The Strangers
The sounds of commotion filled the darkness. Aone awoke in his sleeping area with sleeping area was filled with the throat-tightening smell of dust particles. The taste buds at the top of his throat could not only feel the smoke, but it could also taste the smoke. He could feel pieces of the sod ceiling cascading down on his face, arms, and the covering he used to keep warm at night. The muffled voices, the vibration of the ground around him and especially the huge leg that was protruding through the far end of his sleeping area space made him instantly alert. He could hear the voices of others of his kind. He could hear the sound of his sister Maco, her voice calling out in terror for his father and mother. He could hear the muffled yelling of voice that belonged to the one who must be with the owner of the leg. As he flattened himself against the side of his sleeping area room he could see the leg disappear abruptly through the opening that it had made. The single candle in his room barely casting enough light and waving shadows as its flame swayed back and forth amidst the falling dirt and swirling dust. Now, more screams and yells from his other family members. A yell that was punctuated by large, gruff sounding voices. He tried vainly to make his way to the main room area that led to an opening to the outside, but could not make it past the small opening to his sleeping area. His way was blocked by a wall of dirt. He was trapped in his own sleeping area. He felt helpless at the thought of it, but his mind could not dwell on. How could this be? He had gone to sleep in the peaceful assurance of what he thought would always be the same, as it had been, as they always had been.
His kind had always kept to themselves. Living in the forests without worries was who they were. Forest people. Some would even call them “Little people.”
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Friday, November 11, 2005
The Last Passage
In the fading light of yet another day Aone of Nisse peered intently at the thick fog trying to make out some semblance of order in the tall rolling waves. He was not so intent on the waves themselves, but on the disappearing mirages of the outline of something more than the tall, steep waves. It was something that made the ocean waves crash against something solid, something unforgiving, and not another ocean wave.
For a moment the fog cleared. And there, there was the faint outline of a sharp, jagged shape with short, spindly trees silhouetted against the darkening gray sky. Maybe they would not have to spend another dark, cold damp night on the cramped boat. “Land, land ahead,” rang out a voice. The voice carried the most excitement it had shown in 3 weeks. The rough looking bearded men rose slowly, almost painfully from their slumped positions, turned and stared into the darkening fog as the man at the tiller yelled for them to see what he had seen, or at least what he thought he had seen.
Three weeks of being cold, seasick and scared, with nothing to do but try not to mourn the loss of his sister. After the fifth day, or rather night on the boat, the sky had turned dark and the seas had turned into a frothing mountain of white cold water coming over the sides of the boat even after the captain had ordered the sail taken down. His sister had been scared and frightened to the point of hysteria. She had flung herself off the boat hoping to swim to a point of land that she had thought she had seen amongst the towering waves. There had been no land, and Aone now no longer had a sister.
The captain of the ship made an attempt to rescue her by telling his men to man the oars and row in the direction she was being swept by the wind, but it had put the boat in such danger that he quickly abandoned the effort, instead having the men row and keeping the bow of the boat pointed into the cresting waves. The last thing of his sister that he remembered was his sister’s green hat bobbing on the ocean waves. Now she would never marry. Now there were only five of his kind on the boat.
At least this is the story that had been passed down to him in the yellowing pages of the journal……….
In the fading light of yet another day Aone of Nisse peered intently at the thick fog trying to make out some semblance of order in the tall rolling waves. He was not so intent on the waves themselves, but on the disappearing mirages of the outline of something more than the tall, steep waves. It was something that made the ocean waves crash against something solid, something unforgiving, and not another ocean wave.
For a moment the fog cleared. And there, there was the faint outline of a sharp, jagged shape with short, spindly trees silhouetted against the darkening gray sky. Maybe they would not have to spend another dark, cold damp night on the cramped boat. “Land, land ahead,” rang out a voice. The voice carried the most excitement it had shown in 3 weeks. The rough looking bearded men rose slowly, almost painfully from their slumped positions, turned and stared into the darkening fog as the man at the tiller yelled for them to see what he had seen, or at least what he thought he had seen.
Three weeks of being cold, seasick and scared, with nothing to do but try not to mourn the loss of his sister. After the fifth day, or rather night on the boat, the sky had turned dark and the seas had turned into a frothing mountain of white cold water coming over the sides of the boat even after the captain had ordered the sail taken down. His sister had been scared and frightened to the point of hysteria. She had flung herself off the boat hoping to swim to a point of land that she had thought she had seen amongst the towering waves. There had been no land, and Aone now no longer had a sister.
The captain of the ship made an attempt to rescue her by telling his men to man the oars and row in the direction she was being swept by the wind, but it had put the boat in such danger that he quickly abandoned the effort, instead having the men row and keeping the bow of the boat pointed into the cresting waves. The last thing of his sister that he remembered was his sister’s green hat bobbing on the ocean waves. Now she would never marry. Now there were only five of his kind on the boat.
At least this is the story that had been passed down to him in the yellowing pages of the journal……….
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Gnome's knob
Before I proceed on with my story, the reader must understand some background information. The story you are about to discover took place starting around 1916 in the Redwood forest area of northern California and ending in the late 70’s. At the time there was only a small, growing community nearby which has now blossomed into a slightly larger small town. It has gone through several boom and bust periods that have left it with only a small reminder of its past. This story was put together based upon a journal that was passed on to me by a friend of a friend. Which led me to search for a second journal, which had been mentioned in the first journal. At the time of its discovery, the first journal was the center of attention in the local press, but as with all news its time passed and other news took its place. Every area has it own myths and legends, and many have their basis in fact, although sometimes they are told and retold to the point of disbelief and thereby are believed by only a loyal few. That is what this story is, a retelling of a historical event that has been an interest of mine since I ran across an old newspaper clipping documenting this story. Coupled with my discovery of the location of this story and the second journal, it led me to experience a little bit of what once was. I will try to take you back to a story many believe never happened. The final decision is up to you.
