace Arch Park is one of the only places to go between the U.S. and Canada, without showing documents. The authorities are close by, though.A bit of humour, at Railway Cafe, Blaine
Once I had visited both sides of the Peace Arch complex, it was time for lunch. Railway Cafe is a tiny boxcar that has converted to a cozy, friendly restaurant. Whilst waiting for a made-from-scratch BLT, I took in the homespun humour, such as that above-and below.
This speaks for itself.Railway Cafe’s ExteriorAcross Blaine Inlet, a view of Point Roberts, part of the U.S. but only accessible by road through White Rock, BC. Otherwise, folks go back and forth to Blaine, by boat.
From Blaine, I drove on to Everett, a major U.S. The city is also a commercial port, which at one time was headquarters for Weyerhauser Corporation’s Northwest timberworks. Shingles were made here, en masse, and there is acknowledgement, in the city’s Boxcar Park, of the risks taken by shingle makers-operating sawing equipment, at a very fast pace. Fingers and hands were lost, more often than one might care to think.
Appreciating the risks taken by those who provide building materials.
Weyerhauser House is now a coffee shop and meeting place, close to the waterfront.
Weyerhauser House, Boxcar Park, Everett, WAEverett HarborThe Heart of Everett
Once rejuvenated by a macchiato, from The Muse, in the above mentioned house, I took on Seattle’s, and Tacoma’s, rush hours, calmly navigating down to Kelso, on the Cowlitz River. It’s very peaceful here.
July 24, 2023, Surrey, BC- Rain came to Vancouver Island, as promised, early this morning, and stayed the day. The precipitation was mostly gentle, but after checking out of Painted Turtle, I opted to spend much of the day in the Public Library. There were also forays into nearby coffee shops. The first was to Serious Coffee-where a barista at first greeted me cheerfully, later showing a rather serious face, after another patron made a snide comment to her, while himself wearing a sly grin. I thought to myself, while scowling at him, that there is no call for lording it over another person, especially when they are trying to work. The people I have observed here, young and elder alike, do work hard-and deserve appreciation.
After 4 p.m., the rain tapered off, affording me a chance to visit Petroglyph Provincial Park and Bowen Park, both south of town.
An elk, fleeing a hunterA flounder, or a crab?A seal looks up.A bear, enjoying its killTwo wolves, on the attack.Western White Pines, Bowen ParkNanaimo River, Bowen ParkStairstep Falls, Bowen Park
A perfectly prepared and portioned chicken cutlet with chow mein awaited me, at Sun’s Noodle Bar, virtually across the highway from the turn-off to Duke Point. The congenial server made all of the patrons feel like guests in her own parlor. Thus did my visit to the island draw to a close.
Leaving Duke Point, south of Nanaimo Dyke Point, up close
The ferry, as it happened, was late leaving Tsawwassen, and so was also late leaving Duke Point. We got back to Tsawwassen around 11:10 p.m., and I arrived at Sun Suite, here in Surrey, around midnight, initially somewhat to the consternation of my Korean host-who reminded himself that I was, after all, not piloting the ship and that I had made good time, once off the vessel and driving around a strange city in the dark and rain.
Sun Suite is a very fine place, in which to rest from three frenetic days, with more to come.
July 23, 2023, Nanaimo- It was a cheerful face and voice that greeted me, as I rounded the corner for a second time, whilst looking for the driveway to a friend’s home, on the east side of Victoria. Debra, and one of her neighbours, saw to my parking Sportage and entering her humble abode.
For the second straight visit to a long-time friend, (the other being a few days ago, in Ashland), I was told I am the first out-of-towner to visit since COVID. It is an honour to be so designated. Debra and I spoke at length about her family, and mine; about the joy and challenge of being Baha’i in a distracted world and about the guidance we have each received from unseen hosts.
Debra and me at her home
One of the great joys of visiting the Pacific Northwest is to dine on wild caught salmon. So it was, that I was treated to that succulent fish, along with fresh salad and a piece of freshly baked British Columbia blueberry pie. The feast has been anticipated since 2015, when I was not able to stay on V.I. long enough to make this connection. The main reason for visiting V.I. druthis time, is a fait accompli. Debra became the first to use my Bear Drum in a chant, since it was repaired, a few weeks ago. I was thus doubly honoured.
