I ended the Thanksgiving weekend watching the movie "A River Runs Through it" on hulu.com. It wasn't planned. I was looking at hulu's new movies and saw this title, remembering seeing it the year it came out in 1992. I couldn't remember the plot nor what it was about. All I could remember were the beautiful river scenes and the mountain backdrops.
So I sat in front of my computer and watched the movie. It was as if I had never seen it before.
And what a beautiful movie it was. It made me long to see Montana, its endless skies, its lush green vallies, its snow-capped mountains. And then memories of all the books I read in Iraq that somehow were about that part of the country that has me mesmerized: southwestern Montana, northwestern Wyoming, Idaho, came back to me.
When did my fascination with Montana begin? I don't even know for sure. It was while I was living in New Jersey and borrowed a few books from the library, travelogues and childhood memoirs of Montana; John Steinbeck's "Travels with Charley"and Judy Blunt's "Breaking Clean."
John Steinbeck described Montana simply with "I love Montana" and left it at that. I wanted to learn more about Montana that made John fall in love with that state, and years later I'm still dreaming that some day, I will.
Somewhere I also read the Corps of Discovery and the Lewis and Clark expedition across the northern states in 1804-1806.
I also read David McCumber's "The Cowboy Way" about the San Franciscan's year on a dude ranch, describing the daily toils of life on a large-scale ranch in Montana, tending to ornery cattle, fixing broken barbed-wire fences, bundling up in snowstorms. The descriptive narrative of his days on the ranch kept me glued to the book for three late nights, reading until early in the morning while occasionally hearing incoming fire from around our Baghdad perimeter.
But the most beautiful story I read was by Ivan Doig, "This House of Sky," his bittersweet memoir of life in Montana and his relationship with his grandmother and father who sacrificed everything to give him a good life and to send him off to college. It was perhaps one of the few books I've ever read that made me shed a few tears in the end.
I don't know when I'm ever going to see Montana. It won't be next summer, when I'm most likely going to be in Indiana with the new baby. I don't even know if Erin wants me around that much, nor do I think I could handle a newborn exclusively for six weeks. I'll find out in May, I gather. And if Eric's OK and heading out to Boston for the year next summer, then I'll just take the long way back to Arizona via the northern Plains, through North Dakota and Montana. It would be the trip that I've been scheming in my mind for several years now. I wonder what kind of thoughts will be racing through my head then while driving the lonely roads of Big Sky County.
I don't know how I'm going to do the trip with school still my primary goal, but life does tend to throw us all surprises. I can look back at this year and regret the trips not taken or the dreams still unfulfilled.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
Charged by a mad javelina
The forecasted rain really hit late on Wednesday until early Thursday. By late morning the grey clouds gave way to blue skies and mild temperatures.
Kevin was still feeling sick but still managed to make a complete turkey while I steam-cleaned all the carpets and two of the vehicles. Too tired to go anywhere, we stayed home. He’s still coughing and speaking with a raspy voice and I’m still congested at times.
Today was back to normal and I couldn’t wait to walk off some turkey with the dogs. What I planned as a four-mile walk with the dogs to the green water tanks off Highway 90 turned into an almost six-mile walk from the house to Kelly Springs in Hunter Canyon. We walked along the frontage road and cross the highway via the drainage crossing that was still partially flooded from yesterday’s rains. By now the dogs recognized the area and picked up the pace; chasing each other on the soft, wet ground, through dead grasses and scratchy catclaw acacias.
Shooters were out today in full force, so I stayed in the wash along the road. We eventually made it to Kelly Springs were we rested for a while before walking back the same way, via immigrant trails back toward the wash.
A lone adult javelina charged after me near the cattle crossing off Hunter Canyon Road (Forest Road 367). Its rustling aroused my senses and when I turned around to see what was causing the noise, I panicked. Holy shit, that thing is big I thought. (And ugly too. That javelina looked like a giant head with teeth and fur) Thank goodness the dogs were off leash here as all three went after it. The javelina must not have seen the dogs because it now was startled and ran off, but was confused as to which direction to run in as the dogs were coming from all directions trying to envelope it. Sadie went after the javelina straight on. I heard her yelp behind the shrubs but couldn’t see anything.
Dogs and javalina were now out of sight. I heard barking and rustling but low-lying shrubbery concealed everything. Oh shit, I thought, one of them is going to come back with body parts missing. "SARA! SADIE! SAMMY!" I yelled a few times. All three returned with not a scrape on them shortly thereafter, like nothing had happened. The excitement was over for now. They had saved me from the evils of a mad javelina.
Three men were shooting targets on our way back, right off the trail we had come on. The dogs stopped in their tracts at the first gunshot. Even Sara, who normally walks 100’ ahead of me at any given time, retreated behind me. Only Sadie showed an interest in approaching the men, but I took the dogs on a wide berth around them as I had had enough adventure for the day.
The last fun event was Sammy rolling around in a mule deer carcass off the trail. The carcass stunk and I could smell decay on Sammy the rest of the walk home.
We got back home in three hours. Kevin was in the kitchen finishing his touches on his homemade turkey soup with grilled American cheese sandwiches.
“The dogs smell like shit!” said Kevin .
“It’s Sammy, he rolled around in a smelly deer carcass…”
Sammy got a bath within an hour.
It was a lovely walk through cool, moist trails. The sky was overcast the entire time. This hike would have been a torture in the summer, but today it was 54F when I got home at 2pm.
Kevin was still under the weather today. Shortly after Sammy’s bath he was in bed. I gave up the idea of going to Best Buy to get modem parts for Kevin’s computer; I didn’t want to deal with savage Black Friday shoppers. A Walmart employee in New York was trampled to death this morning and two shoppers in Palm Desert, CA were shot to death as well. I’ve had my excitement for the day.
http://www.fs.fed.us/r3/coronado/forest/recreation/trails/hunter_cyn_clark_spg.shtml
http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/11/28/black.friday.violence/index.html
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-toystoreshooting29-2008nov29,0,5989270.story
Kevin was still feeling sick but still managed to make a complete turkey while I steam-cleaned all the carpets and two of the vehicles. Too tired to go anywhere, we stayed home. He’s still coughing and speaking with a raspy voice and I’m still congested at times.
Today was back to normal and I couldn’t wait to walk off some turkey with the dogs. What I planned as a four-mile walk with the dogs to the green water tanks off Highway 90 turned into an almost six-mile walk from the house to Kelly Springs in Hunter Canyon. We walked along the frontage road and cross the highway via the drainage crossing that was still partially flooded from yesterday’s rains. By now the dogs recognized the area and picked up the pace; chasing each other on the soft, wet ground, through dead grasses and scratchy catclaw acacias.
Shooters were out today in full force, so I stayed in the wash along the road. We eventually made it to Kelly Springs were we rested for a while before walking back the same way, via immigrant trails back toward the wash.
A lone adult javelina charged after me near the cattle crossing off Hunter Canyon Road (Forest Road 367). Its rustling aroused my senses and when I turned around to see what was causing the noise, I panicked. Holy shit, that thing is big I thought. (And ugly too. That javelina looked like a giant head with teeth and fur) Thank goodness the dogs were off leash here as all three went after it. The javelina must not have seen the dogs because it now was startled and ran off, but was confused as to which direction to run in as the dogs were coming from all directions trying to envelope it. Sadie went after the javelina straight on. I heard her yelp behind the shrubs but couldn’t see anything.
Dogs and javalina were now out of sight. I heard barking and rustling but low-lying shrubbery concealed everything. Oh shit, I thought, one of them is going to come back with body parts missing. "SARA! SADIE! SAMMY!" I yelled a few times. All three returned with not a scrape on them shortly thereafter, like nothing had happened. The excitement was over for now. They had saved me from the evils of a mad javelina.
Three men were shooting targets on our way back, right off the trail we had come on. The dogs stopped in their tracts at the first gunshot. Even Sara, who normally walks 100’ ahead of me at any given time, retreated behind me. Only Sadie showed an interest in approaching the men, but I took the dogs on a wide berth around them as I had had enough adventure for the day.
The last fun event was Sammy rolling around in a mule deer carcass off the trail. The carcass stunk and I could smell decay on Sammy the rest of the walk home.
We got back home in three hours. Kevin was in the kitchen finishing his touches on his homemade turkey soup with grilled American cheese sandwiches.
“The dogs smell like shit!” said Kevin .
“It’s Sammy, he rolled around in a smelly deer carcass…”
Sammy got a bath within an hour.
It was a lovely walk through cool, moist trails. The sky was overcast the entire time. This hike would have been a torture in the summer, but today it was 54F when I got home at 2pm.
Kevin was still under the weather today. Shortly after Sammy’s bath he was in bed. I gave up the idea of going to Best Buy to get modem parts for Kevin’s computer; I didn’t want to deal with savage Black Friday shoppers. A Walmart employee in New York was trampled to death this morning and two shoppers in Palm Desert, CA were shot to death as well. I’ve had my excitement for the day.
http://www.fs.fed.us/r3/coronado/forest/recreation/trails/hunter_cyn_clark_spg.shtml
http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/11/28/black.friday.violence/index.html
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-toystoreshooting29-2008nov29,0,5989270.story
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
It's raining!!!
Skies expected to bring rain, snow during holiday week, forecasters say
By Ted Morris, Sierra Vista Herald/Review
SIERRA VISTA — Get your coats, caps and gloves ready. Early winter storms are moving into the area, promising precipitation today and into the Thanksgiving weekend.
“Due to the tropical nature of this system … the snow level will be very high,” a National Weather Service stated in a hazardous-weather outlook for Southeast Arizona, issued Tuesday afternoon.
The defined area included Cochise and Santa Cruz counties.
“The snow level (today) will start above the peaks and then fall to around 7,500 feet on Thursday. The best time frame for accumulating snow will be Wednesday evening into Thursday. Total snowfall amounts for the event will be in the 3 to 9 inch range with the highest totals above 8,000 feet,” the weather service said in its statement.
The National Weather Service report also advised the system would bring much cooler temperatures into the region.
Local meteorologists are watching the system, which is moving eastward to Arizona from the Southern California/Baja coast.
“It’s kind of a good winter storm, bringing primarily rain in Sierra Vista,” said Steve Erickson, weather station manager for Libby Army Airfield on Fort Huachuca. He is one of four forecasters at the station, which also handles weather services for Sierra Vista Municipal Airport and the overall fort.
“Winter’s on its way,” said Karen Malis-Clark with the U.S. Forest Service’s Coconino and Kaibab national forests in northern Arizona.
The U.S. Forest Service warned that winter conditions might warrant travel restrictions on forest roads, even for all-terrain vehicles.
