June 28, 2015, Big Pine, CA- I got my Nissan back in shape again, with a morning visit to Jiffy Lube. Friends Wendy & Steve hosted a brunch, which was a group effort, and thoroughly enjoyed by all. Then, I bid farewell to my Reno family.
Little did we know that, a scant thirty miles away, above Gardnerville, three vehicles, including an RV, had collided. One of those involved was killed. I was in the southbound five-mile line of cars. Two hours later, I was in Topaz Lake. While in the intermittently-moving line, I took these shots of the area.
The scene at Topaz Lake was rather quiet, away from the border town casino anyway.
Off to the west, the Sierra Nevada showed just a smidgen of snow, where there are normally several feet, even in late June.
The first town I entered in California was Bridgeport, already set for Independence Day.
I had a pleasant break and supper, at the lively Rhino’s Grill. “Rhino” is the owner, not an item on the bill of fare. Seeing so many families and couples enjoying the nation’s back roads does my heart good, as does being served by congenial folks, of all ages.
The last time I visited Mono Lake was in 1980. It is about 1/3 smaller now.
This saline lake is still a gem, but an endangered one.
As I drove towards Big Pine, and my stop for the night, I caught a glimpse of a superb California sunset.
Then, as is its wont, the sky went to bed.
After all that waiting, and switchback-negotiating, the Nissan was just fine. So was I, settled in at Bristlecone Motel, run by one of the town’s two mechanics.
June 11, 2015, Prescott- I went to see the film, “Jurassic World”, this evening. Having seen the first three films in that franchise, it was a matter of curiosity, as to what possibly could be added to them. There are two overriding themes in this episode: Genetic Engineering and the Arms Race.
The artificially created being, in this case, is, of course, a dinosaur- and the biggest, most ferocious ever, at that. With regard to the Arms Race, a mercenary comes to Jurassic World, with an eye towards using velociraptors as the Ultimate Weapon. The rest of what happens is for anyone who hasn’t seen it, to find out.
My take on any effort at bringing animals back from extinction is that they would be hard put to find a niche in a human-centered, progress-oriented world, such as ours. The ever-shrinking animal population of the world is being expected by many, as the President of Zimbabwe once put it, “to pay their rent.” This, of course, means the ivory, internal organs and exotic pet trade are going to be with us for some time to come, though the thing none of the purveyors of those odious practices have considered much is: These are not renewable resources, at least not at the rate they are being depleted.
I have heard of enterprising Chinese, and others, starting game farms, with a view towards replenishing herds and prides. The idea in many of these is strictly breeding and increasing animal populations, much as has been done with American bison in the U.S. and Canada, in the 1960’s and since. There are others, of course, who are mercenary and keep animals around, strictly for hunting. They are no better than poachers, who are the Slash and Burn farmers of animal husbandry, with no thought whatsoever of the future.
The television series, “Zoo”, explores the notion: What if mammals, collectively, began taking the planet back? It’s highly unlikely, to say the least, but it begs asking. Do we really need to cleanse the planet of those closest to us in intelligence and spirit?
June 27, 2015, Reno- I had breakfast at Kopper Kettle, then left Susanville, headed for my mid-journey anchor. In Reno, I would do things like see how my car was holding up, assess the state of my clean clothing supply and share my Alaska, British Columbia and Pacific Northwest stories with people who would actually listen for more than three minutes.
Truth told, I have people I consider family (both spiritual and biological) in many parts of the world: Massachusetts, Philadelphia, New Jersey, Atlanta, northwest Florida, Alabama, various parts of Texas, eastern Kentucky, southern Indiana, northern Illinois, northwest Oklahoma, Colorado, New Mexico, all over Arizona, southern California, western Oregon, southeast Alaska, France, Luxembourg, Luzon, South Korea, somewhere in Canada, and Reno.
That this could keep me in perpetual motion is plausible; that the list will grow, is probable, but I digress. I got in to the parking lot of the apartment complex, where the matriarch of my Reno family lives. I checked the oil dip stick on my Nissan, after giving it a two-hour rest: Nothing. NOTHING?? How long, with no oil light flashing on the dash? The consensus was: The temperature gauge was normal, no smoke was coming out of the tailpipe and no clanging, shaking and banging were being vocalized by the engine, so lucky Nissan, lucky me. Jiffy Lube, in Reno, opens at 9 A.M. on Sunday, so the rest of today could be, and was, spent doing things like sipping artisan iced tea at the Starbucks that lives in the House that Barnes & Noble built, whilst listening to my spiritual nephew speculate as to the possible virtues of a Hillary Presidency, and enjoy a 3:30 PM dinner, at Black Bear Diner. The day was well-capped by three of us going to see “Inside/Out” at a nearby multiplex. Given the heat, anything inside was best for my Reno family. I am almost impervious to heat; but most are not.
