September 4, 2016, Walnut Creek, AZ- This settlement is only intermittently populated, when researchers from Arizona’s public universities, and Prescott College, show up to conduct their monitoring of the high desert’s overall health, in an area far from any permanent, sizable human community. A few ranches break the landscape and, indeed, one of those ranches, just west of Juniper Mesa’s main trailhead, is sealed off from anyone not associated with its operation.
I came out here, in mid-afternoon, to explore the sky island known as Juniper Mesa. The place was, in the 1870’s and 80’s, a military encampment, an extension of Prescott’s Fort Whipple. It was, to the cavalrymen of the time, the perfect spot for a railway station, with the route commencing in Prescott, going through Del Rio (now Chino Valley) and pushing clear to the Colorado River, at Hardyville (now Bullhead City) and, from there, to San Pedro, one of the ports serving Los Angeles. The railroad was built, but it went north, to Ash Fork, then to Seligman and Kingman, connecting with a much larger, transcontinental track, the Santa Fe.
So, Juniper Mesa has reverted to a lonesomeness. I was the only person on the trail today. Fortunately, I have come to expect that, even in areas closer to Prescott. The large pack, with an ample water supply, a first aid kit, two knives, a detailed topographic map and a sturdy flashlight, along with one of my trusty walking sticks, has been an integral part of my communes with nature. What has occasionally caused chuckles, from the smug hipsters doing lakeside botanical and entomological research in Prescott’s city parks, is, to me, a must on any hike lasting more than an hour. Besides, it wasn’t too long ago, that one of those individuals had to be rescued from Watson Lake Park, a ten-minute walk from a North Prescott business district, because she was dehydrated and delirious.
I saw fairly fresh horse-hoof prints, along the way and smelled fresh bobcat urine, trail side, closer to evening, but it was the insects and I who had the place to ourselves, from all outward seeming. Juniper Mesa could be for lovers, but so far, it is for the soloists.
I used three trails, in the course of my loop hike: Oaks and Willows; Juniper Mesa (rim) and the steep Bull Spring Trail. Oaks and Willows meets Walnut Creek Road (County Road 125), proceeds through the lush George Wood Canyon to the top of Juniper Mesa, then branches off to the northeast.
Here are some scenes of Oaks and Willows.
Broad trail, along the Oaks and Willows, Juniper MesaThick scrub, George Wood Canyon, Juniper Mesa WildernessView across George Wood CanyonSign, gnawed by black bears, over several yearsHeart of George Wood Canyon, Juniper Mesa Wilderness
Once atop the mesa, I basically followed Juniper Mesa Rim Trail, though finding it rather sparse, in several places. Horse trails, though, are easy to identify by their indentation into the ground.
Alligator Juniper, top of Juniper Mesa. I almost see a parrot’s face, in the branch stump.Bear image, small sandstone, Juniper Mesa Rim Trail
Bears are reported to be common here, but I saw no sign of them- not even old scat. They are probably further north, or in areas more sheltered from the lightning that hits Juniper Mesa frequently, during the monsoon season, that is in hiatus for several days.
Lightning-struck tree, Juniper Mesa Rim TrailLightning-struck piece of limestone, and heart rock, Juniper Mesa Rim Trail
The rock above was given a fierce countenance, by a recent lightning strike.
Cairn, Juniper Mesa Rim Trail
Large cairns mark Juniper Mesa Rim Trail, at several points, especially after Oaks and Willows Trail branches off to the north. A half-mile further east, I bid farewell to the benign route along the rim, and began the descent, on steep Bull Springs Trail.
View of Walnut Creek settlement and the Santa Maria Range, from Bull Spring TrailHazy view of Walnut Creek settlement, from Bull Spring TrailLimestone cliff, east end of Juniper Mesa
The cliffs seen above, and in the next photo, were redoubts for Yavapai and Hualapai warriors, who resisted the U.S. Cavalry in the 1870’s.
Limestone cliffs, east end of Juniper Mesa
After climbing down from the mesa top, I followed Bull Spring Trail, into the darkness. Although it was along this trail, that I smelled the bobcat’s markings, the animal itself stayed out of sight, and only small insects, attracted by the flashlight’s beam, showed me any interest. It took careful attention for me to find the last trail sign, returning to the nub of Oaks and Willows Trail that led me to the car, but I enjoyed a very deep sleep tonight- far from Juniper Mesa.