As of Tuesday, local supervisors with the Coronado National Forest had not issued any warnings. But they are known to keep an eye on popular drives such as the guardrail-less road to the 9,250-foot summit of Carr Peak and will close such roads if conditions warrant, depending on hour-to-hour evaluations.
Erickson said he hopes the storm will provide Sierra Vista’s November average precipitation. As usual, most of the annual precipitation came during the monsoon. The fort has recorded 15.25 inches from Jan. 1 to Oct. 31.
According to AccuWeather Inc., whose precipitation data from the Sierra Vista Fire Department’s Station One are reported daily on Page A6 of the Herald/Review, 8.45 inches have fallen year to date, compared with a normal year-to-date rainfall of 13.38 inches.
The Huachuca Mountains usually receive the most precipitation in this area, and the valleys of Cochise County get more rain than Tucson, which gets more than Phoenix.
Erickson, who looks at reports filed on rainlog.org, noted that some people in Hereford have reported receiving as much as 21 inches of rain so far this year.
Erickson said his staff monitors two rain gauges: one on Libby, near the station, and a second one at Sierra Vista Muncipal Airport. During this year’s monsoon, those gauges collected 13.88 and 11.92 inches, respectively.
The National Weather Service decided this year that the Arizona monsoon will now be defined as starting on June 15 and ending Sept. 30.
Previously, the monsoon’s arrival was marked by three consecutive days of the dew point averaging 54 degrees Fahrenheit in Tucson and 55 degrees in Phoenix.
When you look like your passport photo...
Nothing like a dog’s tongue in your mouth first thing in the morning. Sara got me good yesterday; today it was Sadie’s turn. Doggie kisses always get me up right away.
My cold was officially over Tuesday morning. I stopped taking medications Sunday and my congestion lightened up enough Monday. I did not have any afternoon relapses. Tuesday I was back to normal.
The school didn’t call Monday and Tuesday which was fine with me as I had a lot to do. My primary mission was to get my passport photos taken and the paperwork mailed off, and if time allowed, get a new driver's license. The lamination was coming off my old one.
My cold was officially over Tuesday morning. I stopped taking medications Sunday and my congestion lightened up enough Monday. I did not have any afternoon relapses. Tuesday I was back to normal.
The school didn’t call Monday and Tuesday which was fine with me as I had a lot to do. My primary mission was to get my passport photos taken and the paperwork mailed off, and if time allowed, get a new driver's license. The lamination was coming off my old one.
I did light gardening after sunrise and prepped the garden beds for the PVC pipes I planned on installing later. A Border Patrol helicopter swooped over our neighbohood. This was the third one in as many days.
The challenging part was finding a place that actually took passport photos. My first choice was Walgreen’s on Fry Boulevard but the technician there used a Kodak EasyShot (notoriously bad cameras) and had an unsteady hand. My photos came back too blurry and I refused to get them for $7.99. I actually can’t believe she was going to sell them to me; I would have retaken the shots.
From Walgreen’s I went west on Fry to find the photography studio where Kevin went to get his mug shot taken earlier this year. That place was no longer there. So from the west end of town I drove to the east side of town to try CVS Drugstore, which is ironically across the parking lot from Walgreen’s.
“It’s going to take a while. There’s a lady at the machine downloading 200 photographs” told me the technician.
“How long is a while?” I asked.
“About 90 minutes”
At that I raised my arms up in disgust, rolled my eyes and replied “Forget it!” Getting my passport pictures taken was turning into a nightmare and a run-around.
I was getting the ugly tour of Sierra Vista by now. Fry Boulevard is a dreary street with a lot of run-down businesses, asphalt, and cars that look like they've not seen a wax job since the 1950s. It’s a typical army town.
My next choice was WalMart on the east side..
“We are out of ink” said the woman behind the counter. “Try the post office.” By now I was exhausted from the driving. It had taken me an hour by now.
The post office wasn’t too busy, it was post-lunch. I was the third in line.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked me the postal agent.
“No, I didn’t think I needed one…”
“Well, you just can’t walk in and get your passport pictures taken…” By now I realized that. “But here, meet me at the side office” And within a few minutes I had my two photos taken for $15. It didn’t take very long at all. The photos were a bit lacking in contrast but at least they were in focus. And my goodness, my hair looked limp. I may just invest in another body perm again. For the next ten years I'm going to look like my passport photo. Great.
“The only place that takes better photos than we is WalMart” he said as he prepared my photographs to the two-inch-by-two-inch passport format. "Walgreen's used to be good but the woman who used to take the photos quit and the new lady isn't as good." Tell me about that! He gave me the paperwork for the passport and I made an appointment for 3pm Tuesday to finish the required documentation.
The Department of Motor Vehicles is on the far east side of town near campus. Only a handful of customers were in the lobby. I got a new driver's license within 30 minutes. That photo looked just as bad as my passport photo. UGH! I'll be caring that photo around until 2025 when my license is due for renewal.
Tuesday was another busy day. Weather was overcast with rain forecasted for today. The clouds made the morning warmer than usual. I took a Ford full of aluminum cans to the SV animal shelter which was receiving gracious donations of kitten food from residents.
“We still need clay kitty litter” said the animal control officer behind the desk. I also talked briefly to a Diana K who was a former member of the hiking club of years ago.
I also dropped off a $75 fee and application for the January Water Harvesting course at UA-South. The seven-week Saturday course will count toward my 2009 MG education training. The weekend-long conference is in February which will take care of my entire year’s worth of lectures and meetings I must take to maintain my MG status. (Next year I only need to volunteer 25 hours a year which I will easily do in the office manning the phones.)
At 3pm I was back at the post office. This time it was a madhouse, with customers in a long line approaching the glass doors getting ready to mail off Christmas packages. All the counters were manned and I was out of there within 20 minutes and $95 poorer, $75 going to the State Department and the rest to the post office for processing. My official passport should be back within two weeks said Ivan the postal agent.
What a relief to finally get my passport taken care of. Mexico and Germany, here I come!
It’s Wednesday morning now. Rain is due in this afternoon and KVOA keeps saying the storm will be heavier than first predicted. Travel tomorrow won’t be fun. I bought PVC pipes yesterday to prep the garden with plastic tarp for the colder months ahead.
“I think I have your cold” said Kevin as he got up this morning. "I didn't sleep well all night long." He's sneezing and coughing. Yep, he's got what I had over the weekend. He cancelled work for today.
My last mission is getting Vinnie back to the vet for her booster shots. And if time allows it, rent a carpet shampooer. Kevin gave me $20 for kitty litter to give the SV animal shelter. I will buy $40 worth for both the Bisbee and SV shelters.
The challenging part was finding a place that actually took passport photos. My first choice was Walgreen’s on Fry Boulevard but the technician there used a Kodak EasyShot (notoriously bad cameras) and had an unsteady hand. My photos came back too blurry and I refused to get them for $7.99. I actually can’t believe she was going to sell them to me; I would have retaken the shots.
From Walgreen’s I went west on Fry to find the photography studio where Kevin went to get his mug shot taken earlier this year. That place was no longer there. So from the west end of town I drove to the east side of town to try CVS Drugstore, which is ironically across the parking lot from Walgreen’s.
“It’s going to take a while. There’s a lady at the machine downloading 200 photographs” told me the technician.
“How long is a while?” I asked.
“About 90 minutes”
At that I raised my arms up in disgust, rolled my eyes and replied “Forget it!” Getting my passport pictures taken was turning into a nightmare and a run-around.
I was getting the ugly tour of Sierra Vista by now. Fry Boulevard is a dreary street with a lot of run-down businesses, asphalt, and cars that look like they've not seen a wax job since the 1950s. It’s a typical army town.
My next choice was WalMart on the east side..
“We are out of ink” said the woman behind the counter. “Try the post office.” By now I was exhausted from the driving. It had taken me an hour by now.
The post office wasn’t too busy, it was post-lunch. I was the third in line.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked me the postal agent.
“No, I didn’t think I needed one…”
“Well, you just can’t walk in and get your passport pictures taken…” By now I realized that. “But here, meet me at the side office” And within a few minutes I had my two photos taken for $15. It didn’t take very long at all. The photos were a bit lacking in contrast but at least they were in focus. And my goodness, my hair looked limp. I may just invest in another body perm again. For the next ten years I'm going to look like my passport photo. Great.
“The only place that takes better photos than we is WalMart” he said as he prepared my photographs to the two-inch-by-two-inch passport format. "Walgreen's used to be good but the woman who used to take the photos quit and the new lady isn't as good." Tell me about that! He gave me the paperwork for the passport and I made an appointment for 3pm Tuesday to finish the required documentation.
The Department of Motor Vehicles is on the far east side of town near campus. Only a handful of customers were in the lobby. I got a new driver's license within 30 minutes. That photo looked just as bad as my passport photo. UGH! I'll be caring that photo around until 2025 when my license is due for renewal.
Tuesday was another busy day. Weather was overcast with rain forecasted for today. The clouds made the morning warmer than usual. I took a Ford full of aluminum cans to the SV animal shelter which was receiving gracious donations of kitten food from residents.
“We still need clay kitty litter” said the animal control officer behind the desk. I also talked briefly to a Diana K who was a former member of the hiking club of years ago.
I also dropped off a $75 fee and application for the January Water Harvesting course at UA-South. The seven-week Saturday course will count toward my 2009 MG education training. The weekend-long conference is in February which will take care of my entire year’s worth of lectures and meetings I must take to maintain my MG status. (Next year I only need to volunteer 25 hours a year which I will easily do in the office manning the phones.)
At 3pm I was back at the post office. This time it was a madhouse, with customers in a long line approaching the glass doors getting ready to mail off Christmas packages. All the counters were manned and I was out of there within 20 minutes and $95 poorer, $75 going to the State Department and the rest to the post office for processing. My official passport should be back within two weeks said Ivan the postal agent.
What a relief to finally get my passport taken care of. Mexico and Germany, here I come!
It’s Wednesday morning now. Rain is due in this afternoon and KVOA keeps saying the storm will be heavier than first predicted. Travel tomorrow won’t be fun. I bought PVC pipes yesterday to prep the garden with plastic tarp for the colder months ahead.
“I think I have your cold” said Kevin as he got up this morning. "I didn't sleep well all night long." He's sneezing and coughing. Yep, he's got what I had over the weekend. He cancelled work for today.
My last mission is getting Vinnie back to the vet for her booster shots. And if time allows it, rent a carpet shampooer. Kevin gave me $20 for kitty litter to give the SV animal shelter. I will buy $40 worth for both the Bisbee and SV shelters.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Under the weather
I came home Friday from school feeling the chills coming. Watery eyes and a sore throat followed. I've been drinking herbal teas with honey all weekend and hacking up phlegm balls.