“Inside/Out” is, essentially, the depiction of a young child’s emotions, as she struggles with a move that was generated by her father’s quest for the Golden Egg. It is a fascinating take on the topic, and ought to be seen by every parent- and prospective parent. Too often, a child is expected to take one for the team. I know we moved far too often for my long-suffering son. He is a treasure, nonetheless, and handles life’s vicissitudes quite well, I’d say.
After the film, I was gratified to see that it was still light out, yet cooling off enough to briefly enjoy some fresh air. Then, another breath of fresh air showed up: Spiritual grand-niece.
There is no end to the joy this little one brings into a room, and into a heart.
July 10, 2015, Prescott- Today, we Baha’is observed the 165th anniversary of the Martyrdom of al-Bab. On July 10, 1850, the Persian government, at the behest of powerful clerics, conducted the execution of Siyyid Ali-Muhammad, given the title al-Bab “The Gate”, in Arabic.
Briefly, He was Forerunner to Baha’u’llah, the Founder of our Faith. Al-Bab challenged the orthodoxy of Islam, noting how far it had strayed from the Teachings of Muhammad. He called for the purification of the human heart, as an essential prerequisite to the dawning of an Age, in which the human race would become unified, and would enjoy the Kingdom of God on Earth, as promised by Jesus the Christ.
This won Him the allegiance of thousands of Persians and Arabs, and the admiring notice of many Europeans. It also won Him the enmity of those whose vested interests were threatened by such a call to change.
The execution did not proceed without a hitch. Al-Bab warned his captors that He would not depart this life until He had completed certain matters, with his secretary. They took Him out to the killing plaza, anyway, and He was joined by a young man, who insisted he be allowed to die, alongside al-Bab. The firing squad commander, who was Christian, pleaded with al-Bab that he not be forced to complete the execution.
Al-Bab responded “Follow your instructions, and if your intention be sincere, the Almighty is surely able to relieve you from your perplexity.” Thus did it transpire, that the volleys were fired, and when the smoke had cleared, al-Bab and his devotee were found, not dead on the ground, but alive, and with al-Bab in a room with His secretary, completing His business!
Once this was finished, al-Bab and the young follower submitted to again being escorted to the execution zone. This time, a Muslim commander ordered his regiment to carry out the volley. The bodies of the al-Bab and His devotee were fused together, with only their heads untouched by the bullets.
With the complicity of the prison yard’s guards, some other followers of al-Bab spirited the remains out of the area. These were carried, from place to place, in secrecy, for 59 years, until ‘Abdu’l-Baha, the eldest son of Baha’u’llah, placed them in a vault, in a crypt on the slopes of Mount Carmel, near Haifa, in what is now Israel, in 1909. The remains so rest, today, in the magnificent structure, known as the Shrine of Al-Bab, or “The Bab”, as He is called, in English.
I view this series of events as further evidence of the re-appearance of Divine Light in the world, just as it appeared at the time of Christ, before that, in the times of Moses, Krishna and Buddha, and after that, in the days when Muhmmad walked the Earth. That mankind chose half-measures, in embracing the Teachings of these Sacred Beings, does not take away from the efficacy of those Truths. God is nothing if not patient, though. He certainly has been so with me, and is no less so with the human race as whole.
June 26, 2015, Lakeview, OR- This day started in the sere brownness of Ontario, in the heart of the Great Basin, above the Snake River. It was not too hot, as I made my way over to Gandolfi’s New York-style Deli, the closest thing in the Riverside area of Ontario, to a coffee shop. The fare was satisfying, though the atmosphere was more motel breakfast room than comfy cafe.
This is an irrigated agricultural area, and the landscape thus shows a striking contrast of colours.
The small village of Vale, southwest of Ontario, is the seat of Malheur County, of which Ontario is the commercial hub. Vale has a small historical museum, which was not open when I passed through, but was worth a look at the exterior. Eastern Oregon still has an Old West ambiance, in many places.
The Malheur River waters the area, gathering its tributaries, west of Vale, then heading towards the Snake River, south of Ontario.
After going through a barren section, once past the Malheur, there is a scrub pine forest that leads the way south, towards Burns. This area reminded me a lot of central Arizona, just as the Snake River near Ontario resembles the Colorado, in western Arizona.
