June 3, 2023,, Bellemont– Stories always abound, at gatherings such as this. One friend told of having recently visited a border town in Mexico, going to a restaurant further into town and finding his customary favourite dish did not quite taste the same. When he inquired, he was told that the dish was prepared across the border and trucked over.
The meals here at camp are made fresh, onsite. The chef, who I have known for forty-three years, has fed large groups, for about that long. Her meals have remained of good quality and substance-and are always well=planned ahead of time. Her eldest son, also a trained chef, was the grillmaster at lunch and turned out a fine burger feast-including vegan fare.
My role here is mainly fix-its and keeping the campers safe. The staff works well as a team and has kept my role fairly minimal. In the course of today, though, a water leak was resolved, an hour or two was spent helping in the kitchen and a visit to Parks General Store, five miles to the west, yielded another propane tank, for our gas-powered grill.
In the evening, one of the women on staff built a large bonfire, the kids enjoyed s’mores and we all sang devotional songs and prayers. I used my “Bear” drum for the first time since last September’s ill-fated event in Sedona. There was quite a difference in tone, this evening.
Things are working out well so far, and the self-confidence level is holding steady.
June 2, 2023, Bellemont- When I got here, three miles from the highway, but well within earshot of freight trains and Amtrak, there was the matter of navigating safely in the Dark Sky territory that is our area Baha’i’s prime campsite.
It’s come a long way, over the forty years or so that I have been visiting and serving. There were times when I slept with nothing between me and the ground but the pad underneath my sleeping bag. There were other times when we pitched a tent and made room for three work nicely. This evening, I was able to open a travel trailer other than the one I am using now. Sleep is sleep, and the place was comfortable enough.
This morning, I was up with the Sun and transferred all my items over to this little retired RV. It did not take long for others to show up, making the various tasks that I faced, prior to the campers’ arrival, a whole lot more expeditiously done. I learned things like measuring water in a cistern and, to a lesser degree of comprehension, how to hook up a propane-powered generator. This one will take several days’ practice, but I will get there.
The campers arrived around 6 p.m., and after orientation, a late dinner and meeting a few individual requests for supplies, all settled in nicely. It will be a fast-moving four days, and the first of four planned camps will have taught me the wealth of what I need to know about running a successful youth camp.
April 28, 2023- The images have faded, over the last eight hundred or so years, but their messages still find their way into the psyches of the attentive and intuitive. A ring of seven petroglyphs summons the spiritual energy of those who drew them, and of their descendants who have also gone on.
Hikindg Buddy, Akuura, and I sat atop Solstice Mesa, from which one may see all of the area’s mountains, hills and buttes. Having long wanted to find a space where I might honour the solstices and equinoxes, and of finding at least one kindred soul to join, who was not lost in judgment of me-as people in Sedona and Paulden have become, the Universe arranged both. Here are a few scenes of Prescott Lakes, where the mesa is located.
Panorama Trailhead, Vista ParkVolcanic outcropping, Vista HillPetroglyph Point, Solstice MesaMessage from our ancestors.Set of ancient messagesWheel in motionAngel, or birdman?
We sat and talked for quite a bit longer, at this spot. It was just a much more assuring vibe-reminiscent of Airport Mesa, in Sedona, but without the crowds and the hubris of some of the locals. I guess the most important element is that Solstice Mesa is the long-sought center, in Prescott’s wheel- with Mingus Mountain (east), Wolverton Mountain (south), Thumb Butte (west) and Granite Mountain (north) as its spokes.
March 21, 2023- It was a well-attended party, rich in repast and with lively dancing, after the meal. Forty=three folks, from three to seveny-eight, rang in the Baha’i New Year, properly called Naw-Ruz, and began the 180th year since al-Bab declared His Mission (1844). Anyone delighting in Persian cuisine would have been in glory and there was plenty of salad varieties to go around as well. Jasmine rice, some with beef and some with vegetables, was abundant. Chicken thighs, baked in sour orange juice, were also a highlight. Then, several of us danced, led by an elegant couple and a seasoned ballroom veteran. The kids, though, were the best-just by virtue of their authenticity.
About an hour after I got back to Home Base, a call came from the Red Cross and my services were secured for at least tonight. Once again, the Verde River, and some of its tributaries, were overflowing. The hour’s drive through pouring rain wasn’t all that hard, but it took longer than I had wanted and if there is one thing that still gets me rankled, it is not being on time to relieve the previous crew. I made it in with three minutes to spare, got the lowdown from the initially stone-faced crew and managed to send them off on good terms.