Before I proceed on with my story, the reader must understand some background information. The story you are about to discover took place starting around 1916 in the Redwood forest area of northern California and ending in the late 70’s. At the time there was only a small, growing community nearby which has now blossomed into a slightly larger small town. It has gone through several boom and bust periods that have left it with only a small reminder of its past. This story was put together based upon a journal that was passed on to me by a friend of a friend. Which led me to search for a second journal, which had been mentioned in the first journal. At the time of its discovery, the first journal was the center of attention in the local press, but as with all news its time passed and other news took its place. Every area has it own myths and legends, and many have their basis in fact, although sometimes they are told and retold to the point of disbelief and thereby are believed by only a loyal few. That is what this story is, a retelling of a historical event that has been an interest of mine since I ran across an old newspaper clipping documenting this story. Coupled with my discovery of the location of this story and the second journal, it led me to experience a little bit of what once was. I will try to take you back to a story many believe never happened. The final decision is up to you.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Alon
Alon reached out slowly with his hand and pulled aside the sword fern to peer intently at the small wood house nestled in the clearing below him. The single window dimly lit just enough to cast a light glow on the ground below. The smoke was snaking unhurriedly from the stone chimney with the sun just disappearing into the trees on the far side casting long shadows reaching for the side of the small house. Soon it would be dark. A good dark night, with no moon.
Good, the clothes were still on the clothesline waving silently in the evening breeze. Alon looked carefully at the house to make sure that the dog was in the house then toward the clothes again. Not today. All that were on the clothesline were light colored clothes. He wanted dark clothes, worn clothes. Those would never do. Alon slowly let go of the fern and slowly turned back to return to his home. Forty minutes later, taking a route he had never before taken, he smelled the faint hint of smoke and recognized the unique pattern of the roots on the fallen redwood that was his home. He was tired, never before had had he felt so unsure of his return. Was he really getting old, or was it just a difficult route that he had taken. For some reason, the woods had seemed darker, was it the branches getting thicker, or were his eyes getting dimmer? He grabbed a small root at chest level and let himself down carefully into the dark void until his feet touched a familiar place and he swiveled his body around another root and crept toward the dim light. His eyes slowly accustomed to the light as he reached for a dry limb from his small pile of wood. He always kept the fire in one of two ways, burning cleanly with no smoke, or no fire at all. The larger pile of wood he kept under another an overhanging broken tree a short distance away. It was always something he could do, collect dry wood. His small, stubby fingers reached up to his thin shirt slowly pulling the collar closer to his neck. Looking around, his eyes came to rest on the small pile of paper that made up his life, his history, his legacy. Leafing through it in the dim light his eyes caught words that brought back flashes of memories of the time that once was. Of happiness, peace, contentment, of a time he wished that would never end. And now, it was almost over, almost the end. A tear slowly pooled in the corner of his eye and slipped down his cheek to disappear into his beard. He was the last of his kind.
To be continued..........
Alon reached out slowly with his hand and pulled aside the sword fern to peer intently at the small wood house nestled in the clearing below him. The single window dimly lit just enough to cast a light glow on the ground below. The smoke was snaking unhurriedly from the stone chimney with the sun just disappearing into the trees on the far side casting long shadows reaching for the side of the small house. Soon it would be dark. A good dark night, with no moon.
Good, the clothes were still on the clothesline waving silently in the evening breeze. Alon looked carefully at the house to make sure that the dog was in the house then toward the clothes again. Not today. All that were on the clothesline were light colored clothes. He wanted dark clothes, worn clothes. Those would never do. Alon slowly let go of the fern and slowly turned back to return to his home. Forty minutes later, taking a route he had never before taken, he smelled the faint hint of smoke and recognized the unique pattern of the roots on the fallen redwood that was his home. He was tired, never before had had he felt so unsure of his return. Was he really getting old, or was it just a difficult route that he had taken. For some reason, the woods had seemed darker, was it the branches getting thicker, or were his eyes getting dimmer? He grabbed a small root at chest level and let himself down carefully into the dark void until his feet touched a familiar place and he swiveled his body around another root and crept toward the dim light. His eyes slowly accustomed to the light as he reached for a dry limb from his small pile of wood. He always kept the fire in one of two ways, burning cleanly with no smoke, or no fire at all. The larger pile of wood he kept under another an overhanging broken tree a short distance away. It was always something he could do, collect dry wood. His small, stubby fingers reached up to his thin shirt slowly pulling the collar closer to his neck. Looking around, his eyes came to rest on the small pile of paper that made up his life, his history, his legacy. Leafing through it in the dim light his eyes caught words that brought back flashes of memories of the time that once was. Of happiness, peace, contentment, of a time he wished that would never end. And now, it was almost over, almost the end. A tear slowly pooled in the corner of his eye and slipped down his cheek to disappear into his beard. He was the last of his kind.
To be continued..........
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Happiness
I wonder at times why I am so happy and content. Is it because I’m a fool living in my own paradise, or am I just deluded and don’t really have enough sense to know what happiness is and I’m just a poor, pathetic person lost in his own world?
Personally, I feel that my world is better than what I could have ever planned it to be. I enjoy every little thing in life, from the plaintive bleating of the goat in the neighbor’s yard to the sweet smell of the alder wood that is burning in preparation of our evening meal. Simple pleasures that bring so much pleasure. The enjoyment of seeing Ohmah searching for the apples in the trees above the point at which he can jump, but yet jumping as hard and as high as he can, only to be disappointed at not being able to reach as high as his eyes can see.