This is one of several places, in the middle of Arizona’s “nowhere”, that have been on my hiker’s list, in the wake of having completed Prescott Circle. Stay tuned for others.
September 3, 2016, Prescott- How does one go about a fine day, with a cash shortage until Wednesday? Well, I made sure there was plenty of food in the house, with a brief visit to the wonderful Prescott Farmers’ Market. A long-standing pile of recycling was divvied-up, among its various recipients. A large pile of laundry found cleanliness. I also paid off overdue bills from summer, the last period I will ever be without a steady flow of cash. Of course, there will be a short few days of adjustment, as different ones present their charges, between now and the 7th. That means one more windfall for the bank, but no matter- it’ll be the last such one. I will tell them not to spend it all in one place. After the 7th of September, all’s well again.
My word is the most important thing. I will go to the greatest of lengths to keep a promise. That has meant other forms of deprivation, (social and with regard to time). It all pays off in the end, when others keep their word to me. I have, in any case, resolved to never again repeat the reneging on a promise, such as we had to execute in March, 2010. Six months from this coming Saturday, my atonement from that broken promise will be complete.
Tonight found me at Planet Fitness, with a nearly empty exercise area. It’s helping greatly; the belly that was getting ample over the summer is again shrinking steadily. Of course, my return to regular hiking will also keep things in check, as will a renewed sense of portion control and no longer giving in to others pushing desserts on me, so that they themselves don’t feel guilty about indulging. We could all do better, in that regard.
Tomorrow, I will enjoy two gatherings with friends, but then will come a climb up Juniper Mesa, and my first night hike in a couple of years.
August 30-31, 2016, Prescott- Tomorrow, my Facebook page will have “Blue Lives Matter”, in the profile pic. This does NOT mean that I have suddenly discarded my conviction that Black Lives Matter, Vivas Latinas Importan, or that the world needs Native Americans.
My life has always mattered- to me, to my family, to my core group of friends from adolescence and to countless others met along the way, ever since. I can’t remember ever really feeling unloved, even in fleeting moments of self-pity. Worshiping Boous Hoous wouldn’t have gotten me very far, anyway. I also can’t remember a time when I was truly destitute, in terms of quality human friendships.
Too many, however, can’t say the same. Too many parents and spouses place conditions on their love. Too many children are taught that it is harshness and hardness which bring about success in life. Too many in positions of authority, from teachers to police officers, are taught that stridency is the way to bring about obedience, whilst humility is for wimps. Too many, in positions of trust, are deluded by programs and scripts that don’t serve anyone other than the executives of the corporations which dream up these programs and scripts. Too many vacillate between “Less (staff) is more” and “More (clientele per worker) is optimal.” Thus Child Protection Agencies, schools and counseling services are operating with insanely unwieldy worker/client ratios. Too many civil servants and elected officials are encouraged to place themselves above the needs of the people whom they represent.
The truth is, each of us matters- as much as the next. It has always been so, in the eyes of the Creator. Black lives matter, too. Vivas Latinas se importan, tambien. White lives have never been seen as not mattering. Native American lives deserve to be valued, a lot more than they seem to be, even today. Asians, Pacific Islanders, Australian Aboriginals, “Mixed Races” of all kinds matter, also.
One does NOT matter, to the exclusion of others. The misguided young man who told a Black girl in Buckeye, Arizona, two days ago, that her life and those of her fellows in BLM do not matter, is living in a deluded construct of the past, which can never be successfully revived.
The truth, inconvenient only to those whose own self-loathing is couched in racism, is that the world is showing us its true nature: There is but one human race, and we all need to get along. There is no going back, anymore than there is a successful outcome to driving in reverse on a freeway.
I support Blue Lives Matter, because too many decent, hard-working peace officers die on the job. I support Black Lives Matter because too many decent people of colour are dying young, often at the hands of those who look like them.