I never caught a fever, though, although Kevin said I felt warm to the touch (my forehead) yesterday. We still explored a few OHV trails in the Santa Ritas on Saturday, and on Sunday I took the dogs up an illegal trail in Carr Canyon to do some trash clean-up. The three-mile trip took me an hour because I had to stop a few times uphill to catch my breath.
Many of the weathered backpacks and clothes had been torn open by animals. Down jackets were ripped exposing feathers, backpacks ripped open exposing threads and fibrous paddings. I only took back a few old backpacks and some light plastic bottles which I wrapped in a torn black plastic bag someone had once used to keep warm at night.
I never caught a fever, though, although Kevin said I felt warm to the touch (my forehead) yesterday. We still explored a few OHV trails in the Santa Ritas on Saturday, and on Sunday I took the dogs up an illegal trail in Carr Canyon to do some trash clean-up. The three-mile trip took me an hour because I had to stop a few times uphill to catch my breath.
Many of the weathered backpacks and clothes had been torn open by animals. Down jackets were ripped exposing feathers, backpacks ripped open exposing threads and fibrous paddings. I only took back a few old backpacks and some light plastic bottles which I wrapped in a torn black plastic bag someone had once used to keep warm at night.
Deciduous trees in town are clearly in their prime colors now. Even my front yard is glowing yellow and reds.
I have been taking antihistamines at night for three days which put me into a deep sleep each night. But last night--it wasn't even that late--I heard a cat battle cry outside the back porch. Thinking it was Vinnie getting attacked I jumped up and ran outside, the dogs sprinted ahead of me and ran straight toward the vegetable garden which now is in a dark shadow of shrubbery. I called Vinnie's name but she didn't answer. I went to the front yard, called her name again, and still no answer. The dogs remained restless and I was expecting the worst. It was a year ago this week that we lost our beloved black cat Arthur, mouser extraordinaire and Schmuser to both humans and dogs.
Vinnie was sleeping by my feet this morning when I woke up. What a relief that was to see her pretty grey face leaning against the warm blanket.
I got no work done on my finals this weekend. I just couldn't concentrate and would drift off in a dreamy state.
I am glad the school didn't call this morning. I'm still drinking tea with honey but need to head into town today to get my passport photos taken. I will also try to get the passport paperwork finished as well. Another trip into Mexico is planned this weekend and I need to be somewhat prepared.
Now the morning news programs are playing Christmas songs. It's too early for me to get into a holiday mood. The drive back to Chicagoland frightens me only because of the long, cold journey there across this country's most boring landscapes: grey flatlands, grey skies, barren trees and icy roads. Chicago already had its first snow last week. The only good thing about driving the 1800 miles (one way) are the cheaper gasoline prices. Unleaded regular dropped to $2.09 locally on Sunday when it was still $2.29 on Thursday, $2.19 on Friday.
We still have Thanksgiving to overcome. Mom and I are meeting for dinner somewhere. I don't have the energy to clean up the house beforehand.
Sometime this week I must also get my garden prepared for the winter months: ten-foot long PVC pipes stretched across the garden beds would hold up the clear plastic tarps. These tarps would be clamped down with plastic holders. This should keep the vegetables warm enough even when it dips into the 20s this winter.
Rain and colder temperatures are expected by Wednesday, with possible snow in elevations above 6000 feet.
I have been taking antihistamines at night for three days which put me into a deep sleep each night. But last night--it wasn't even that late--I heard a cat battle cry outside the back porch. Thinking it was Vinnie getting attacked I jumped up and ran outside, the dogs sprinted ahead of me and ran straight toward the vegetable garden which now is in a dark shadow of shrubbery. I called Vinnie's name but she didn't answer. I went to the front yard, called her name again, and still no answer. The dogs remained restless and I was expecting the worst. It was a year ago this week that we lost our beloved black cat Arthur, mouser extraordinaire and Schmuser to both humans and dogs.
Vinnie was sleeping by my feet this morning when I woke up. What a relief that was to see her pretty grey face leaning against the warm blanket.
I got no work done on my finals this weekend. I just couldn't concentrate and would drift off in a dreamy state.
I am glad the school didn't call this morning. I'm still drinking tea with honey but need to head into town today to get my passport photos taken. I will also try to get the passport paperwork finished as well. Another trip into Mexico is planned this weekend and I need to be somewhat prepared.
Now the morning news programs are playing Christmas songs. It's too early for me to get into a holiday mood. The drive back to Chicagoland frightens me only because of the long, cold journey there across this country's most boring landscapes: grey flatlands, grey skies, barren trees and icy roads. Chicago already had its first snow last week. The only good thing about driving the 1800 miles (one way) are the cheaper gasoline prices. Unleaded regular dropped to $2.09 locally on Sunday when it was still $2.29 on Thursday, $2.19 on Friday.
We still have Thanksgiving to overcome. Mom and I are meeting for dinner somewhere. I don't have the energy to clean up the house beforehand.
Sometime this week I must also get my garden prepared for the winter months: ten-foot long PVC pipes stretched across the garden beds would hold up the clear plastic tarps. These tarps would be clamped down with plastic holders. This should keep the vegetables warm enough even when it dips into the 20s this winter.
Rain and colder temperatures are expected by Wednesday, with possible snow in elevations above 6000 feet.
Friday, November 21, 2008
"Mees, Mees!"
I had a good week in the schools again. Next week will be busier with teachers taking most of the afternoons off to prepare for the Thanksgiving meals.
After that event with the science students, I spent two days at the Middle School subbing for the math teacher. At first that sounded challenging but once in the classroom with a quick review of the basic pre-algebra laws posted on the wall, I felt better about the topic.
The teacher was still there, writing out quick lesson plans for the day. He had to take the day off to finish his on-line college course on the Arizona Constitution, a class required for all teachers in this state. He gave me a run-down of each class' personalities.
The “Class full of Special Ed” students (his term for a wild bunch) turned out to be one of the best, but second hour was pretty darn good as well; I got to learn many of the names and was able to chat with Michaela’s sister Sam. Memories of the Middle School came back to me, but I’m still glad I was able to get out of that school in time.
The class with the English-Language Learners was especially heart-tugging. Eight Mexican boys sat together in one part of the class and worked as a group over their algebra. One young man kept coming up to me “Mees, is deez correct?”
I’d look at the problem and reply “Yes, it is, great job!” and the little guy would walk back to his desk beaming with pride. Although the boys got animated and reverted to their native Spanish, they all were well behaved and worked diligently on their math.
Some of the boys gave me high fives the second day I had them. And the girls were well behaved, too.
The students did their work. What bothered me was that I didn’t have any new material to keep their attention. Some of the advanced-placement students breezed through the exercises and spent the last 15 minutes hanging out with their friends in class.
The students wanted the lights out and the windows wide open. That gave them warmth of the afternoon sun, with a direct view of the open copper mine across the street and a corner gas station that was still selling gasoline for $4.09 when it sold for $2.19 everywhere else. (The next day the station dropped the price to $2.89)
One young man, sitting next to the teacher’s desk, looked at me and asked “Do you drink?” I wasn’t sure what to say. If I said no I’d be lying. If I said yes I could be tempting him to be just like me.
“Why are you asking?” was my final response.
“Because I drink…”
“Well, you know it’s not legal at your age."
“I know…”
“All I can say is be smart about your drinking. Don’t do it in school, don’t do it in the open, and don’t get caught. Alcohol can make people do some really stupid things.”
“Don’t tell anyone I drink” he said.
“I won’t, but just be careful no one else ever sees you. And you know if I see you drinking on school grounds I'd have to turn in your name to officials. Just play by the rules!”
He didn’t act or smell inebriated, but he did hold his jacket over his mouth from time to time.
The next day he was pretty cool toward me, doing his work and acting like all was fine in the world. We chatted about Bisbee and the town. I told him I really liked it here.
“Yeah, but it’s pretty poor.”
“It may be poor but it’s more of a community than Sierra Vista!”
And to that many of the students nodded in agreement.
“Are you a native?” he asked.
“Native? As in Mexican? Indian?’ Or do you mean if I lived in Bisbee all my life?”
“Native, you know, Mexican!"
“Do I look Mexican? I replied, pointing to my dark blonde hair.
“No, I’m part German.”
“My grandfather was German!” another girl from across the class yelled. She, too, was a towhead.
Later I gave him and his friends a small lesson in life.”Boys, you guys are pretty smart young men. I want to see you all make good grades and go to college, You are going to need a college degree to make it in this world. And if you are given a chance to go to school on a scholarship and then turn it down, you have only yourselves to blame. You can’t blame others, or blame discrimination for your own mistakes.”
They all looked at me and smiled. “Yes, Mees.”
I hope to have them again for more life lessons.
One of the boys later did tell me he was kicked out of a store "because I was Mexican."
All the middle school students had one problem that really irked me, and which I nipped in the bud the second day: they went through pencils like chocolate bars. I gave out almost an entire 24-pack of new pencils that first day. What I should have done was write up those who didn’t have pencils with them with “Unprepared for class” and have them serve "lunch detention" the next day. During recess I was picking up full and broken pencils from all over the school yard, sharpened them and placed them back on Mr F’s desk. The first student who got a stubby pencil just looked at me and scowled.
“You either take that pencil or you get an Incomplete for the class…”
The student took the stubby pencil.
By lunch time on the second day few students were asking for pencils.
And of course we had our share of drama and excitement. “Look, a squirrel!” screamed one girl as she pointed out the window. Within a nanosecond half the class rushed to the window to see the squirrel. If there was a squirrel it had already jumped off the young oak tree and scurried across the parking lot.
“What’s so exciting about a squirrel?” I asked her, dumbfounded.
“You don’t see too many squirrels here in Bisbee!”
Which actually isn’t quite true: where there are tall deciduous trees and oak trees, there will be squirrels. Bisbee has many tall cottonwoods and oaks along its washes and drainages. We have a bunch of them here in the Huachuca foothills as well. The squirrels live where water is available. When the creek in town is running, there will be squirrels.
One young girl, Brittany, brought out her seashell collection to class and neatly lined them up on her desk. She and her friend next to her were into the outdoors and were working on their science project for the next hour. Later during their PE class she found a Walking Stick sauntering up a sagebrush. Oh, how I wish I had had my camera handy to photograph that one! All three of us stood by watching it move slowly up the branch.
“Stick Dude” she named the guy.
I really liked that group of 7th and 8th graders. When I showed up for the third day today many of the students by then recognized me. “Are you going to be our sub today?”
“No, Mr F is back in class today, I’m here for Ms C!”
“Ah, bummer. You’re awesome!”
Awesome, huh? I sure didn’t feel that way with the 6th graders a few months ago. Looking back now, there were things I said and did that I know now were not quite appropriate for 6th grade. My sarcasm gets misread in the lower grades and I’m more cautious talking with the younger people. I feel much more comfortable with the middle and high school students.