I gain a sense of enjoyment at being able to cook the dog’s treats; end of pieces of the meat that I will be grilling, and seeing them slobber and drool at the smell of it cooking, because for some reason, they know it is for them.
Take the quiet sound of the neighbor’s goats when they’re being fed. They know, I know, the neighbor knows, that they are now content because of their needs being met.
I don’t think that it is necessarily simple pleasures that bring enjoyment and happiness, but the simple appreciation of those trouble-free pleasures. Life isn’t about tomorrow, but about enjoying life today. Thoreau had it right, simplify. Simplify. Carpe diem; seize the day, enjoy the day.
I believe that life boiled down to its essence, is appreciating what you have, whatever it is, and not wanting things for tomorrow.
I wonder at times why I am so happy and content. Is it because I’m a fool living in my own paradise, or am I just deluded and don’t really have enough sense to know what happiness is and I’m just a poor, pathetic person lost in his own world?
Personally, I feel that my world is better than what I could have ever planned it to be. I enjoy every little thing in life, from the plaintive bleating of the goat in the neighbor’s yard to the sweet smell of the alder wood that is burning in preparation of our evening meal. Simple pleasures that bring so much pleasure. The enjoyment of seeing Ohmah searching for the apples in the trees above the point at which he can jump, but yet jumping as hard and as high as he can, only to be disappointed at not being able to reach as high as his eyes can see.
I gain a sense of enjoyment at being able to cook the dog’s treats; end of pieces of the meat that I will be grilling, and seeing them slobber and drool at the smell of it cooking, because for some reason, they know it is for them.
Take the quiet sound of the neighbor’s goats when they’re being fed. They know, I know, the neighbor knows, that they are now content because of their needs being met.
I don’t think that it is necessarily simple pleasures that bring enjoyment and happiness, but the simple appreciation of those trouble-free pleasures. Life isn’t about tomorrow, but about enjoying life today. Thoreau had it right, simplify. Simplify. Carpe diem; seize the day, enjoy the day.
I believe that life boiled down to its essence, is appreciating what you have, whatever it is, and not wanting things for tomorrow.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Leaves in the fall
To hear the sound of nature, I must be out in nature. I can never imagine it nearly as good as it really is. I am always surprised and happy at what I will see when I place myself in the woods. For me, every time I go it is different, even though it may be the very same place. One time it may be the way the sunlight is striking a leaf casting a glow so bright that the leaf appears to be on fire. Next, it is a barren tree with nought a leaf to cover its nakedness. I can almost sense the tree saying something like, “excuse me for my appearance, and just come back in the spring.” My favorite though, is when I come across a cavern like part of the road or trail with the trees arching over the roadway, straining to reach the far side. The rich damp smell of the earth fills my nostrils and I strain my ears to hear the sound of the …………. Silence.
Ahh, it is a golden sound, a sound to be treasured, a fleeting sound in today’s world. But, the sound of silence is really only there if I don’t listen closely enough. When I do, I hear the wind rustling through the tree tops, making a swishing sound out of the branches and leaves. For the leaves it is a losing battle, as this is the time of year when the trees strain to conserve their energy and cut off the life-giving sap to the leaves. Each individual leaf must pay the price as the wind slips through the branches and the leaves give their last gasp releasing their hold on the life-sustaining branch. Some leafs spiral down in a graceful manner much like a parachutist making their way to earth. Others go into a tight spiraling descent as they crash into the ground. Others, hold on to their life as long as they can and then make a graceful descent to land peacefully on the fallen brethren that have gone on before, almost as if not wanting to wake them up from their peaceful slumber. All though, catch a fleeting reflection of the sun as they fall and so their colors of yellow, red, and orange are made manifest one last time as they give the one last gift that they are able, the beautiful sight of leaves in the fall.
Responsibility begins with self responsibility and being in control of your own situation. This thought process always hits me when the first rain of the season comes and or the first power outage darkens our home. The first thought is, where is the kerosene or fluorescent light? Next, where are the matches? It comes down to the elements of basic survival: water, food, and shelter. In the case of a power outage, the elements of water and food are not initially the primary concern as is a shelter that will provide an immediate protective abode. Of course, the next questions are, do we have enough food and water? I guess I’m thinking this because I just walked out to the backyard and looked at the woodpile and tried to estimate if we had enough wood to last the winter and to what degree of dryness that the wood is. The question to myself was, have I prepared enough in this one aspect of my life? If so, I can move on to the next area. If not, what do I need to do? This scene typifies to me the basic need to provide, albeit a small example, it still is that basic primordial expectation to provide for those that you are responsible to. A need for me that is only felt when I have a close connection to the Earth and recognize that even though my sustenance takes a round-a-bout way of getting here, it still remains the same. The only difference is that, given our modern living styles we have isolated ourselves from the very means that have made us the survivors of our species that we are. I believe that this is evidenced by the dependency of those that depend on “someone” to help them when they are in need.
Granted, on a large scale, there are natural disasters that are simply to large to prepare for. On a small scale, there are many things that individuals and families can do to take care of themselves in times of trouble. A family disaster plan and preparedness with basic supplies is a good first step. We, as a species, are generally reactive, and hear and read of these things after a major disaster has taken place somewhere and people are not receiving the expected needed help.
The fall of the year is a time in which the recognition for preparation is most often felt. I see squirrels, bears, and other animals prepare for the winter by gorging themselves trying to lay in the food they need, either on their body, or secreted away. Another sign are the farmers harvesting their last crops and the gardens becoming barren and fallow from the last vegetable and fruits being picked. The sense of the salmon fulfilling their destiny and completing their life cycle. And finally, the hunter gatherer harvesting this bounty of the Earth to sustain themselves and their families throughout the long winter season. A time of year when the old ways come back and I sense in a small and distant way, that I must prepare for my own to survive, and I question, am I prepared enough?