Burns, named for the great Scottish poet, Robert Burns, is a quiet, but charming little town, about two hours east of Bend. I was warmly welcomed at Broadway Deli, a bustling local hangout with freshly-made soups and sandwiches. The ranchers also say it has great breakfasts. All I know is, I could have stayed all day.
Once south of Burns, and its smaller sister city, Hines, the desert takes over again. Ninety minutes later, I was in awe of the sere beauty of shrinking Lake Abert. This alkaline lake is inhabited mostly by brine shrimp.
There are numerous iron-oxide infused basalt boulders on its eastern shore, which the Oregon Outback Highway passes.
Just as Oregon and California meet, the Warner Mountains look over Lakeview. As I was coming into town, I spotted an Arabian horse, at the roadside fence, nervously shuffling on his back right haunch. Fearing he might be stuck, I went back to the driveway, where the owner went with me over to the pasture, and determined it was the beast’s arthritis acting up. He was grateful for my concern, and hopefully tended to the poor creature.
A section of California took me through the rest of the afternoon. Alturas is a small gateway community, with an Ag-Inspection Station, a dusty main street and Hotel Niles, an early 20th Century railroad stop.
I continued on, getting gas at the village of Standish and settling in for the night in Susanville, so named for the nearby Susan River. Both are named for Susan Roop, the daughter of an early settler. “Susan” was fairly lively when I first got there, as there was a country music festival at Lassen County Fairgrounds. It wrapped up at 9 P.M., though, and most of the people there were my age or older. It had been a lengthy drive today, and the car needed a good rest, so before checking out the tail-end of the hoedown, I had some fish fry at Kopper Kettle and took a room at nearby Frontier Inn. Tomorrow, I will head over to Reno, for a day or so, and catch up with the Nevada Family.
June 25, 2015, Lewiston, ID- This eastern half of the Lewis and Clark twin cities announces itself from a place at the foot of winding path, coming down a steep desert hillside.
Like so many Inland Northwest towns, Lewiston presents a charming and arts-oriented downtown. Named for Meriwether Lewis, it has, as a centerpiece, Lewis and Clark State College’s Center for Arts and History
Revolving art exhibits take center stage, on the first floor. On the day I visited, the Sandpoint-based artist, Kelly Price, offered an astonishing array of Sacred Circles, making a very strong case for the interconnectedness of all things in the Universe and the security which may be found within an orb. Ms. Price’s exhibit clearly shows the universality of the notion that the circle, symbol of completion, is universally held sacred. (As is my practice, no photos were taken of her exhibit, nor of the presentation of Scott Kirby.)
Scott Kirby, a pianist based in Boulder, CO, transitioned into painting scenes of the Great Plains, after an afternoon of drawing and painting with his daughter. The flow of his art work certainly evoked a vibrant musical background.
On the second floor of the Center, lies a tribute to suffering and perseverance: Beuk Aie (“Buckeye”) Temple.
The Temple was built by immigrants from Guangdong, China, who practiced a particular blend of animism and Buddhism, which called for this sort of temple to be used in worship. It was housed in two consecutive structures, until 1959, when the second structure fell into disuse. The sacred altar and relics were preserved by Mr. Ted Loy, a Lewiston businessman, until his death in 1981. They were then curated by his family and transferred to Lewis and Clark Community College, for safekeeping.
The Beuk Aie Temple also serves as a memorial to the 34 victims of one of the many shameful incidents of persecution aimed at Chinese residents in the Pacific Northwest: The Deep Creek Massacre. In May, 1887, the victims, all miners from Guangdong, were slaughtered by White miners in Wallowa County, OR, who then took the gold that the Chinese men had mined. While the identities of those involved were determined by investigators from Lewiston, the State of Oregon, which had jurisdiction in the case, found no one guilty. There is a memorial plaque on the Oregon side of Hells Canyon, but there the matter has rested.
In fairness, the people of the Pacific Northwest have made enormous strides in White-Asian relations, and the major source of friction in the Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries was mainly economic. Then again, isn’t it always? Fighting over crumbs seems to be our wont, as a species.
My thoughts turned to the indigenous residents of this area: The Nez Perce Nation, symbolized by their leader, Chief Joseph (“I will fight no more, forever”) and the Shoshone, symbolized by Sacagawea, the woman who guided Lewis and Clark through this then rough wilderness.
The confluence of the Snake and Clearwater Rivers has been a key resting and gathering place for humanity, for thousands of years. Now, a bridge connects Lewiston with Clarkston, WA, which I did not visit this time, as a walk along the Idaho side’s Riverwalk captivated me for nearly an hour, before it seemed time to head down to Lapwai, Nez Perce Nation and further south.