Like this afternoon: I had first graders for the afternoon. The procedures of lining them up, reminding them NOT TO RUN ON THE ASPHALT went on deaf ears. John ran to his next class, tripped, and bruised his thigh. In shock, he lay on the ground crying. He had me scared. I lifted him up, took him to the principal/nurse office and by then the second iteration of first graders were waiting for me by the classroom door.
That first class of first graders were as bad as that class of six graders from a few months ago. My god, I thought, they act like mini-6th graders! They ran around the room like splitting amoebas. They had been sitting down so quietly the first 15 minutes and then all hell broke loose. If it was a magic word I had said I’d sure like to know what that word was!
.
We watched the 1987 cartoon “Sparky’s Magic Piano” for the music class. I got to see that movie’s first half three times. By now I could recite the dialogue! I was glad to finish the day; I was feeling flu-like symptoms coming on again with a constant chill, watery eyes and sneezes and coughs all day long. I never did take off my jacket.
After that event with the science students, I spent two days at the Middle School subbing for the math teacher. At first that sounded challenging but once in the classroom with a quick review of the basic pre-algebra laws posted on the wall, I felt better about the topic.
The teacher was still there, writing out quick lesson plans for the day. He had to take the day off to finish his on-line college course on the Arizona Constitution, a class required for all teachers in this state. He gave me a run-down of each class' personalities.
The “Class full of Special Ed” students (his term for a wild bunch) turned out to be one of the best, but second hour was pretty darn good as well; I got to learn many of the names and was able to chat with Michaela’s sister Sam. Memories of the Middle School came back to me, but I’m still glad I was able to get out of that school in time.
The class with the English-Language Learners was especially heart-tugging. Eight Mexican boys sat together in one part of the class and worked as a group over their algebra. One young man kept coming up to me “Mees, is deez correct?”
I’d look at the problem and reply “Yes, it is, great job!” and the little guy would walk back to his desk beaming with pride. Although the boys got animated and reverted to their native Spanish, they all were well behaved and worked diligently on their math.
Some of the boys gave me high fives the second day I had them. And the girls were well behaved, too.
The students did their work. What bothered me was that I didn’t have any new material to keep their attention. Some of the advanced-placement students breezed through the exercises and spent the last 15 minutes hanging out with their friends in class.
The students wanted the lights out and the windows wide open. That gave them warmth of the afternoon sun, with a direct view of the open copper mine across the street and a corner gas station that was still selling gasoline for $4.09 when it sold for $2.19 everywhere else. (The next day the station dropped the price to $2.89)
One young man, sitting next to the teacher’s desk, looked at me and asked “Do you drink?” I wasn’t sure what to say. If I said no I’d be lying. If I said yes I could be tempting him to be just like me.
“Why are you asking?” was my final response.
“Because I drink…”
“Well, you know it’s not legal at your age."
“I know…”
“All I can say is be smart about your drinking. Don’t do it in school, don’t do it in the open, and don’t get caught. Alcohol can make people do some really stupid things.”
“Don’t tell anyone I drink” he said.
“I won’t, but just be careful no one else ever sees you. And you know if I see you drinking on school grounds I'd have to turn in your name to officials. Just play by the rules!”
He didn’t act or smell inebriated, but he did hold his jacket over his mouth from time to time.
The next day he was pretty cool toward me, doing his work and acting like all was fine in the world. We chatted about Bisbee and the town. I told him I really liked it here.
“Yeah, but it’s pretty poor.”
“It may be poor but it’s more of a community than Sierra Vista!”
And to that many of the students nodded in agreement.
“Are you a native?” he asked.
“Native? As in Mexican? Indian?’ Or do you mean if I lived in Bisbee all my life?”
“Native, you know, Mexican!"
“Do I look Mexican? I replied, pointing to my dark blonde hair.
“No, I’m part German.”
“My grandfather was German!” another girl from across the class yelled. She, too, was a towhead.
Later I gave him and his friends a small lesson in life.”Boys, you guys are pretty smart young men. I want to see you all make good grades and go to college, You are going to need a college degree to make it in this world. And if you are given a chance to go to school on a scholarship and then turn it down, you have only yourselves to blame. You can’t blame others, or blame discrimination for your own mistakes.”
They all looked at me and smiled. “Yes, Mees.”
I hope to have them again for more life lessons.
One of the boys later did tell me he was kicked out of a store "because I was Mexican."
All the middle school students had one problem that really irked me, and which I nipped in the bud the second day: they went through pencils like chocolate bars. I gave out almost an entire 24-pack of new pencils that first day. What I should have done was write up those who didn’t have pencils with them with “Unprepared for class” and have them serve "lunch detention" the next day. During recess I was picking up full and broken pencils from all over the school yard, sharpened them and placed them back on Mr F’s desk. The first student who got a stubby pencil just looked at me and scowled.
“You either take that pencil or you get an Incomplete for the class…”
The student took the stubby pencil.
By lunch time on the second day few students were asking for pencils.
And of course we had our share of drama and excitement. “Look, a squirrel!” screamed one girl as she pointed out the window. Within a nanosecond half the class rushed to the window to see the squirrel. If there was a squirrel it had already jumped off the young oak tree and scurried across the parking lot.
“What’s so exciting about a squirrel?” I asked her, dumbfounded.
“You don’t see too many squirrels here in Bisbee!”
Which actually isn’t quite true: where there are tall deciduous trees and oak trees, there will be squirrels. Bisbee has many tall cottonwoods and oaks along its washes and drainages. We have a bunch of them here in the Huachuca foothills as well. The squirrels live where water is available. When the creek in town is running, there will be squirrels.
One young girl, Brittany, brought out her seashell collection to class and neatly lined them up on her desk. She and her friend next to her were into the outdoors and were working on their science project for the next hour. Later during their PE class she found a Walking Stick sauntering up a sagebrush. Oh, how I wish I had had my camera handy to photograph that one! All three of us stood by watching it move slowly up the branch.
“Stick Dude” she named the guy.
I really liked that group of 7th and 8th graders. When I showed up for the third day today many of the students by then recognized me. “Are you going to be our sub today?”
“No, Mr F is back in class today, I’m here for Ms C!”
“Ah, bummer. You’re awesome!”
Awesome, huh? I sure didn’t feel that way with the 6th graders a few months ago. Looking back now, there were things I said and did that I know now were not quite appropriate for 6th grade. My sarcasm gets misread in the lower grades and I’m more cautious talking with the younger people. I feel much more comfortable with the middle and high school students.
Like this afternoon: I had first graders for the afternoon. The procedures of lining them up, reminding them NOT TO RUN ON THE ASPHALT went on deaf ears. John ran to his next class, tripped, and bruised his thigh. In shock, he lay on the ground crying. He had me scared. I lifted him up, took him to the principal/nurse office and by then the second iteration of first graders were waiting for me by the classroom door.
That first class of first graders were as bad as that class of six graders from a few months ago. My god, I thought, they act like mini-6th graders! They ran around the room like splitting amoebas. They had been sitting down so quietly the first 15 minutes and then all hell broke loose. If it was a magic word I had said I’d sure like to know what that word was!
.
We watched the 1987 cartoon “Sparky’s Magic Piano” for the music class. I got to see that movie’s first half three times. By now I could recite the dialogue! I was glad to finish the day; I was feeling flu-like symptoms coming on again with a constant chill, watery eyes and sneezes and coughs all day long. I never did take off my jacket.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
David Baker hikes the AZT
I joined Brenda, Steve, Paul, Cliff and a few other club hikers at the city library to listen to Dave Baker, owner of Tucson’s Summit Hut outfitters talk about his spring hike across the Arizona Trail.
The conference room was crowded. Most of the audience was in their 60s and 70s. They weren’t interested in hiking the AZT, they just wanted to hear his story of the trails. I recognized a few Master Gardeners. A Bisbee High School coach was also in the audience.
Tall, thin and mid 50-ish, sporting a graying goatee and thinning hair, Dave looked like a life-long athlete. He started hiking when he was 15 and has always loved the outdoors.
The 800-mile long AZT is a fairly recent long trail, and not a very used trail. The big problem for hikers is finding reliable water sources. Cows were his biggest concern as far as animals go, and there were stretches where he didn’t see another person for four days.
The southern terminus is just ten miles away from our house. The trail toward Tucson would be an adventure alone, across the Huachucas, the Cienega Hills, Santa Ritas and the Catalinas. I've hiked a good portion of this stretch in small sections, but to do the whole thing would be a challenge. The solitude would perhaps get to me.
He finished half the hike by himself, with his partner dropping out midway. When he got to the Utah border in late May, he felt anticlimactic and sat by the border for a few hours before getting up to walk back to the trailhead for his pick-up. The hike took him 55 days. He had 17 “Zero” days, 12 when his mother-in-law died in mid April. He averaged 20 miles a day.
He took a few Questions after his slide show, but he couldn’t tell me how much the trip cost him. The hotels, restaurant meals, gas for the driving around and resupplying surely added up. But he claimed he had no clue.
I would have liked to have asked him more questions, like what was THE most memorable moment on the AZT? The most scary? The biggest surprise? The biggest disappointment? What was his most used piece of equipment?
Despite the breathtaking scenery, I’m not sure I’d want to trek through the AZT. Perhaps with some training I would consider hiking it with Brenda. She’s the closest to my age, is very fit, and always upbeat. I’d have to train hard, do long hikes with backpacks, and leave the dogs at home with Kevin and just dedicate myself to training hard for a few months beforehand.
“Are you thinking about hiking the AZT” I asked her.
“Sure, we can start training for it in March!”
Then, on my way home I realized I couldn’t do the trail: I have college courses to complete, and in May the baby’s due. And my chronic backpain is really starting to become truly chronic.
Maybe I'll have to bite the bullet and start taking my prescribed Celebrex again.
http://summithut.com/pages/aztrail-log/start/
The conference room was crowded. Most of the audience was in their 60s and 70s. They weren’t interested in hiking the AZT, they just wanted to hear his story of the trails. I recognized a few Master Gardeners. A Bisbee High School coach was also in the audience.
Tall, thin and mid 50-ish, sporting a graying goatee and thinning hair, Dave looked like a life-long athlete. He started hiking when he was 15 and has always loved the outdoors.
The 800-mile long AZT is a fairly recent long trail, and not a very used trail. The big problem for hikers is finding reliable water sources. Cows were his biggest concern as far as animals go, and there were stretches where he didn’t see another person for four days.
The southern terminus is just ten miles away from our house. The trail toward Tucson would be an adventure alone, across the Huachucas, the Cienega Hills, Santa Ritas and the Catalinas. I've hiked a good portion of this stretch in small sections, but to do the whole thing would be a challenge. The solitude would perhaps get to me.