That primordial sense comes to me when I am out in the woods and see a tree lying there for me to take back and warm my modern cave. It also comes during the fall when men talk of deer hunting. For me, it goes beyond the killing of something; it goes to that idea of providing. When I do take the life of an animal or fish, I express my thanks to it for supplying me with the sustenance I need to carry on my life and I feel that I am just a small bit closer to being prepared for the long winter season.
Granted, on a large scale, there are natural disasters that are simply to large to prepare for. On a small scale, there are many things that individuals and families can do to take care of themselves in times of trouble. A family disaster plan and preparedness with basic supplies is a good first step. We, as a species, are generally reactive, and hear and read of these things after a major disaster has taken place somewhere and people are not receiving the expected needed help.
The fall of the year is a time in which the recognition for preparation is most often felt. I see squirrels, bears, and other animals prepare for the winter by gorging themselves trying to lay in the food they need, either on their body, or secreted away. Another sign are the farmers harvesting their last crops and the gardens becoming barren and fallow from the last vegetable and fruits being picked. The sense of the salmon fulfilling their destiny and completing their life cycle. And finally, the hunter gatherer harvesting this bounty of the Earth to sustain themselves and their families throughout the long winter season. A time of year when the old ways come back and I sense in a small and distant way, that I must prepare for my own to survive, and I question, am I prepared enough?
That primordial sense comes to me when I am out in the woods and see a tree lying there for me to take back and warm my modern cave. It also comes during the fall when men talk of deer hunting. For me, it goes beyond the killing of something; it goes to that idea of providing. When I do take the life of an animal or fish, I express my thanks to it for supplying me with the sustenance I need to carry on my life and I feel that I am just a small bit closer to being prepared for the long winter season.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Inside the heart of every person beats the soul of a being built to survive. Every day the habits of getting up, going to work, providing for ones family is a learned reaction of an underlying desire to survive. While we may see things today as just what we are expected to do, it is indeed, a mark of survival. Those that do not, are of a linage that will one day die out. They are of those that when a problem happens, are the ones that look for someone else to solve it.
A survivor is one who is proactive and anticipates problems and while may not be totally prepared, has a least thought through potential problems and is beyond the initial surprise ready to deal with the situation. The survivor is one who when disaster strikes, first takes care of his own, and then looks to see how he can assist others. The first example that comes to mind is the Search and Rescue departments of governmental organizations and their prior preparedness to assist with situations that they may be called upon to deal with. While they may not spend their time on disaster situations that may not happen to them, they do train and have resources to be ready for the potential problems that they feel are worthy of their time and money to prepare for. A governmental organization like the Federal Emergency Management Authority (FEMA) may well be a contributing cause or rather an excuse for people on an individual level to feel that they are absolved of taking care of themselves and their families.
A survivor is one who is proactive and anticipates problems and while may not be totally prepared, has a least thought through potential problems and is beyond the initial surprise ready to deal with the situation. The survivor is one who when disaster strikes, first takes care of his own, and then looks to see how he can assist others. The first example that comes to mind is the Search and Rescue departments of governmental organizations and their prior preparedness to assist with situations that they may be called upon to deal with. While they may not spend their time on disaster situations that may not happen to them, they do train and have resources to be ready for the potential problems that they feel are worthy of their time and money to prepare for. A governmental organization like the Federal Emergency Management Authority (FEMA) may well be a contributing cause or rather an excuse for people on an individual level to feel that they are absolved of taking care of themselves and their families.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Life Recharged II
This weekend Andrew and I went on a backcountry road in Del Norte County that I went on one time when I was a kid with my father-38 years ago. The last time I had gone on the road was when I was 12 years old. The road is the northernmost accessible road in Del Norte County and it really is not too far away, certainly not 38 years ago away! The furthermost point is only 40 miles away-as the crow flies. The road is gravel and dirt, graveled in Del Norte County and dirt in Oregon. It darts back and forth over the border, and having a GPS we could tell exactly when we were at the 42nd parallel (the line of demarcation between California and Oregon). If history hadn’t altered we would have been leapfrogging with the Spanish and English border!
Anyway, the last time I had been over this road I remember sleeping for most of the day. It was one of those hot Fall days and Dad and I were hunting for deer. In between looking for “a big fat buck” and more often than not, nodding off, I was brought to my senses by our ’51 Dodge pickup abruptly coming to a halt. Skidding even-pretty good as we creeping along at about 5 miles per hour. From my blurred state of mind I could see Dad throwing the door open and rushing across in front of the pickup with his gun at the ready. He had spied “a big fat buck.” He disappeared through the brush and moments later I heard his gun go off 3 or 4 times. By that time my adrenalin was running, but I had no where to go, not really sure if I should follow him, or stay in the truck. After what seemed like hours Dad came walking back up the road with a sweaty brow and a broad grin on his face. I couldn’t wait for him to tell me if he had been successful, I had to blurt out, “Did you get ‘im?” “Yep, I got ‘im,” he said, “he’s down over the bank.” He got in the pickup and we drove down the road, around and down the switchback and underneath to where he stopped the truck and announced, “He’s up there,” pointing about 100 yards up the hill. I had to believe him, as I couldn’t see anything because of the tall brush. He had an uncanny sense of direction and being able to find things, without a map, or like me now-a-days, a GPS. He left his 30.06 in the pickup and took off through the brush with me tagging along behind him, not wanting to miss any more of the adventure. Moments later he located the deer and found that he had hit him in the neck. Not bad for a 120 yard shot-with open sights.