The people of this area feel a great connection to the Pacific, which both feeds, and receives from,these great rivers.
The Lewis and Clark Pavilion, at the northwest corner of the Riverwalk, honours the explorers and Sacagawea. A sculpture with her likeness graces the entrance to the small kiosk.
I will come back through here, and spend more time in both Lewiston and Clarkston, as well as connecting with a Baha’i friend who I did not realize lives in Lewiston.
After having dinner at Donald’s Restaurant, in Lapwai, it was time to move through the salubrious mountains and canyons of western Idaho. Hell’s Canyon would have made for some fine photos, but the traffic was horrible, so I went further, to Salmon River Canyon.
This trestle is one of seven built between Lewiston and Grangeville, to help move gold and other goods.
The area is among the most rugged parts of Idaho, which is saying quite a lot.
The rest of the day’s drive was through more sanguine territory, from Grangeville to Payette, then east to Ontario, OR, and a rest at the Oregon Trail Motel. The Beaver State’s Big East awaited.
June 25, 2015, Pullman- It’s hard to not crisscross between Idaho and Washington, when in this part of the Palouse. Pullman, a scant eight miles from the University of Idaho, at Moscow, has the equally estimable Washington State University. I parked in a two-hour spot, downtown, and used these steps to visit the University.
The school was begun about the time that Washington became a state, in 1889. The Palouse was already drawing farmers from the Great Plains, and the small Midwestern colleges were models for the initial Normal School.
With many of the settlers being of Germanic or Scandinavian ancestry, the turreted structures found in universities in northern Europe found emulation here.
The Clock Tower, a nearly-universal feature of institutions of higher learning, was also one of WSU’s early structures.
The university library was quite busy, as summer session was still in full swing. I noted that was true at UI, and, a year ago, at the University of Heidelberg, Germany.
This touching memorial met me, along the South Fork Palouse Riverwalk, as I returned downtown from the hilltop University.
Cities worldwide are embracing outdoor murals, and Pullman’s celebrates its railroad past.
The town has a smaller art scene than Moscow, but young people here are every bit as proud of their joyful noises, as their counterparts to the east
South Fork Palouse Riverwalk is heavily used by locals, though in the lunch hour, I had the path virtually to myself.
The Nez Perce influence is still felt here, at the western edge of that great nation’s rangelands.
I enjoyed a hearty lunch at Heroes and Sports, in the building on whose exterior the railroad mural is shown, above. Two WSU ladies cheerfully welcomed about twelve of us in from the increasing heat, and I relished a Philly steak, before heading off, towards Lewiston, and points further south.
July 7, 2015, Prescott- One of the main reasons I am juxtaposing my travel posts with my thoughts whilst here at home is that, without family and community, there is only the mindless wandering of the unruddered soul.
Twenty-seven years ago today, Penny felt it was time to get to hospital. In the South Korea of 1988, every encounter between Korean workers and foreign nationals was first an economic one, then a human encounter. The woman who had been midwifing our child decided, on that day, that we were not helping her enough with her advancing in learning the English language. She declined to help Penny any further, and called a taxi driver to take us to an English-speaking Obstetrician, who would see to the birth.
Her parents were with us, but could not fit into the taxi, so I quickly hailed another for them, jumped into our taxi, and away we went, with the second taxi following us as best he could. My father-in-law’s frantic words, “Baby Hospital”, were apparently enough, as they arrived three minutes behind us.
The procedure went very well, and I was holding our newborn son up to the light, welcoming him to this world, three hours later. It was, all in all, a good life in Korea, and when we were compelled to return to the U.S., four years later, Aram was fairly well-grounded in two cultures. America was a bit tougher for all of us, but he grew up strong, and through the trials that buffeted the three of us in the 2000’s, and eventually took his mother’s life, our son emerged as a strong, healthy and amazingly resourceful individual.
Sometimes, I felt as though he was raising himself, but there was never a time, and never has been, when I haven’t had his best interests front and center. That I learned of those interests mainly by talking things through with him is the only way that ever made sense to me. Kids need steady guidance, but they have more on the ball than many of their insecure elders seem to realize.
The most inane aphorism ever is “Children should be seen and not heard.” I heard my son being told that, by a family member once, and I had to be physically restrained from hitting the individual. We need, pure and simple, to listen to one another, across generations.
Fatherhood is my greatest blessing, right after having been a husband. It will always be so.
