Shining Through The Ages

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November 6, 2024- The road winds around, taking vehicle and walker alike down the hill, from the center of Jerome to Douglas Mansion, the home of Jerome State Park. In a center room on the first floor, the world of magnificent colour greets the viewer, from the safety of a locked case.

These glorious minerals, the product of high volcanic heat, come to us from a time when even the dinosaurs were still ages from appearing on Earth. The Cambrian, Ordovician and Silurian Eras were times of giant ferns, dragonflies the size of sparrows and scorpions the size of cats. These were collectively known as the Carboniferous Period, when heat and compression began to fuse minerals into gems, and transform plant and animal matter into petroleum.

I never get tired of any display of bright colours, and minerals are especially appealing, because of their longevity. That same longevity puts our perceived woes and concerns of this day and age into a very bright perspective.

In yesterday’s presidential election, a majority of voters freely chose to put the brakes on what they perceived as frenetic social change. They appeared to be opting for a “wagons in the circle” approach, the majority within this majority trying to at least buy some time, so that the changes that are buffeting the planet now may at least become manageable, comprehensible.

Real change, however, happens in stages, is often imperceptible and is definitely not easily counteracted. From the evolution of rocks and minerals into gems to the arc of human history, no impediment to change is very effective in the fullness of time.

I went to Jerome today, for the very reason of focusing on this feature of change, from the perspective of natural history. Minerals never disappoint. They shine outwardly to us, through the ages.

Tomorrow in America……

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November 5, 2024- Tomorrow in America, there will still be country music, R &B and all manner of pop and rock. The Philharmonic and Symphony Orchestras will still tune up and play. Basketball and hockey games will proceed, in their scheduled venues. Pro Football players will be practicing, anticipating the next games. Stores and restaurants will open, as usual.

Tomorrow in America, Taylor Swift, Beyonce and Ariana Grande will still be singing. So will Lee Greenwood, Travis Tritt and John Rich. The stock markets will be open, going up or down as they see fit. People will gather in coffee houses, and will talk with friends, or work their laptops or put their thoughts down on paper.

Tomorrow in America, Tim Walz will go back to governing Minnesota. JD Vance will return to representing Ohio in the U.S. Senate. Kamala Harris will resume her Vice Presidential duties, while Donald Trump may go out and play 9 holes, or maybe 12. Their supporters will ponder what to do with all that signage, and those who sported political t-shirts and sweat shirts will put them in storage. Candidates for lesser posts will either head back to their day jobs, or go to their attorneys’ offices, to draw up litigation. Elon Musk will go back to making cars and space shuttles.

Tomorrow in America, we ordinary citizens will focus on our loved ones, and on what is right in front of us. I will rise between 5-6, get myself together and communicate with my Lord, then with my beloved (before she has to go to sleep, on the other side of the Pacific). I will head up to the top of Mingus Mountain and down a bit, to Jerome. There, I will spend time pondering gems and minerals, symbols of the beauty that will outlast most of the living things on Earth. I will reflect on the greatness of this nation, which has not gone away. I will reflect on the wonders of this planet, which will not go away for another billion years or so, if then.

Tomorrow in America, life will go on.

Mislaid Plans

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April 15, 2024- The rock that lined the unpaved road was navigated very slowly, as I drove along, looking for a place called Jeronimo’s Cabin. It was not that of the great Apache warrior, but belonged to one Jeronimo Pena, a lumberjack who lived alone on Mingus Mountain, from the 1920s until his death, in 1957. He transported his cords of wood using his burros, having cut the wood using a crosscut saw-strictly low tech and living a simple life, preferring to forage for his food, and that of the burros.

It happened that I turned left, about ten yards too soon, following a track that was just shy of the parking area, from which I could have walked the trail that leads to the cabin. I left the hike for another time, until I could more completely research the matter (which I did tonight, upon returning home.) The rub came, when I found that a piece of shale had become embedded in the front right tire. When I managed to get the resulting flat to a shop, the puncture turned out to be irreparable. Shale can be a very tough adversary, even when one takes a road with slow diligence.

Jerome, with Haunted Hamburger and Flatiron Coffee House, was a silver lining to all this. I was also able to get a good deal on the two back tires, which needed replacing, prior to my upcoming cross-country journey. There is always a future pay-off for a short term setback, if one pays attention. I will find Jeronimo’s Cabin, sometime in June, or in late Fall, before it snows. Not having to go on the shale-flecked road again, will be a bonus.

“He Was At Home Here”

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May 6, 2017, Cottonwood-

There was a magnificent scrum of motor vehicles, and drivers, when I arrived at the parking lot of Taco Don’s, and took my place in the rapidly forming motorcade.  The hearse and family cars were followed by the motorcycles, then the classic cars (Jayme was a car buff, being from eastern LA County) and us friends and admirers, taking up the caboose end.

We set out ahead of time, and had cleared Prescott, by the time we were originally supposed to leave.  Some stragglers caught up with us, on Highway 89A, and passed ahead, to get to their designated spots.  By the time we reached Jerome, and wended our way through the “ghost town’s” streets, everything was in perfect order.  Jerome, like much of the Central Highlands, is in full bloom.  Here are some lupines, that graced our view.

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We reached Immaculate Conception Catholic Church, on the northwest side of Cottonwood, with 30 minutes to spare.  I was pleasantly surprised to see that the church’s cross-street neighbour had set up two golden Dol Harubangul (Korean “stone grandfathers”, the symbol of Jeju, where we lived from 1986-92).  This was very much something that Jayme would have found wildly amusing.  As the statues are usually black volcanic rock, this was definitely a nod to the area’s mining culture.

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Immaculate Conception is a spacious, majestic parish church- almost cathedralesque, in size and airiness.  The celebrant priest, also a friend of Jayme’s, noted that the man “felt at home here”, making frequent trips over the mountain, on Sunday mornings, perhaps because of the exhilaration one feels, when going through the pines, and along Jerome’s streets.  The church felt quite homelike for us, this morning, with a robust celebration of Jayme’s relationship with his Lord and an outpouring of love, from his family and closest friends.

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The exquisite service left me chastened, as funerals so often do.  I thought, once more, of my own ongoing mission, knowing that being there for others, something that Jayme Salazar did so well, and at which I am improving, is imperative.  We will all gather again, in his memory, on May 20, for a Fiesta Grande, at Prescott’s Watson Lake Park.  I promised his dearest friend that I would be there early and leave late.

One other nice touch- when I stopped for lunch, at Colt Grill, in Old Cottonwood, the soundtrack featured Mike and The Mechanics’ “The Living Years” and REM’s “Everybody Hurts”.  The Universe always speaks clearly.

“If you don’t give up and don’t give in, you may just be okay.” – Mike Rutherford

“Hold on”.- Michael Stipe