I soon found out that as soon as the deer goes down the fun is over. Next came the job of gutting out the deer and dragging him down the side of the mountain to the truck. Between the heat of the day and the smell of the entrails, I felt that this was just about as much adventure as I could stomach for one day. From our location we were able to look down onto the North Fork of the Smith River at a place called Major Moore’s. Since we were still about 2 hours from home we had quite a ride home.
I remember quite distinctly that I didn’t fall asleep the rest of the way home, every few minutes peering into the back of the pickup to make sure that the buck hadn’t jumped out of the back ending my dream. He never did jump out and I never did have to wake up, because it really happened. I had gone hunting with my Dad, and we had been successful. While I hadn’t shot it, for some reason, I felt as much a part of the success as if I had shot the deer myself. Actually, he had seen two deer, one had crossed the road, and one had turned back the way they had come.
When we arrived home after dark and announced to my Mom that “we” had got a deer. She wasn’t exactly as thrilled as I was. But she understood that it was important for me to see where our meat animals really come from and that this animal gave up its life for us. Yes, “we” had taken a life, but this really made me understand that the tidy little packages of meat that we buy at the grocery store mean that an animal had to die so that my body could be nourished
We didn’t get a deer today. But this trip with Andrew did bring back memories of me being in the out-of –doors with my Dad. And it was a good feeling—a very good feeling. Getting a deer would have been just more icing on the cake. I believe that everything happens when it should, and today, well, it just wasn’t meant to enjoy that much icing. Maybe in another 38 years when I go on this road again, I will go after the buck that turned back, or maybe my grandson will.
This weekend Andrew and I went on a backcountry road in Del Norte County that I went on one time when I was a kid with my father-38 years ago. The last time I had gone on the road was when I was 12 years old. The road is the northernmost accessible road in Del Norte County and it really is not too far away, certainly not 38 years ago away! The furthermost point is only 40 miles away-as the crow flies. The road is gravel and dirt, graveled in Del Norte County and dirt in Oregon. It darts back and forth over the border, and having a GPS we could tell exactly when we were at the 42nd parallel (the line of demarcation between California and Oregon). If history hadn’t altered we would have been leapfrogging with the Spanish and English border!
Anyway, the last time I had been over this road I remember sleeping for most of the day. It was one of those hot Fall days and Dad and I were hunting for deer. In between looking for “a big fat buck” and more often than not, nodding off, I was brought to my senses by our ’51 Dodge pickup abruptly coming to a halt. Skidding even-pretty good as we creeping along at about 5 miles per hour. From my blurred state of mind I could see Dad throwing the door open and rushing across in front of the pickup with his gun at the ready. He had spied “a big fat buck.” He disappeared through the brush and moments later I heard his gun go off 3 or 4 times. By that time my adrenalin was running, but I had no where to go, not really sure if I should follow him, or stay in the truck. After what seemed like hours Dad came walking back up the road with a sweaty brow and a broad grin on his face. I couldn’t wait for him to tell me if he had been successful, I had to blurt out, “Did you get ‘im?” “Yep, I got ‘im,” he said, “he’s down over the bank.” He got in the pickup and we drove down the road, around and down the switchback and underneath to where he stopped the truck and announced, “He’s up there,” pointing about 100 yards up the hill. I had to believe him, as I couldn’t see anything because of the tall brush. He had an uncanny sense of direction and being able to find things, without a map, or like me now-a-days, a GPS. He left his 30.06 in the pickup and took off through the brush with me tagging along behind him, not wanting to miss any more of the adventure. Moments later he located the deer and found that he had hit him in the neck. Not bad for a 120 yard shot-with open sights.
I soon found out that as soon as the deer goes down the fun is over. Next came the job of gutting out the deer and dragging him down the side of the mountain to the truck. Between the heat of the day and the smell of the entrails, I felt that this was just about as much adventure as I could stomach for one day. From our location we were able to look down onto the North Fork of the Smith River at a place called Major Moore’s. Since we were still about 2 hours from home we had quite a ride home.
I remember quite distinctly that I didn’t fall asleep the rest of the way home, every few minutes peering into the back of the pickup to make sure that the buck hadn’t jumped out of the back ending my dream. He never did jump out and I never did have to wake up, because it really happened. I had gone hunting with my Dad, and we had been successful. While I hadn’t shot it, for some reason, I felt as much a part of the success as if I had shot the deer myself. Actually, he had seen two deer, one had crossed the road, and one had turned back the way they had come.
When we arrived home after dark and announced to my Mom that “we” had got a deer. She wasn’t exactly as thrilled as I was. But she understood that it was important for me to see where our meat animals really come from and that this animal gave up its life for us. Yes, “we” had taken a life, but this really made me understand that the tidy little packages of meat that we buy at the grocery store mean that an animal had to die so that my body could be nourished
We didn’t get a deer today. But this trip with Andrew did bring back memories of me being in the out-of –doors with my Dad. And it was a good feeling—a very good feeling. Getting a deer would have been just more icing on the cake. I believe that everything happens when it should, and today, well, it just wasn’t meant to enjoy that much icing. Maybe in another 38 years when I go on this road again, I will go after the buck that turned back, or maybe my grandson will.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Time
Time is a vacuum where we choose, knowingly or unknowingly, to spend our lives. The manmade timepieces that we use every day simply a way to regulate our minutes, hours, days, and years. The calendar a lined grid in which to regulate the ebb and flow of daily life.