The rain has stopped, as of 10 p.m., but for the people staying with us this evening, the level of water is jarring and our simple task is to make them feel re-assured and safe. That is something I can manage, even in a tired state. May tomorrow bring the sunshine and a receding water level.
The arguments seemed incessant, and there were people talking over each other. I can not follow that path. When a person speaks, about own health, at least the most reasonable of their ideas merit inclusion.
So today, a young man’s insistence on personal space was granted, and he went on to work hard. A gentleman who served his country well, asked for assistance in a health matter, that was less taxing on him, than what had been recommended to me by others. We did things his way, and all is better than it was.
September 24, 2022- The little girl, no more than two, came up to me while I was sitting in my “director’s chair”, at the large music festival. She tried to climb on my lap, which, as I knew neither her nor her mother, I gently declined. Her mother came over and led her back to the spot where she was preparing the child’s stroller. With mother so occupied, the girl came right back, and tried again. This time, both mother and I explained that this was not something she should be doing. There was no yelling or finger-wagging, just gentle dissuasion. Conversely, while the mother said I should have ignored her daughter, that, too, is something one doesn’t do to a person who is experiencing so much, for the first time in her life. I feel that I have a duty before the Creator to lovingly assist other people, especially children, to the best of my ability.
Earlier today, a small group of us honoured a revered community leader and beekeeper, on the first anniversary of his passing. There was a man who embodied loving assistance to all he met. Even the bank manager, who oversaw his mortgage, was given instructions on what to do with his house-upon the occasion of said passage. Hopefully, those instructions were followed and the home sold to the certain type of family who would honour its feng shui. The bees themselves were carefully dispersed to various other apiaries, prior to GK’s passing.
I went from the memorial service to VortiFest, in Sedona, particularly to meet up with a friend I had not seen in 2 1/2 years and to possibly see other friends from the Synergy/Apotheca complex. The centerpiece, for me, of the music festival, was an appearance by Camille Sledge, the scion of Sister Sledge, and her band, Phoenix Afrobeat Orchestra. Camille, as it turned out, was off, touring with her mother and aunts, so PAO’s superbly talented instrumentalists managed a delightful and rousing 45 minutes of non-vocal ear candy, and got many of us, up and jumping around, much as they and Camille did, when I first heard them, four years ago.
That set was what brought about a brief encounter with a Sedona friend, that puzzles me, even as I write this. She greeted me, danced around for a bit, then spent the rest of the set alternately acting like she was scared to death of me and that I no longer existed. I will refrain from trying to explain that, other than I am aware of certain threats to her safety, from someone other than myself. He could have been around and have made his presence known to her. For a good part of the rest of the Festival, she was escorted by other men, including one of the security detail members, so who knows? For my part, I would not harm a hair of anyone’s head, much less a dearly loved friend of three years.
My newly re-connected friend served as a reality check on the whole matter, cautioning against personalizing the incident, in any way, shape or form. I followed her advice, knowing that forming a narrative, based on incomplete information, is worse than a fool’s errand. So, I headed homeward, ahead of the mass exodus that was sure to happen after the last set of the festival. Even having parked in a smaller lot, across the highway, I would have been stuck in the scrum of traffic, had I stayed to hear the last, excellent band.
Besides Afrobeat, there were two other fabulous bands that I did encounter: One was the festival founder’s group, simply named “Decker”. The other was a group called “G-Love”, which offered several peace-themed tunes, that were nonetheless rousing, and which had what seemed to be 2/3 of the audience standing and bouncing, in front of the stage. I chose to sit for most of that set, getting up mainly to take video of three friends who were wearing lighted costumes and were engaged in performance art. There was a third band, which performed well, but their vibe was a bit on the angry side. Turns out, they had a shortened set, due to some misunderstanding with the festival organizers. The final band, Arrested Development, a hip-hop group, also performed well, though I heard their offerings only as I walked back towards my vehicle.
So, that was Vorti-Fest, and my Saturday. This is also my 3000th post, on this platform. Goodness and ill abound in this life, and I do not hesitate to bring you both, in the right measure. My feelings right now are well-covered, if obliquely so, by Paul Simon’s “America”.
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, TaosWorld 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 HotelFireplace, lobby of Taos La Fonda HotelAlley, 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.