After about three hours, I bid Debra farewell and headed back towards Painted Turtle Hostel. The appeal of Malahat Skywalk, about halfway between Victoria and Nanaimo, was irresistible. A lovely and winsome attendant greeted me and explained the process of navigating the boardwalk and spirals . I then set out, joining several families and couples, on the route, which proved quite easy. The views of eastern Van couver Island-and of the mainland Sunshine Coast, are unparalleled, on a sunny day like today.
Here are some scenes from Malahat. Presenting the Skywalk and its surrounds.
A sundered old trunk, Malahat Skywalk, Vancouver IslandWood sculpture of a cougar.Malahat Inlet, from midway up the Skywalk’s spiralsView of Vancouver’s North Shore Range, from Malahat SkywalkJet skier, in Malahat Inlet, seen form top of Malahat SkywalkMalahat Skywalk’s spirals
This auspicious day thus was a banner time, well-spent in every way.
July 19, 2023, Medford, OR- As I drove through the southern Cascades and the Siskiyou Mountains, this afternoon, I was amazed at the consistency of the heat index, regardless of altitude. It remained a constant 95-102, from Sacramento to Ashland.
Yes, choices, choices…I made this bed and am actually quite happy in it-as long as I keep hydrating, sun-screening and safari-hat wearing, all will be well. So, here is how the day went, otherwise.
Sacramento- My third visit to HI Sacramento was another round of toddlers playing in a sand box-everyone getting along, but essentially doing their own thing. It was packed, yet not once did I feel like anyone was in anyone else’s way. A Korean gentleman and I were the first ones up, so we got first dibs on the men’s showers. We were also first to breakfast. I checked out around 9:40, then went over to Old Sacramento. The place is pretty much Stock Old West, but it doesn’t feel shopworn. I walked a loop, across Tower Bridge, along West Sacramento’s River Walk, then back across the Old Bridge, north of Old Town and back along dusty Main Street.
Along the way, I met a world-weary man, sitting in the park above River Walk and gave him some encouragement, along with a dollar bill-which I don’t usually do, but he looked like he had earned at least that much. I also shooed away a too-friendly squirrel and passed a flock of Canadian geese, who were diligently cleansing the park of bugs and grubs. My reward, back in Old Sacramento, was an Arnold Palmer (lemonade and iced tea) with a fresh blueberry scone, at Steamers Coffee House, so named for the steamships which connected Sacramento with San Francisco, in the latter 19th Century.
Tower Bridge, one of two spans connecting Sacramento with West Sacramento.Sacramento Riverfront, from Tower BridgeWest Sacramento River Walk, with City Hall in backgroundThe roses of Washington Park-in West Sacramento, not in PortlandView of Tower Bridge, from Riverwalk, West Sacramento“Old” Bridge over Sacramento RiverSacramento River, from Old BridgeOld Sacramento
Sacramento to Medford- Leaving Old Town at 11:30, gassed up at Costco, in Woodland, fifteen minutes north, and drove on to Dunnigan North Rest Area, where a crew was busily raking up leaves, in anticipation of the August “fire season”-which is now a year-round event. I noticed that there were huge piles of cut dead wood, on a lot not far north of there. There seems to be a will to reduce fire risk, at long last.
The highway started to get winding, after I stopped at the California Welcome Center, in Anderson, just south of Redding. I spent several minutes talking with the attendant, and a winsome fellow visitor, about the Pacific Crest Trail, of all things. The trail is nowhere near Anderson, but we each picked up a map of the route. There were a couple of spots thereafter, where the traffic backed up, as construction is in intermittent swing, between Redding and Dunsmuir. At Lake Shasta, I stopped for a look at the water level, which seems to have dropped about five inches from last Spring’s copious rain.
Lake Shasta
Gradually cresting Siskiyou Mountain and heading downhill, I spotted a sign for Penny’s Diner, in Dunsmuir, and decided to check it out. I walked into a room devoid of humans, save a gentleman who said he was a regular customer, and who was bellowing at the kitchen workers in Spanish. I started to order a meal from the QR Code, and a server came over to hand me a paper menu. The meal was rather good, the server rather blase’ about her work. I mentioned that Penny was my late wife’s name, eliciting a blank expression. Maybe every other person who comes in has a comment about knowing someone with that name.