The older I get the more time I need to spend reflecting on how important this gift of time really is. Just this last year I was fortunate to go to my 30th high school reunion and I was amazed how aged most people were looking. Many where changed to the extent that it was somewhat difficult to remember them as the svelte image that was imprinted on my mind. Of course, it went both ways, as I found it difficult to not just remember what they looked like but also to remember their names!
Time. The mind recalls what once was, the mirror reflects what is. So, the question as I see it is, ‘tis it better to live in the past, with its former memories, or is it better to enjoy the present day and the opportunites it presents. I believe that it is natural, on bad days, to think that things will never get better again. But on those days I must think the situation all the way through and recall that things have been worse, and many more times they have been better. But, for the most part things have always been played out in a cyclic manner, from the personal highs and lows in my own life to the cycle of nature-even down to the water cycle. I remember reading somewhere that all the water on the earth has been recycled something like seven times and thus, it may have been drank by dinosaurs as well as mixed into a soft drink and drained down the sink.
Life, when it comes down to its basic level really is simply just a cycle. Life has a beginning and life has an end. But the energy from whence we come is ground into the earth to be used as fodder for the next generation. The living organisms that make up our existence today are the building blocks of the life forms of tomorrow.
Time is a vacuum where we choose, knowingly or unknowingly, to spend our lives. The manmade timepieces that we use every day simply a way to regulate our minutes, hours, days, and years. The calendar a lined grid in which to regulate the ebb and flow of daily life.
The older I get the more time I need to spend reflecting on how important this gift of time really is. Just this last year I was fortunate to go to my 30th high school reunion and I was amazed how aged most people were looking. Many where changed to the extent that it was somewhat difficult to remember them as the svelte image that was imprinted on my mind. Of course, it went both ways, as I found it difficult to not just remember what they looked like but also to remember their names!
Time. The mind recalls what once was, the mirror reflects what is. So, the question as I see it is, ‘tis it better to live in the past, with its former memories, or is it better to enjoy the present day and the opportunites it presents. I believe that it is natural, on bad days, to think that things will never get better again. But on those days I must think the situation all the way through and recall that things have been worse, and many more times they have been better. But, for the most part things have always been played out in a cyclic manner, from the personal highs and lows in my own life to the cycle of nature-even down to the water cycle. I remember reading somewhere that all the water on the earth has been recycled something like seven times and thus, it may have been drank by dinosaurs as well as mixed into a soft drink and drained down the sink.
Life, when it comes down to its basic level really is simply just a cycle. Life has a beginning and life has an end. But the energy from whence we come is ground into the earth to be used as fodder for the next generation. The living organisms that make up our existence today are the building blocks of the life forms of tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
In Defense of the Inversion Layer
Ahhh…..Summer in Del Norte County. Fun, sun, and hmmmm…….. Yes, summer has arrived and we don’t have to worry about getting a sunburn or prematurally developing melanoma….again. But, just go 5 miles inland and start worrying. That is why I love living here, I can escape from the summertime heat and run from the fog. Yes, if I could control the weather I would have just a touch more sun, but then comes the wind and I really don’t like the wind. But wait, the wind, that is what makes the cold water upwell bringing nutrients, and food, and bait, and salmon, and makes the oceanic food kitchen work. Wow, what a dilemma, maybe I don’t want to control the weather. Maybe I’ll just go up to the river when I want to escape the fog and maybe when I really want to suffer I’ll go to Medford and take my chances with melanoma. But, you must admit, there aren’t too many more beautiful sights then driving south along Hwy. 101 on the spine of the Coastal Range and watch the fog slipping through the redwoods while it tries to reach its wispy tentacles and water more of the trees. All the while the sun is waging its winning battle and evaporates each billowing wet charge. Each day I drive this road I get to see the ongoing battle and the line that these adversaries draw. Yes, I have a choice. I can escape, or I can stay. And when I do escape and when I return I smell that heavy, thick, rich, salty, sweet, smell of the clean ocean air and I know that it’s summer, and ahh…I know I’m home.
Ahhh…..Summer in Del Norte County. Fun, sun, and hmmmm…….. Yes, summer has arrived and we don’t have to worry about getting a sunburn or prematurally developing melanoma….again. But, just go 5 miles inland and start worrying. That is why I love living here, I can escape from the summertime heat and run from the fog. Yes, if I could control the weather I would have just a touch more sun, but then comes the wind and I really don’t like the wind. But wait, the wind, that is what makes the cold water upwell bringing nutrients, and food, and bait, and salmon, and makes the oceanic food kitchen work. Wow, what a dilemma, maybe I don’t want to control the weather. Maybe I’ll just go up to the river when I want to escape the fog and maybe when I really want to suffer I’ll go to Medford and take my chances with melanoma. But, you must admit, there aren’t too many more beautiful sights then driving south along Hwy. 101 on the spine of the Coastal Range and watch the fog slipping through the redwoods while it tries to reach its wispy tentacles and water more of the trees. All the while the sun is waging its winning battle and evaporates each billowing wet charge. Each day I drive this road I get to see the ongoing battle and the line that these adversaries draw. Yes, I have a choice. I can escape, or I can stay. And when I do escape and when I return I smell that heavy, thick, rich, salty, sweet, smell of the clean ocean air and I know that it’s summer, and ahh…I know I’m home.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Summers and Sisters
As I sit here on our deck in the backyard I have to wonder if what I thought I did just last week really happened. Did what I think really happen or was it simpy a wispy figment of my overactive imagination, or maybe it was me meditating too much and “poof” there I was, in Alaska.? I know that I thought I had just spent three weeks in Alaska, but I wonder if what I thought I did really happened or just a thing that I dream of doing every summer. Would someone just pinch me a wake me up from my dream-state?