He finished half the hike by himself, with his partner dropping out midway. When he got to the Utah border in late May, he felt anticlimactic and sat by the border for a few hours before getting up to walk back to the trailhead for his pick-up. The hike took him 55 days. He had 17 “Zero” days, 12 when his mother-in-law died in mid April. He averaged 20 miles a day.
He took a few Questions after his slide show, but he couldn’t tell me how much the trip cost him. The hotels, restaurant meals, gas for the driving around and resupplying surely added up. But he claimed he had no clue.
I would have liked to have asked him more questions, like what was THE most memorable moment on the AZT? The most scary? The biggest surprise? The biggest disappointment? What was his most used piece of equipment?
Despite the breathtaking scenery, I’m not sure I’d want to trek through the AZT. Perhaps with some training I would consider hiking it with Brenda. She’s the closest to my age, is very fit, and always upbeat. I’d have to train hard, do long hikes with backpacks, and leave the dogs at home with Kevin and just dedicate myself to training hard for a few months beforehand.
“Are you thinking about hiking the AZT” I asked her.
“Sure, we can start training for it in March!”
Then, on my way home I realized I couldn’t do the trail: I have college courses to complete, and in May the baby’s due. And my chronic backpain is really starting to become truly chronic.
Maybe I'll have to bite the bullet and start taking my prescribed Celebrex again.
http://summithut.com/pages/aztrail-log/start/
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Chorizo farts
“I’m sorry I’m running a little late” I said as I got to the front office at 7:48am, “But I got stuck behind a government vehicle that had the nerve to drive the speed limit!”
I normally take 30 minutes to drive to work, but today it took me 40. A full-sized pick-up with county decals and yellow whoopee lights on top was in front of me, Behind me were three more vehicles afraid to pass.
I didn’t have time to review the lesson plans. The students were already waiting by the door as I came by.
I had chemistry and biology classes today. The teacher had left detailed instructions for me which I followed. Chemistry left me clueless, but second hour was easier: they had to study the details of the paramecium.
The students were restless after 45 minutes. One young woman wanted me to play the DVD “VeggieTales.” I had never seen the video before and wasn’t sure if it was suitable for teenagers. Other classes had seen the same video the day before.
“They’re a bunch of vegetables singing about God!” said one young gal. Singing about God? I knew that would be a contentious topic. And against my better judgment, I let them watch the video. The video was more childish than it was preachy, and I and several students were asking ourselves “Why are we watching this?”
The students left two minutes before the bell. All of them got up and left the room. Not a nanosecond later I got a phone call from an anonymous caller “Did you let your class out early?” The voice was not happy. I looked at the clock. “I thought the bell had rung!” and what I heard was probably a bell in the closing song of the video.
Later on during third period an older, hefty woman in a long coat came by and yelled at me for letting the students roam the hallway. Those weren’t my students; what she was seeing were students going to the bathroom one at a time. As one came back in, another would leave but I never let anyone go with someone else. There were other students walking down the hallway who were not from my class. The woman was not pleased, growled at me and returned to her room across the hall.
“Who was that woman?” I asked the class.
“She’s just an aide, don’t worry about her!” Ironically, later that same hour another class was let out before the bell but I didn’t see that old woman screaming at that teacher.
Third hour was described by the teacher as “a talkative bunch…” and she wasn’t kidding. They were more interested in reading independently. One lone boy read a book on John Lennon. A few girls were playing TicTacToe.
A group of disinterested Football players were more interested in playing a game of “Bullshit,” a modified poker game.
“Can’t you guys yell out something else besides BS?” I asked, “like cowscat or cattle turd?”
"Cattle turd? Hahaha, that's funny."
They didn’t heed my advice and continued to play their game of BS. My aide assured me that the regular teacher lets them play cards and read books as long as they turn their assignments in as requested.
The boys were actually funny to watch, as they’d break out into Spanish when the game got rowdy. One of the guys farted silently. “Oh man” said one boy as he placed his shirt over his nose “That smells like Chorizo!”
I am glad I wasn't within range of that one!
I normally take 30 minutes to drive to work, but today it took me 40. A full-sized pick-up with county decals and yellow whoopee lights on top was in front of me, Behind me were three more vehicles afraid to pass.
I didn’t have time to review the lesson plans. The students were already waiting by the door as I came by.
I had chemistry and biology classes today. The teacher had left detailed instructions for me which I followed. Chemistry left me clueless, but second hour was easier: they had to study the details of the paramecium.
The students were restless after 45 minutes. One young woman wanted me to play the DVD “VeggieTales.” I had never seen the video before and wasn’t sure if it was suitable for teenagers. Other classes had seen the same video the day before.
“They’re a bunch of vegetables singing about God!” said one young gal. Singing about God? I knew that would be a contentious topic. And against my better judgment, I let them watch the video. The video was more childish than it was preachy, and I and several students were asking ourselves “Why are we watching this?”
The students left two minutes before the bell. All of them got up and left the room. Not a nanosecond later I got a phone call from an anonymous caller “Did you let your class out early?” The voice was not happy. I looked at the clock. “I thought the bell had rung!” and what I heard was probably a bell in the closing song of the video.
Later on during third period an older, hefty woman in a long coat came by and yelled at me for letting the students roam the hallway. Those weren’t my students; what she was seeing were students going to the bathroom one at a time. As one came back in, another would leave but I never let anyone go with someone else. There were other students walking down the hallway who were not from my class. The woman was not pleased, growled at me and returned to her room across the hall.
“Who was that woman?” I asked the class.
“She’s just an aide, don’t worry about her!” Ironically, later that same hour another class was let out before the bell but I didn’t see that old woman screaming at that teacher.
Third hour was described by the teacher as “a talkative bunch…” and she wasn’t kidding. They were more interested in reading independently. One lone boy read a book on John Lennon. A few girls were playing TicTacToe.
A group of disinterested Football players were more interested in playing a game of “Bullshit,” a modified poker game.
“Can’t you guys yell out something else besides BS?” I asked, “like cowscat or cattle turd?”
"Cattle turd? Hahaha, that's funny."
They didn’t heed my advice and continued to play their game of BS. My aide assured me that the regular teacher lets them play cards and read books as long as they turn their assignments in as requested.
The boys were actually funny to watch, as they’d break out into Spanish when the game got rowdy. One of the guys farted silently. “Oh man” said one boy as he placed his shirt over his nose “That smells like Chorizo!”
I am glad I wasn't within range of that one!
Monday, November 17, 2008
Friends of the San Pedro River
Help me. I've fallen and I can't get up!
That's how I've felt since meeting some of these people last Saturday, and sharing their passion for the outdoors, conservation, wildlife, etc. Bill has been a passionate photographer and has posted his photographs on the Tucson Hiking Group forum. His photographs have an artistic flair to them whereas I have more of a photojournalistic slant to mine. Mitch is a Sierra Club hike leader and a country rock musician whose band plays all over the Tucson and Green Valley area...the passions are endless. I have no doubt that we all will meet again soon.
But the one person whose passion has stricken my own is Mike. We have been communicating via email about more trips into Mexico since we met a few days ago. As an active member of the Friends of the San Pedro River, a non-prof, all-volunteer organization headquartered just up the road from us, he travels into Mexico on a regular basis for research and data collection. His next jaunt is in early December, to the headwaters of the San Pedro River and the Big Lakes west of Naco.
Funny, how, now that I recall, I have written quite a bit about the San Pedro River. I enjoy walking along its banks to listen to the birds, looking at the plants, collecting immigrant trash (@#%&$!!!!) and just enjoying the serenity of the place. The dogs, of course, enjoy the cool water and sniffing the smells along the trampled-down grasses.
Many of my Master Gardener (MG) friends are also members of this organization. The MGs also work a lot with the Friends (and the Bureau of Land Management, BLM). Our interest is of course the protection and promotion of native plant species.
I will join Mike and a few others in a few weeks for another trip into Mexico, toward Cananea and the San Pedro headwaters. It will only be a daytrip but we will be back at dusk. I can help with any of the research he needs help with and I know I will be helping out with great gusto. In the end the results will be the same: the protection and conservation of a fragile ecosystem known locally as the San Pedro River.
I told Kevin this morning that I will join the Friends. He didn't roll his eyes or sigh in disgust. Surprisingly he supported me. "That's the kind of stuff you enjoy" and if there's one thing that is Kevin's strong point--and one of three major reasons I fell in love with him--is his respect for my hobbies and interests. He may not share all my passions but at least he doesn't go around berating me or making fun of me. He is adamantly opposed to any trips for any reason into Mexico but he's not stopping me from going. ("I can tell you not to go and you're going to go anyway..." he's said a few times. He's absolutely correct!)
I got on the website and right away was drawn to a 34-minute video of the native plants of the San Pedro River.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-4136545609981352801&q=san+pedro+plants&ei=aFkfSOjsOI3sqgPUr_nCAQ&hl=en
http://www.sanpedroriver.org/
Joining an organization is a bit intimidating because there's always time involved. I haven't done much with the Garden Club only because they are active on weekends when I want to go outside and play. But their interests parallel my own and those of several other local organizations.
I have a feeling I will be traveling into Mexico more often now. Next year is going to open up a whole new arena for me for which I have been passively working toward all this year (and I didn't even know it!)
That's how I've felt since meeting some of these people last Saturday, and sharing their passion for the outdoors, conservation, wildlife, etc. Bill has been a passionate photographer and has posted his photographs on the Tucson Hiking Group forum. His photographs have an artistic flair to them whereas I have more of a photojournalistic slant to mine. Mitch is a Sierra Club hike leader and a country rock musician whose band plays all over the Tucson and Green Valley area...the passions are endless. I have no doubt that we all will meet again soon.
But the one person whose passion has stricken my own is Mike. We have been communicating via email about more trips into Mexico since we met a few days ago. As an active member of the Friends of the San Pedro River, a non-prof, all-volunteer organization headquartered just up the road from us, he travels into Mexico on a regular basis for research and data collection. His next jaunt is in early December, to the headwaters of the San Pedro River and the Big Lakes west of Naco.
Funny, how, now that I recall, I have written quite a bit about the San Pedro River. I enjoy walking along its banks to listen to the birds, looking at the plants, collecting immigrant trash (@#%&$!!!!) and just enjoying the serenity of the place. The dogs, of course, enjoy the cool water and sniffing the smells along the trampled-down grasses.
Many of my Master Gardener (MG) friends are also members of this organization. The MGs also work a lot with the Friends (and the Bureau of Land Management, BLM). Our interest is of course the protection and promotion of native plant species.