August 28, 2016, Prescott- I attended a couple of spiritual gatherings, this weekend. Last night, several faith leaders and community activists gathered at Scottsdale Baha’i Center. The purpose was a delayed Race Unity Day. The weather has cooled, just a tad, from June’s more extreme temperatures, thus making a late August version of “Juneteenth” more palatable to many.
The array of speakers was far more concerned with solving the ongoing problem of race relations, than in any semblance of showmanship or exclusive claim to truth. The gathering of about 100 people were able to engage in well-balanced discourse, without resorting to recrimination.
This evening, I joined a much smaller group, at an observance of Janmashtami,(Krishna’s Birthday), one of the key Hindu religious observances. It had been 32 years since I last attended any kind of Hindu gathering. Prescott’s small community is made up of white Americans- an anomaly, with the South Asian community here seeming to be mainly Christian and Muslim. They are no less fervent, though, than the multitudes of India and Nepal.
The swami, who hails from Sedona, is, like me, a child of the 1960’s. His inspiration to become Hindu came from the Beatles and others who flocked to the feet of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. I must say, he has done a fair amount of homework on the body of Hindu Scripture. Anyone who can cite the data of the created Universe that is listed in such detail ,as it is in the Bhagavad Gita, is worthy of profound respect.
There is, though, a common thread woven through all the religious traditions, from time immemorial. Each does build on those before it, as Man becomes more conscious of, and in tune with, his unique station on this Earthly plane. Truth, to me, did not stop with Hinduism, Christianity or Islam. It has not stopped with the Baha’i Faith. There will be other Spiritual Teachers, Avatars, Buddhas or whichever name one sees fit to apply to a Divine Messenger, and They will come when mankind needs them.
Truth, though, remains One- and none can claim a corner on its entirety. I was gratified to see that the swami and his community has sensed this, and dispelled some misgivings I was about to have, about their faith and its possible trend towards fundamentalism. I will be able to maintain the same dialogue with the Hindu community that I am still working to establish with devout Christians.
August 27, 2016, Prescott- Last Sunday, I spent some time with a World War II veteran, retired from the U.S.Army, as a colonel, who commanded a battalion on Utah Beach, during the D-Day invasion, in 1944. He was fading, when I saw him, so I knew it was a matter of time, before his departure from our midst.
That passing came this evening, and John A. Mortimer, “only 96”, found himself looking down upon many friends who will miss his presence. His widow, a native of Britain, called him her “Laddie”. Certainly, during his years of service to his country, including time in the Battle of the Bulge, when he pushed his unit into Germany, with General Patton’s blessing, he moved with the swagger of youth- and made it count for something.
John was still on active duty during the Korean War, but stayed stateside, to monitor the testing of atomic weapons. It was a decent turn of events, that he did not suffer any ill effects from those unfortunate days.
He served, at our American Legion Post, as a member of the Honour Guard, and was its flag presenter at funerals and memorial services, for several years. John was also the first person one saw, on Sunday mornings, when breakfast was being served, as he was the cashier. All that ended, about 1 1/2 years ago, when he became confined to the VA Hospital here in town, and to a wheelchair.
His wit, and keenness for Turner Classic Movies, remained, though, until a couple of weeks ago, when the Good Lord let him know that it was time to start packing up for the journey homeward. That journey became complete, around 9:30 this evening.
We, his comrades at the Post, will honour John on Labour Day- looking back on his extraordinary life, and taking a cup o’kindness, for his service, and all those long ago days.
on a series of interviews with those who saw her there,
in that place of desolation, where she was the only source of love.
She loves her people, still.
I wear a message T-shirt,
honouring the fallen men of that day,
three years and two months ago.
They look out upon us,
from a crew photo taken after the Doce Fire,
two weeks before the Death Storm.
They love their families, still.
I look at the woman who loved me,
more than anyone.
She gazes out, with confidence,
from a photo of her teen life.
She gave us the best years of her life.
She loves me still.
I look upon my little ones,
imperfect, works in progress,
sometimes exhausting, at times frightful.
There are those times, though,
when they finish work, when they listen,
when they just know
that I love them still.
(To obviate the drumbeat of “Where’s The Book of Poetry?”, know that I will start compiling what I’ve written here and organizing it into a volume, during the next seven days. That volume of verse will hopefully be ready for self-publication by January, 2017.)