No, forget the pinch, (I always hated those pinching games in school. I was always one of those getting pinched and not really knowing the reason), on second thought let me just live in my dreams. It’s much more pleasant. Besides, if someone wakes me up I’ll have to join the ranks of the here a now which means work, responsiblity, and getting up before 10:00 in the morning. Don’t get me wrong, I admire all of those things, especially that 10 o’clock thing. In fact, I once had a relative that embodied all of those things-God rest his soul. I really didn’t know him very well as I was just a young whippersnapper at the time. My uncle always called me that and to this day I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. So I’m really uneasy calling any young person by that name. And since he died when I was about 8 I can’t really ask him about it. He died, at 42, of a heart attack. I heard people say that he had a Type A personality. So I’m guessing that’s something that may have led to his his demise.
Anyway, ever since then I have sworn off anything to do with a Type A personality. Not that I think that it is catching, I’m just not taking a chance. But that is not the real reason that I remember for. When he was younger he once suffered a preforated eardrum from playing Tarzan over the water (and landing in a very undignified Tarzan-like way) and so he had a slight hearing problem in one ear. He could do something I’ve never seen anyone do before or since; since he was a pipesmoker he could, through a series of gyrations and slight belching, actually make smoke come out of his ear. For awhile there I was the coolest kid on the block as no other kids had any relatives that could do anything so awesome. He could never remember which ear the smoke would come out of so whenever we would get him to preform this trick it came as a surprise to him and an amusement to us. So I guess, to be honest, I’m not really sure what he died of; being a Type A person, smoking, or too many bodily orfices. But, excuse me, I digress.
I just read that Tucson, Arizona has had 21 days in a row of temperatures above 115*, so I called my sister in Fresno, California which incidently is just the next state over from Arizona (for those that are geographically challenged). I was looking for a little sympathy. See, we’ve been having somewhat of our own heatwave in Crescent City. In fact, I’ve been worrying about the state of our thermometer on the back deck. The sun came out from behind the fog in such a hurry I thought that the mercury may explode with a resounding crash right through the top of the thermometer. The temperature was 71*. For Crescent City that is a really, really nice day. If it gets up to 80* people have to go find their manuels to their heat pumps to figure out how to use the air conditioner feature of it. In fact, in our town that’s just the kind of thing that makes the headlines in our newspaper, that and the time when “vandals” dug a trench to let the water drain into the ocean from Lake Tolowa-basically a large mud puddle that many people call a lake that drains at its own discretion when it rises to height that only it can dictate, which is above the mean high tide level. Let’s see, where was I? Excuse me, I digress.
Oh yes, trying to get a little sympathy from my older sister about the extreme temperatures here on the coast. She didn’t buy it. She just waited for me to wind down and take a breath and announced that she was sitting in the house-next to the air condtioner because it was 107* outside and she was afraid that she would die of something related to heat exhaustion or basically anything that you would get if you had to move in those kinds of temperatures. I picked up on that rather quickly. I’m pretty shrewd that way-gifted even. Not inclined to miss something when someones tells me in an off-hand way-too often. Frankly, I’m surprised that I wasn’t identified as a GATE student when I was in grade school. The best recogntion that I received was that I was put in in high reading group that was supposed to work independently that we quickly botched up by playing catch with the football in the hallway. Hindsight: I guess we should have tried to make it to the second week at least.
Seeing that I couldn’t get anything sympathy from her I quickly changed the subject to something to the effect of, “did you notice how much the price of gas has risen lately?” I felt that she would have been hard pressed to beat me on the price of gas in her area versus Crescent City. Then I remembered that she doesn’t have car. Why is it that older sibling can always “one up” you when it comes to comparisons, even when they’re not even trying? Maybe that’s why I don’t keep in contact with them very well. It’s because even if you call them up and tell them that you’re taking advantage of a growing stock option that is going to make you rich and famous in a short time, they just sold that stock and are sitting on a beach in Hawaii at their new (paid for) beach house, sipping cold beer watching the sun go down entering their “golden years” at the age of 51. And had just received her Senior Discount Card (now redeemable at two places in town) good at both Muggles Knitting Shoppe and Dashee’s Authentic Kenya Cuisine. Meanwhile the best that you can hope for is retirement at 62 still 12 years away. Hmmmmphh!ffff
As I sit here on our deck in the backyard I have to wonder if what I thought I did just last week really happened. Did what I think really happen or was it simpy a wispy figment of my overactive imagination, or maybe it was me meditating too much and “poof” there I was, in Alaska.? I know that I thought I had just spent three weeks in Alaska, but I wonder if what I thought I did really happened or just a thing that I dream of doing every summer. Would someone just pinch me a wake me up from my dream-state?
No, forget the pinch, (I always hated those pinching games in school. I was always one of those getting pinched and not really knowing the reason), on second thought let me just live in my dreams. It’s much more pleasant. Besides, if someone wakes me up I’ll have to join the ranks of the here a now which means work, responsiblity, and getting up before 10:00 in the morning. Don’t get me wrong, I admire all of those things, especially that 10 o’clock thing. In fact, I once had a relative that embodied all of those things-God rest his soul. I really didn’t know him very well as I was just a young whippersnapper at the time. My uncle always called me that and to this day I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. So I’m really uneasy calling any young person by that name. And since he died when I was about 8 I can’t really ask him about it. He died, at 42, of a heart attack. I heard people say that he had a Type A personality. So I’m guessing that’s something that may have led to his his demise.