September 1, 2022, Walsenburg, CO- The message outside the Bistro was endearing: “In the quilt of life, friends are the sticks that hold the quilt together.” The Farm Bistro, in downtown Cortez, is a place that I have patronized each time, save one, that I have been in Colorado’s southwestern commercial hub, since 2015. What matters to me, about a business establishment, even more than its products, is the reception I get when I enter and how I am treated while there. The Farm Bistro excels in that regard. Heck, the manager even gave me a peanut butter cookie for having been patient while the staff was serving a tour group. As long as we have eyes, ears and hearts, it pays to use them in a way that reassures others that their efforts matter.
I left Kayenta, an hour or so southwest of Cortez, after a delightful breakfast, courtesy of Hampton Inn. Across the highway from the hotel, the full geologic variety of Kayenta is in view. There were numerous families, of different compositions and sizes, in the wing where I stayed, but all were quiet and considerate. The Navajo Nation is a place where face masks are still required in public, so there I was with an N-95. At least we don’t have to pull them up and down, with every bite or sip.
Black Mesa, Kayenta, AZ
Before going to The Farm, I noticed a man sitting on the corner of a gas station lot. He had a sign that read: “It’s my birthday. Any little bit helps, and God bless.” This was a new one, and even though I normally don’t hand money to sign-bearers, the notion resonated that this was a real birthday of a human being, and he had one other companion, who was bringing him a ball cap, food and water. I gave him a bill and was thanked profusely. Then, I went and enjoyed a Yak Burger and salad at The Farm Bistro.
Going past Durango and Pagosa Springs, I came to Treasure Falls, a small preserve at the foot of Wolf Creek Pass’s formidable ascent. I had stopped briefly at the bottom viewpoint of this small cascade, a few times. Today, I hiked up to the Falls topmost viewpoint, where on a good day, one can feel the spray. Colorado has not had as much rain as Arizona and Nevada, this monsoon, so the Falls were not as potent as they have been in past years.
Nonetheless, the hike energized me, in the warm mid-afternoon, far more than an iced coffee would have.
Treasure Falls, near Pagosa Springs, ColoradoTreasure Falls
I was a bit tired here, but the rest of the hike was energizing-and unlike some other walks I’ve taken, I stayed on the established path. A group of other men did not-and advised against following their route.
“Primitive” trail from Treasure Falls to parking lot
This poor little one was struggling in the afternoon heat.
Spicebush Butterfly, near Treasure Falls parking lot
Once back on the road, it was an easy drive up and over Wolf Creek Pass. I spotted an overturned semi-trailer, on the opposite side of the road, with a large sign that said “KEEP OUT!”. My guess is that it has been laying there for some days now. I drove on, through South Fork, Del Norte, Monte Vista and Alamosa, before dinner time came-and I stopped at Lu’s Main Street Cafe, Blanca. Milynn served up a sharp and well-prepared Stuffed Sopapilla. It is a fabulous place to dine, and a worthy replacement for Del’s Diner, in nearby Fort Garland, which closed during the pandemic and now sits, looking forlorn and sad, at the east end of town. My only caveat about Lu’s is that the waitresses are high school students and closing time, on a school night, is around 6:30. They at least take their schedule as seriously as they do their jobs. Milynn and her co-worker were pleasant, but made it clear that they needed to get done soon. Nonetheless, when I come this way again, I will stop at Lu’s, hopefully earlier than I did this evening.
I got into Walsenburg, about an hour later, settling in to Anchor Motel. Other than a brief, but loud, dispute between two apparently drunken men, the place has been quiet. Walsenburg is a businesslike, but friendly, town.
July 25, 2022- The day has started off proactively. I was able to get an estimate on repairs to the Saturn, and this now goes to the insurance company representing the person who caused the crash on July 7. I sense that the relatively small amount of damage should not be difficult for that company to
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.
Sparta, TN from U.S. 70
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.
Tennessee State Capitol building, Nashville
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.
Nashville’s Parthenon, seen from the westLengthwise view of the Parthenon’s outer walkwayStatue of Greek goddess Athena, Parthenon of NashvilleInformation about statue of Athena Parthenos
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.
Lake Watauga, Centennial Park, NashvilleLake Watauga, west shoreCentral Garden, Centennial Park
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.
View from a northern bridge, Natchez Trace ParkwayDuck River Bluff, Natchez Trace ParkwayTrail to Jackson Falls, Natchez Trace Parkway
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.
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A Sagittarian Seeker 