So here I am, in smoky Medford, thankful for a comfortable room, nonetheless.
July 18, 2023, Sacramento- The day spent getting here had a potpourri of interesting stops, at least through the morning.
Ludlow– Holly B. served up a nice plate of scrambled eggs, Polish sausage, home fries and an English muffin, with a caveat: The eggs-and much chicken meat, no longer taste like much, when they come from a large factory farm. She has her own chickens at the small desert farm that she shares with her husband. They roam at will-as any chickens that taste good, and produce delicious eggs, are wont to do.
The others workers at Ludlow Cafe concurred. They, too, are farm folk. We spoke of health issues and I heard them out, about the health scares that have recently troubled their revered chef and their own family members. There is an alkaline taste in the local tap water, likely adding to those issues. Ludlow is at the eastern edge of California’s midsection-which starts at Calexico, on the southern border and zips on through, past Barstow, Bakersfield, Fresno and the ‘M’ cities- Madera, Merced and Modesto, to this bustling capital city, and on up to Redding and Chico, thence to the Oregon line.
Barstow- I decided that the triple digit heat was not going to factor, in making a drive through this often overlooked, but essential, part of the Golden State. In Barstow, where I stopped after checking out of Ludlow Motel, there is a Harvey House, which serves as the city’s Amtrak Station. A Harvey House, of which there are still a few in the West, was a hotel built by Fred Harvey, in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries. Barstow was seen as a vital link between Los Angeles and the great National Parks of central California-as well as with Death Valley, Joshua Tree and the Grand Canyon.
Today, the town soldiers on and keeps this superb building in mint condition. The two ballrooms can be rented for events, and look as if they are waiting for those who can still “trip the light fantastic”.
Railroad Museum, Barstow- at the Harvey House complex.Harvey House,BarstowEast Ballroom, Harvey House, BarstowUpstairs, there is a small NASA Museum, focusing on the Sun and planets of “our” Solar System. This montage of Neptune includes a drawing of the outermost planet, (it is actually farther from the Sun than is Pluto), by a young visitor named Paul. I like how he depicted Neptune’s North Pole. Barstow, and the western Mojave, have no shortage of creative talent.
Boron- My last photo-oriented stop of the day was the resurgent home of Twenty Mule Team Borax. I recall, in middle school, that a sometime bully chortled, about yours truly, “He is a low-grade moron, who thinks he lives on boron.” No one laughed at his quip, and I pondered how, besides the two rhyming words, he ever saw himself as clever. We became friends as older teens, though, and he went on to live an exemplary life, before dying just prior to the COVID outbreak. So, I stopped here and took shots of the two active borax mines. Here, for Sean-and in honour of Mr. Reagan, when he hosted “Death Valley Days”, are those sites, from a distance.
West side mine, BoronEast side mine, Boron
Roadside observations- There was much that was unphotographed, but registered in my mind’s camera: The lava beds outside Newberry Springs, extending almost to Daggett, were blocked off by road construction at Newberry. Joshua Trees, the standout feature of the Mojave Desert, are plentiful in some areas and scarce in others. There is a huge stand of them, just north of the City of Mojave, west of Bakersfield. The latter-mentioned city pays proper homage to two of its great musical talents: Buck Owens and Merle Haggard, with streets named for both gentlemen and centers that showcase their respective life’s work. Fresno, and the three ‘Ms’, focus a fair amount of their agricultural wealth on education. Fresno is as much worthy of mention for its health care system, as for its farming.
A horrid accident, on the opposite side of road from us, stopped south bound traffic from the north side of Turlock, clear to the south end of Modesto. Our side of Highway 99 experienced a slowing, but mostly because of the need to position emergency vehicles opposite the crash site. Two vehicles were mangled, one of them lying upside down in the middle of the road.
I got to HI Sacramento around 6 p.m. and after struggling to get the parking lot gate open, due to solar flares interfering with the radio frequency of the gate’s system, enjoyed a lovely carnitas and black bean salad at La Cosecha, three blocks south of the hostel.
No assessment of life anywhere can fail to include its midsection-and California’s Central Valley is second to none.
A Sagittarian Seeker 