I will join Mike and a few others in a few weeks for another trip into Mexico, toward Cananea and the San Pedro headwaters. It will only be a daytrip but we will be back at dusk. I can help with any of the research he needs help with and I know I will be helping out with great gusto. In the end the results will be the same: the protection and conservation of a fragile ecosystem known locally as the San Pedro River.
I told Kevin this morning that I will join the Friends. He didn't roll his eyes or sigh in disgust. Surprisingly he supported me. "That's the kind of stuff you enjoy" and if there's one thing that is Kevin's strong point--and one of three major reasons I fell in love with him--is his respect for my hobbies and interests. He may not share all my passions but at least he doesn't go around berating me or making fun of me. He is adamantly opposed to any trips for any reason into Mexico but he's not stopping me from going. ("I can tell you not to go and you're going to go anyway..." he's said a few times. He's absolutely correct!)
I got on the website and right away was drawn to a 34-minute video of the native plants of the San Pedro River.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-4136545609981352801&q=san+pedro+plants&ei=aFkfSOjsOI3sqgPUr_nCAQ&hl=en
http://www.sanpedroriver.org/
Joining an organization is a bit intimidating because there's always time involved. I haven't done much with the Garden Club only because they are active on weekends when I want to go outside and play. But their interests parallel my own and those of several other local organizations.
I have a feeling I will be traveling into Mexico more often now. Next year is going to open up a whole new arena for me for which I have been passively working toward all this year (and I didn't even know it!)
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Bagging my first summit in Mexico: San Jose Peak, Sonora
(Photographs by Bill B from Tucson)
I am exhausted. I am in pain. I am hungry. I can't remember hiking such a steep, long hike since climbing Yosemite's Half Dome back in 2000.
But I am also relieved that after 22 years, I have finally climbed my first mountain in Mexico. The weather was near perfect (save for the breeze and the subsequent haze). The temperatures were ideal. But most importantly, the group I was with was fun.
I got up long before sunrise. I drank my coffee slowly and told Kevin that yes, I was a little nervous about heading into Mexico. I picked up Steve from the Lone Star Cafe, Brenda and Gordon from the Morning Star Cafe (they were at the wrong meet-up place) and the four of us took off to met the rest of the Tucson gang at the Bisbee Burger King where I had a quick breakfast of nutritious Spicy Chicken sandwiches.
I got to meet the rest of the hikers here: Bill, Joe, Tone, Mitch and later Mike. Oh uh I thought, these guys look like professional hikers, all decked out in their Patagonia and Columbia gear. Here I was in a torn button-down shirt and tattered jeans wearing my cheap $20 Yukon hikers with an oversized camera dangling from my neck. I looked like a cityslicker out for a stroll.
These guys are going to eat me alive, I thought. Steve looked a little apprehensive as well.
“It’s going to take us four hours to get to the peak and about two hours to get back down,” said Mike. I looked at my watch: it was already past 9am. That wouldn’t give us much daylight.
“Let’s go!” said Joe, who was eager to get started.
Mike had hiked up this peak several times and knew the ways up. He was our guide for the day. We drove straight through Naco, and just barely a mile into the border we hit a dirt road due south that led straight up the foothills, passing several closed (but not locked) gates along the way.
Mike spoke fluent Spanish. He would get out of the RAV4 and talk to every rancher along the way. He reminded me of the Special Forces guys I worked for in Haiti: tall, athletic and fluent in the native language, Mike chatted a bit with the landowners to gain information on the trail. One man, who was tending to a broken water pipe with his brown horse tied up nearby, told him that there was a shorter trail to the top. We took that one.
We proceeded as far up the dirt trail as we could before we parked the cars off a small clearing and walked up the rest. We ascended the mountain via a canyon from the northeast.
It was a very steep single-track trail up unstable volcanic ash rock. Gambel oak and catclaw lined the trail, an occasional Poison oak, agave, desert spoon, and some of the largest hedgehogs I had ever seen. But there was no water anywhere, and no wildlife other than two ravens that flew over the peak.
The trail got rockier and steepier as we gained elevation. Naco and Bisbee to our north became apparent as we ascended. The golden alluvial plains were coming in the forefront. Distant houses, distant mountain ranges, and small lakes glistening in the sun were visible to our southern views.
But we couldn’t see a trace of Sierra Vista.
We didn’t stop often and we didn’t stop for long. I was worried I was going to have breathing problems (my lungs have felt “heavy” since coming back from the Death March Marathon in March). Joe and Tone were the fast hikers. The rest of us lollygagged toward the rear, with Bill and I taking all the photographs, but even that didn’t slow the group down much.
We rested short of the peak for 20 minutes. The radio towers on the peak were now obvious, something I never could see before. And when we got to the peak 2:40hours from first taking off, we saw the litter: Tecate cans, plastic bottles, discarded batteries. Some of the battery boxes had been broken into. There was only one small area on top with a clear view of the southern ranges. That is where Brenda, Gordon, Steve and I chatted for a while.
“These panels were made by my former company” said Steve who looked at the solar panels facing the southern skies.
This is what I wanted to see: the views behind the mountain. San Jose peak is a lone mountain and a small one. Even the Huachuacas didn’t look that big, either. There were no trails visible. Just pinon pines, dead oaks and steep cliffs. But Mike pointed out a mountain range toward the east that is a popular national park. The rest of the land was dry, golden vallies in all directions.
The one disappointment was not being able to see Sierra Vista from the summit. The haze to the north limited our visibility. Nothing glistened in the sun. You couldn't even tell there was a city of 43,000 there. Even the Chiricahuas were vaguely distinguishable to our northeast.
The Huachucas to our northwest looked small and insignificant. We stayed at the top for an hour, enjoying the views and taking lots of photographs.
The fast hikers in the group took off ahead of the rest of us, then waited for us near the finish by a graffiti-sprayed trench wall.
It wasn’t easy climbing back down with the loose rocks hidden under dead leaves. Brenda, Mitch and I all slid in parts. My old Gap jeans ripped two inches in the butt. I may just start patching them up and wearing them exclusively as hiking pants. (That will REALLY make me look like a professional hiker, ha!)
“ROCK!” Bill would yell whenever a small avalanche started by a careless step. Luckily no one got injured and we all made it back to our cars before the sun set over the horizon. It took us two hours to get back down from the peak.
Ironically, this was the first hike in the region that had clean trails.( The only trash we saw were Tecate cans and bottles at the peak around the radio towers.)
"They dump all their trash on our side of the border" said one hiker sarcastically.
We stopped at a restaurant in Naco to treat Mike to his favorite seafood restaurant: Miramar off the main street. I’m not a seafood lover and opted to hold off dinner until I got back home, but I gladly gave in to a beer.
The only problem was, we got large bottles of Tecate, approximately 42 ounces. Somehow the order got lost in translation. The beer tasted better than I thought it would. Steve ended up drinking half of mine anyway since I was the driver. I sat next to Mitch, himself a Sierra Club hike leader and band member of a county rock band “Cornerstone”
We finally made it across the border and back into Arizona long after sunset. It was after 7:30pm when I got home, and Kevin was already in bed.
Most of the people in this group agreed that more hikes into Mexico will happen. There is so much hidden beauty in Mexico and I am so excited to finally have found a group of people who share the same passion I have with El Sur.
The three other people from my hiking group kept thanking me for inviting them to this hike and for making this possible. Gordon even said "I have lived here 30 years and have never hiked San Jose Peak before."
The real efforts of the hike, however, go to Bill in Tucson for organizing this and for Mike in Bisbee for guiding us to the top. All I did was organize the meet-up for the people in my area and drive us across the border.
(BTW, my Ford Escape outperformed the Toyota RAV4 hands down!) I love my toy.
Now, when I look over to the towering peak to the south, I can remember today.
But I am also relieved that after 22 years, I have finally climbed my first mountain in Mexico. The weather was near perfect (save for the breeze and the subsequent haze). The temperatures were ideal. But most importantly, the group I was with was fun.
I got up long before sunrise. I drank my coffee slowly and told Kevin that yes, I was a little nervous about heading into Mexico. I picked up Steve from the Lone Star Cafe, Brenda and Gordon from the Morning Star Cafe (they were at the wrong meet-up place) and the four of us took off to met the rest of the Tucson gang at the Bisbee Burger King where I had a quick breakfast of nutritious Spicy Chicken sandwiches.
I got to meet the rest of the hikers here: Bill, Joe, Tone, Mitch and later Mike. Oh uh I thought, these guys look like professional hikers, all decked out in their Patagonia and Columbia gear. Here I was in a torn button-down shirt and tattered jeans wearing my cheap $20 Yukon hikers with an oversized camera dangling from my neck. I looked like a cityslicker out for a stroll.
These guys are going to eat me alive, I thought. Steve looked a little apprehensive as well.
“It’s going to take us four hours to get to the peak and about two hours to get back down,” said Mike. I looked at my watch: it was already past 9am. That wouldn’t give us much daylight.
“Let’s go!” said Joe, who was eager to get started.
Mike had hiked up this peak several times and knew the ways up. He was our guide for the day. We drove straight through Naco, and just barely a mile into the border we hit a dirt road due south that led straight up the foothills, passing several closed (but not locked) gates along the way.
Mike spoke fluent Spanish. He would get out of the RAV4 and talk to every rancher along the way. He reminded me of the Special Forces guys I worked for in Haiti: tall, athletic and fluent in the native language, Mike chatted a bit with the landowners to gain information on the trail. One man, who was tending to a broken water pipe with his brown horse tied up nearby, told him that there was a shorter trail to the top. We took that one.
We proceeded as far up the dirt trail as we could before we parked the cars off a small clearing and walked up the rest. We ascended the mountain via a canyon from the northeast.
It was a very steep single-track trail up unstable volcanic ash rock. Gambel oak and catclaw lined the trail, an occasional Poison oak, agave, desert spoon, and some of the largest hedgehogs I had ever seen. But there was no water anywhere, and no wildlife other than two ravens that flew over the peak.
The trail got rockier and steepier as we gained elevation. Naco and Bisbee to our north became apparent as we ascended. The golden alluvial plains were coming in the forefront. Distant houses, distant mountain ranges, and small lakes glistening in the sun were visible to our southern views.
But we couldn’t see a trace of Sierra Vista.
We didn’t stop often and we didn’t stop for long. I was worried I was going to have breathing problems (my lungs have felt “heavy” since coming back from the Death March Marathon in March). Joe and Tone were the fast hikers. The rest of us lollygagged toward the rear, with Bill and I taking all the photographs, but even that didn’t slow the group down much.
We rested short of the peak for 20 minutes. The radio towers on the peak were now obvious, something I never could see before. And when we got to the peak 2:40hours from first taking off, we saw the litter: Tecate cans, plastic bottles, discarded batteries. Some of the battery boxes had been broken into. There was only one small area on top with a clear view of the southern ranges. That is where Brenda, Gordon, Steve and I chatted for a while.