Anyway, ever since then I have sworn off anything to do with a Type A personality. Not that I think that it is catching, I’m just not taking a chance. But that is not the real reason that I remember for. When he was younger he once suffered a preforated eardrum from playing Tarzan over the water (and landing in a very undignified Tarzan-like way) and so he had a slight hearing problem in one ear. He could do something I’ve never seen anyone do before or since; since he was a pipesmoker he could, through a series of gyrations and slight belching, actually make smoke come out of his ear. For awhile there I was the coolest kid on the block as no other kids had any relatives that could do anything so awesome. He could never remember which ear the smoke would come out of so whenever we would get him to preform this trick it came as a surprise to him and an amusement to us. So I guess, to be honest, I’m not really sure what he died of; being a Type A person, smoking, or too many bodily orfices. But, excuse me, I digress.
I just read that Tucson, Arizona has had 21 days in a row of temperatures above 115*, so I called my sister in Fresno, California which incidently is just the next state over from Arizona (for those that are geographically challenged). I was looking for a little sympathy. See, we’ve been having somewhat of our own heatwave in Crescent City. In fact, I’ve been worrying about the state of our thermometer on the back deck. The sun came out from behind the fog in such a hurry I thought that the mercury may explode with a resounding crash right through the top of the thermometer. The temperature was 71*. For Crescent City that is a really, really nice day. If it gets up to 80* people have to go find their manuels to their heat pumps to figure out how to use the air conditioner feature of it. In fact, in our town that’s just the kind of thing that makes the headlines in our newspaper, that and the time when “vandals” dug a trench to let the water drain into the ocean from Lake Tolowa-basically a large mud puddle that many people call a lake that drains at its own discretion when it rises to height that only it can dictate, which is above the mean high tide level. Let’s see, where was I? Excuse me, I digress.
Oh yes, trying to get a little sympathy from my older sister about the extreme temperatures here on the coast. She didn’t buy it. She just waited for me to wind down and take a breath and announced that she was sitting in the house-next to the air condtioner because it was 107* outside and she was afraid that she would die of something related to heat exhaustion or basically anything that you would get if you had to move in those kinds of temperatures. I picked up on that rather quickly. I’m pretty shrewd that way-gifted even. Not inclined to miss something when someones tells me in an off-hand way-too often. Frankly, I’m surprised that I wasn’t identified as a GATE student when I was in grade school. The best recogntion that I received was that I was put in in high reading group that was supposed to work independently that we quickly botched up by playing catch with the football in the hallway. Hindsight: I guess we should have tried to make it to the second week at least.
Seeing that I couldn’t get anything sympathy from her I quickly changed the subject to something to the effect of, “did you notice how much the price of gas has risen lately?” I felt that she would have been hard pressed to beat me on the price of gas in her area versus Crescent City. Then I remembered that she doesn’t have car. Why is it that older sibling can always “one up” you when it comes to comparisons, even when they’re not even trying? Maybe that’s why I don’t keep in contact with them very well. It’s because even if you call them up and tell them that you’re taking advantage of a growing stock option that is going to make you rich and famous in a short time, they just sold that stock and are sitting on a beach in Hawaii at their new (paid for) beach house, sipping cold beer watching the sun go down entering their “golden years” at the age of 51. And had just received her Senior Discount Card (now redeemable at two places in town) good at both Muggles Knitting Shoppe and Dashee’s Authentic Kenya Cuisine. Meanwhile the best that you can hope for is retirement at 62 still 12 years away. Hmmmmphh!ffff
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Summer Fun
Del Norte County’s weather is always the same. I love it. People are always asking me after hearing that comment if I’ve lived here all my life and I must answer them truthfully, no, not yet, I haven’t lived here all my life. But have lived here for fifty years. Every year in August-just 3 weeks before school starts the weather changes from windy to summer.If you see teachers that are in a perputally dour mood, check your calendar. Chances are if the sun is out and school is in. But excuse me, I’m getting months ahead of myself.
As soon as school gets out (which is always too late for the students-and especially the teachers) just after we have a few nice days and you think that things are going to be different this year. Those nice days are somewhat of a harbinger of summer-the wind starts blowing. It stops blowing just after the 4th of July celebratons are over and just welcomes in the foggy days in which it doesn’t clear off again until just after the county fair is over. If we’re lucky the sun will burn the fog off just in time where you can go down to the carnival and actually see your missing child atop the Gravitron staring down at you and yelling, “Can I buy a snow cone?” Or, in reality, will you buy me a snow cone when I get down from here?” Isn’t it nice to be loved or at least needed? I understand that there really is life beyond parenthood, but the problem is that when your kids have finally grown up and don’t need you to buy them snow cones anymore you can’t remember what is was like.
Del Norte County’s weather is always the same. I love it. People are always asking me after hearing that comment if I’ve lived here all my life and I must answer them truthfully, no, not yet, I haven’t lived here all my life. But have lived here for fifty years. Every year in August-just 3 weeks before school starts the weather changes from windy to summer.If you see teachers that are in a perputally dour mood, check your calendar. Chances are if the sun is out and school is in. But excuse me, I’m getting months ahead of myself.
As soon as school gets out (which is always too late for the students-and especially the teachers) just after we have a few nice days and you think that things are going to be different this year. Those nice days are somewhat of a harbinger of summer-the wind starts blowing. It stops blowing just after the 4th of July celebratons are over and just welcomes in the foggy days in which it doesn’t clear off again until just after the county fair is over. If we’re lucky the sun will burn the fog off just in time where you can go down to the carnival and actually see your missing child atop the Gravitron staring down at you and yelling, “Can I buy a snow cone?” Or, in reality, will you buy me a snow cone when I get down from here?” Isn’t it nice to be loved or at least needed? I understand that there really is life beyond parenthood, but the problem is that when your kids have finally grown up and don’t need you to buy them snow cones anymore you can’t remember what is was like.
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