“These panels were made by my former company” said Steve who looked at the solar panels facing the southern skies.
This is what I wanted to see: the views behind the mountain. San Jose peak is a lone mountain and a small one. Even the Huachuacas didn’t look that big, either. There were no trails visible. Just pinon pines, dead oaks and steep cliffs. But Mike pointed out a mountain range toward the east that is a popular national park. The rest of the land was dry, golden vallies in all directions.
The one disappointment was not being able to see Sierra Vista from the summit. The haze to the north limited our visibility. Nothing glistened in the sun. You couldn't even tell there was a city of 43,000 there. Even the Chiricahuas were vaguely distinguishable to our northeast.
The Huachucas to our northwest looked small and insignificant. We stayed at the top for an hour, enjoying the views and taking lots of photographs.
The fast hikers in the group took off ahead of the rest of us, then waited for us near the finish by a graffiti-sprayed trench wall.
It wasn’t easy climbing back down with the loose rocks hidden under dead leaves. Brenda, Mitch and I all slid in parts. My old Gap jeans ripped two inches in the butt. I may just start patching them up and wearing them exclusively as hiking pants. (That will REALLY make me look like a professional hiker, ha!)
“ROCK!” Bill would yell whenever a small avalanche started by a careless step. Luckily no one got injured and we all made it back to our cars before the sun set over the horizon. It took us two hours to get back down from the peak.
Ironically, this was the first hike in the region that had clean trails.( The only trash we saw were Tecate cans and bottles at the peak around the radio towers.)
"They dump all their trash on our side of the border" said one hiker sarcastically.
We stopped at a restaurant in Naco to treat Mike to his favorite seafood restaurant: Miramar off the main street. I’m not a seafood lover and opted to hold off dinner until I got back home, but I gladly gave in to a beer.
The only problem was, we got large bottles of Tecate, approximately 42 ounces. Somehow the order got lost in translation. The beer tasted better than I thought it would. Steve ended up drinking half of mine anyway since I was the driver. I sat next to Mitch, himself a Sierra Club hike leader and band member of a county rock band “Cornerstone”
We finally made it across the border and back into Arizona long after sunset. It was after 7:30pm when I got home, and Kevin was already in bed.
Most of the people in this group agreed that more hikes into Mexico will happen. There is so much hidden beauty in Mexico and I am so excited to finally have found a group of people who share the same passion I have with El Sur.
The three other people from my hiking group kept thanking me for inviting them to this hike and for making this possible. Gordon even said "I have lived here 30 years and have never hiked San Jose Peak before."
The real efforts of the hike, however, go to Bill in Tucson for organizing this and for Mike in Bisbee for guiding us to the top. All I did was organize the meet-up for the people in my area and drive us across the border.
(BTW, my Ford Escape outperformed the Toyota RAV4 hands down!) I love my toy.
Now, when I look over to the towering peak to the south, I can remember today.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Hiking San Jose Peak (in Sonora, Mexico)
This extinct volcano juts 8335’ and lears just five miles from the AZ-MEX border. Ever since I first saw that peak in 1986 I dreamed of hiking to its top. From my stance it looks like a perfect triangular peak.
Thanks to a group of enthusiastic Tucsonan hikers, my dream will be fulfilled tomorrow.
I have been blogging with an active hiking group from Tucson for over two years now. Most live in the Tucson area. Some are retired and hike most every day, others still earn a living and hike only on weekends. Many of these people know each other in real life and do impromptu hikes all over the greater Tucson area and then post their trail reports and photographs on line. Some of their hikes have been absolutely breathtaking. (But thats easy to say, here in Arizona, where the altitude alone can take one's breath away just getting up in the morning.)
I’ve been following their hikes via their blog. From time to time I add comments. But we have never met in person.
One of the men suggested hiking this peak last month. That caught my eye, since I live so close to the border and see this peak every day.
I asked others in the local hiking club if they were interested in joining me. I got three replies.
One basically told me I was nucking futs. “ Some years back I heard from a neighbor who went there. As I recall, it was described as a beautiful area but controlled by drug dealers who apparently grow illicit crops there. I am not interested in traveling across the border these days. You might want to get some info from G2 folks on the Fort to assess the risk"
Another answered with “This is Mary Jane harvest season, but as a large group we should be OK.”
And my pal "Colonel" Bill would have loved to hike the peak but told me he was signed up for a trip down to Antarctica. I told him to have fun but to watch out for the Ants.
This is a hike I would never do by myself. I don’t even know the word for “trailhead” in Spanish!
I joined the Tucson group for the hike up San Jose peak tomorrow. Now I’m going to be one of the drivers. I already reconnoitered the town a few weeks ago. I know where to eat, I know where to gas up, and I know the route south of town. I even got car insurance for Mexico for this event.
“Be careful” said the insurance agent as I left.
I read all the cautionary warnings on the US State Department website. Naco, Sonora was not mentioned as a specific dangerous spot like Nogales, Cuidad Juarez or Agua Prieta. The website also warned “not to hike alone or in remote areas.” It also went on to say "Don't drive after dark." We don't plan on that.
The hike leader said there is no trail to the peak. It’s a steep bushwack the last few miles. I have no other clues how to bag this peak, but we will and we will do it together. There are nine of us going tomorrow morning and I am so excited!
So, I guess we will see. I am so stoked about this hike. I know my view of Mexico will never be the same after this hike. I will get to see the Huachucas from a Mexican perspective.
http://www.sonorandesertgeotourism.org/pdf/Arizona-Sonora%20Desert%20Region%20Map%20Guide.pdf
Thanks to a group of enthusiastic Tucsonan hikers, my dream will be fulfilled tomorrow.
I have been blogging with an active hiking group from Tucson for over two years now. Most live in the Tucson area. Some are retired and hike most every day, others still earn a living and hike only on weekends. Many of these people know each other in real life and do impromptu hikes all over the greater Tucson area and then post their trail reports and photographs on line. Some of their hikes have been absolutely breathtaking. (But thats easy to say, here in Arizona, where the altitude alone can take one's breath away just getting up in the morning.)
I’ve been following their hikes via their blog. From time to time I add comments. But we have never met in person.
One of the men suggested hiking this peak last month. That caught my eye, since I live so close to the border and see this peak every day.
I asked others in the local hiking club if they were interested in joining me. I got three replies.
One basically told me I was nucking futs. “ Some years back I heard from a neighbor who went there. As I recall, it was described as a beautiful area but controlled by drug dealers who apparently grow illicit crops there. I am not interested in traveling across the border these days. You might want to get some info from G2 folks on the Fort to assess the risk"
Another answered with “This is Mary Jane harvest season, but as a large group we should be OK.”
And my pal "Colonel" Bill would have loved to hike the peak but told me he was signed up for a trip down to Antarctica. I told him to have fun but to watch out for the Ants.
This is a hike I would never do by myself. I don’t even know the word for “trailhead” in Spanish!
I joined the Tucson group for the hike up San Jose peak tomorrow. Now I’m going to be one of the drivers. I already reconnoitered the town a few weeks ago. I know where to eat, I know where to gas up, and I know the route south of town. I even got car insurance for Mexico for this event.
“Be careful” said the insurance agent as I left.
I read all the cautionary warnings on the US State Department website. Naco, Sonora was not mentioned as a specific dangerous spot like Nogales, Cuidad Juarez or Agua Prieta. The website also warned “not to hike alone or in remote areas.” It also went on to say "Don't drive after dark." We don't plan on that.
The hike leader said there is no trail to the peak. It’s a steep bushwack the last few miles. I have no other clues how to bag this peak, but we will and we will do it together. There are nine of us going tomorrow morning and I am so excited!
So, I guess we will see. I am so stoked about this hike. I know my view of Mexico will never be the same after this hike. I will get to see the Huachucas from a Mexican perspective.
http://www.sonorandesertgeotourism.org/pdf/Arizona-Sonora%20Desert%20Region%20Map%20Guide.pdf
An afternoon in elementary school
I had no idea I was working today until I got a 10:45am phone call, a last-minute, desperate call from the main office. I was dressed in my garden finest ( dirty jeans, stained shirt and unkempt hair). The voice on the other end frantically asked me if I could come in by noon to take over for a teacher who suddenly got sick.
That gave me 15 minutes to spare. “OK, I can make it!”
The school had had a Veteran’s Flag ceremony earlier that morning.
“Oh, I wish I had known about that, I could have come in to witness it!” and as soon as I admitted to being an army veteran, little exuberant hands went up with other stories of great-great-great grandfathers having served in World War I and II, grandfathers serving in Vietnam, fathers serving now.
All the kids who had relatives in the military wanted to share their comments with me.
“My uncle was a master jumper but lost a leg!”
“My grandfather lost a brother in Vietnam”
“My stepdad served in the Air Force, and before that he lived in a car and ate dog food!”
“My dad’s in the air force but I have no idea where he’s at; he hasn’t spoken to me in over a month…”
One little girl wanted to write all the names of the students’ relatives who had served in the military. Despite veering from the day’s lesson plan, I let her write down all the names
Luckily I had a good lesson for the day. The students were learning how to read an analog clock. Some students already knew how to read time, others were struggling. I spent that first hour explaining X times how the “big hand” and the “little hand” work separately but together tell time.
One hyperactive boy, Michael, wanted none of it and ran around as much as he could. But other than him, I had a good class of young, alert minds.
That gave me 15 minutes to spare. “OK, I can make it!”
The school had had a Veteran’s Flag ceremony earlier that morning.
“Oh, I wish I had known about that, I could have come in to witness it!” and as soon as I admitted to being an army veteran, little exuberant hands went up with other stories of great-great-great grandfathers having served in World War I and II, grandfathers serving in Vietnam, fathers serving now.
All the kids who had relatives in the military wanted to share their comments with me.
“My uncle was a master jumper but lost a leg!”
“My grandfather lost a brother in Vietnam”
“My stepdad served in the Air Force, and before that he lived in a car and ate dog food!”
“My dad’s in the air force but I have no idea where he’s at; he hasn’t spoken to me in over a month…”
One little girl wanted to write all the names of the students’ relatives who had served in the military. Despite veering from the day’s lesson plan, I let her write down all the names
Luckily I had a good lesson for the day. The students were learning how to read an analog clock. Some students already knew how to read time, others were struggling. I spent that first hour explaining X times how the “big hand” and the “little hand” work separately but together tell time.
One hyperactive boy, Michael, wanted none of it and ran around as much as he could. But other than him, I had a good class of young, alert minds.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Huachuca Canyon
I’ve had a busy two days, but still managed short jaunts into the foothills for quick walks with the dogs. Yesterday I walked up an isolated wash with the dogs where I met two other women with two frolicking Golden Retrievers. They were cleaning up trash left behind by hunters.
Today I took the dogs up Huachuca Canyon. I used to spend a lot of time here when I was stationed at Fort Huachuca. A quick drive during my lunch hour up this canyon was often the one respite I needed during a busy day.
My mother walked her dogs up this canyon years ago. Today it was my turn to walk my dogs. I took them up a game management road where no one was parked. We climbed up a steep and rocky trail before the dogs got tired. The Huachucas were especially colorful here. Finches and jays flew about, enjoying the water and the lushness of the stream..
We finished off our romp at a small creek near a picnic area. I actually took a few photos of myself, but it was hard keeping the dogs at bay as they kept wanting to be by my side. Most of the self portraits have dog butts in the foreground.
In the evening I stopped by the high school where the Forest Service had an information briefing about its new revision plan. I came because I am curious about access to the wilderness. Ranchers came because they wanted the Forest Service to know they had the right to graze their cattle in the forest.
“My family has owned that land for over 140 years” said one Stetson-hatted rancher, “and I feel we have a right to that land”
With all the cattle I’ve seen in some of the most remote areas of the forest, there is no denying that cows and their BS rule the lands around here.
Today I took the dogs up Huachuca Canyon. I used to spend a lot of time here when I was stationed at Fort Huachuca. A quick drive during my lunch hour up this canyon was often the one respite I needed during a busy day.
My mother walked her dogs up this canyon years ago. Today it was my turn to walk my dogs. I took them up a game management road where no one was parked. We climbed up a steep and rocky trail before the dogs got tired. The Huachucas were especially colorful here. Finches and jays flew about, enjoying the water and the lushness of the stream..
We finished off our romp at a small creek near a picnic area. I actually took a few photos of myself, but it was hard keeping the dogs at bay as they kept wanting to be by my side. Most of the self portraits have dog butts in the foreground.
In the evening I stopped by the high school where the Forest Service had an information briefing about its new revision plan. I came because I am curious about access to the wilderness. Ranchers came because they wanted the Forest Service to know they had the right to graze their cattle in the forest.
“My family has owned that land for over 140 years” said one Stetson-hatted rancher, “and I feel we have a right to that land”
With all the cattle I’ve seen in some of the most remote areas of the forest, there is no denying that cows and their BS rule the lands around here.
___
The spring semester classes have been published by Cochise College. The two teaching courses that I absolutely need for my certificate are not offered. That really bummed me out. I may have no choice but to take those courses via an on-line forum. I much prefer a standard classroom environment for effective teaching and have never taken an internet course.
However, the college does offer a few electives I am considering: Poisonous animals of Arizona (to fulfill the naturalist in me), Native Peoples of the Southwest, and American Writers. There are also no horticultural courses offered, either. Classes end 12 May. That would give me (barely!) enough time to race to Chicagoland for the birth of Erin's baby. I'll be spending the second half of May and all of June in the Chicago area...without the dogs. That's going to be the tough part.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Helvetia and the northern Santa Ritas
At 6:30am, right after sunrise, I hoisted Old Glory. A few hours later we had left to explore the northern range of the Santa Ritas, driving the route I was on Sunday but this time aiming for Box Canyon Road toward Helvetia, an old mining ghost town south of Sahuarita.
We took the long way there. We stopped at most overlooks, walked near mining claims, maneuvered around the biggest cow patties I have ever seen (Kevin: “I betchya that felt good coming out!”) and enjoyed the vistas. Hunting parties and ATVers were still out, some were leaving and others were in no hurry to leave.
Box Canyon Road earned its reputation as a scenic mountain road. How come I had never heard of it before until I came across it by accident last weekend? The road skirts around the northern foothills of the Santa Ritas, descends a lush green canyon as it meanders down into Madera Canyon. This was indisputably habitat worthy of protection.
We took the long way there. We stopped at most overlooks, walked near mining claims, maneuvered around the biggest cow patties I have ever seen (Kevin: “I betchya that felt good coming out!”) and enjoyed the vistas. Hunting parties and ATVers were still out, some were leaving and others were in no hurry to leave.
Box Canyon Road earned its reputation as a scenic mountain road. How come I had never heard of it before until I came across it by accident last weekend? The road skirts around the northern foothills of the Santa Ritas, descends a lush green canyon as it meanders down into Madera Canyon. This was indisputably habitat worthy of protection.
And the trailhead is only 40 miles away.
Green Valley lay to our west, and further to the northwest we could see the brown smog over Tucson.
But we didn’t go toward Madera Canyon.. We turned north on Santa Rita Road, then turned east again on FR505, stopped briefly at the unmarked Helvetia cemetery (all the graves were marked in Spanish; most were plain wooded crosses. Dates were between 1909 and 1927)
But we didn’t go toward Madera Canyon.. We turned north on Santa Rita Road, then turned east again on FR505, stopped briefly at the unmarked Helvetia cemetery (all the graves were marked in Spanish; most were plain wooded crosses. Dates were between 1909 and 1927)
Helvetia was named after a Swiss prospector who claimed the land in the 1850s. By the 1880s the town's copper ore had run dry and the town was abandoned in the 1920. There isn't much left of the town but a few crumbling unmarked ruins.
The Helvetia ruins were a few miles from the cemetery. This is no doubt popular ATV country. It’s also popular with careless beer drinkers who liked to leave their bottles and cans behind. As for ruins of the old mining town, just a few crumbling adobe walls remain. It's as if Nature wants to reclaim her earth and start anew. If a real town stood here back in 1899, it was hard to tell. Not far from the adobe ruins stood elegant hilltop homes overlooking the valley below. Narrow trails meandered up the hillsides from all directions. A prospector could get lost here after a few beers.
My “Gem Trails of Arizona” book (by James Mitchell and Bessie Simpson, 2001) describes this area as a rockhounder’s paradise. I have to concur. I spotted copper ore, malachite, calcite. I spent more time looking at the ground for exposed minerals than I did looking at the trails. Kevin looked for brass. The dogs ran around between the two of us.
An old bullet-riddled bus and a rusted, overturned sedan lay deserted in a wash. Rusted cans with triangular top openings littered the ground. The arid desert is replete with rusted and bullet-holed vehicles that have rolled down cliffs decades ago and remain in isolated washes.
The Helvetia ruins were a few miles from the cemetery. This is no doubt popular ATV country. It’s also popular with careless beer drinkers who liked to leave their bottles and cans behind. As for ruins of the old mining town, just a few crumbling adobe walls remain. It's as if Nature wants to reclaim her earth and start anew. If a real town stood here back in 1899, it was hard to tell. Not far from the adobe ruins stood elegant hilltop homes overlooking the valley below. Narrow trails meandered up the hillsides from all directions. A prospector could get lost here after a few beers.
My “Gem Trails of Arizona” book (by James Mitchell and Bessie Simpson, 2001) describes this area as a rockhounder’s paradise. I have to concur. I spotted copper ore, malachite, calcite. I spent more time looking at the ground for exposed minerals than I did looking at the trails. Kevin looked for brass. The dogs ran around between the two of us.
An old bullet-riddled bus and a rusted, overturned sedan lay deserted in a wash. Rusted cans with triangular top openings littered the ground. The arid desert is replete with rusted and bullet-holed vehicles that have rolled down cliffs decades ago and remain in isolated washes.
The entire mining district was covered in broken glass that reflected brightly in the early afternoon sun.
Still, this area is worth exploring again. I am glad Kevin got to see this site and he agreed that this area is easy to get to and we should explore it again soon. Weather this weekend is forecasted to hit the 80s again; it barely climbed into the mid 60s today and it was quite cool.
Still, this area is worth exploring again. I am glad Kevin got to see this site and he agreed that this area is easy to get to and we should explore it again soon. Weather this weekend is forecasted to hit the 80s again; it barely climbed into the mid 60s today and it was quite cool.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Patagonia and the southern Santa Ritas
We had a short burst of rain and hail last night at 9pm. With that storm came the winds, which persisted today. The day’s high was only in the mid 60s. I wore a sweatshirt all day.
I drove to Patagonia to drop off the recyclables and once in town, explored the southern Santa Ritas off FR 143, Sanelo Road. I crossed Sonoita Creek, a popular birding site, drove a few miles along the creek and turned right (east) on the first ATV trail I found, Squaw Gulch Road. This road climbed up Squaw Gulch Canyon toward Squaw Peak. I parked the Escape at a stock pond and walked two miles on the trail with the dogs.
I drove to Patagonia to drop off the recyclables and once in town, explored the southern Santa Ritas off FR 143, Sanelo Road. I crossed Sonoita Creek, a popular birding site, drove a few miles along the creek and turned right (east) on the first ATV trail I found, Squaw Gulch Road. This road climbed up Squaw Gulch Canyon toward Squaw Peak. I parked the Escape at a stock pond and walked two miles on the trail with the dogs.
I only saw one hunting party off the main road. It was just me and the dogs again.
This is a scenic canyon, although it would be a hot and dry canyon in the summer. The trail is quite passable and I probably could have driven much further, but I wanted to walk and give the dogs some exercise.
After a heavy monsoon this trail would be a dangerously flooded path, but with some rain this trail would be gorgeous. Mountain stream beds crossed the path several times. Crags jut up from the canyon walls, mesquite, agave, Emory Oaks grow in the creek beds. I found out later on this area is a popular Black Bear habitat, but all I saw was the ubiquitous cow shit.
This is a scenic canyon, although it would be a hot and dry canyon in the summer. The trail is quite passable and I probably could have driven much further, but I wanted to walk and give the dogs some exercise.
After a heavy monsoon this trail would be a dangerously flooded path, but with some rain this trail would be gorgeous. Mountain stream beds crossed the path several times. Crags jut up from the canyon walls, mesquite, agave, Emory Oaks grow in the creek beds. I found out later on this area is a popular Black Bear habitat, but all I saw was the ubiquitous cow shit.
The dry autumn so far is taking its toll on the flora. Our fields and hillsides are starting to look very, very parched.
The winds blew a fine haze over the area which gave the sky a dull white look. I could feel the fine granules embed in my skin.
I would have hiked longer and explored more, but I had a college class to get ready for. This would be a very pleasant winter hike of easy six miles. I only did about four today.
I shared some butter cookies with the dogs on the way home. Sammy is especially fond of butter cookies. At one point I was eating a cookie while driving, keeping my eyes on the road. The next thing I knew I had a dog’s mouth on my cookie which was against my mouth. I could feel Sammy’s whiskers, sense his hot breath and smell his halitosis. He would do anything for those butter cookies.
The winds blew a fine haze over the area which gave the sky a dull white look. I could feel the fine granules embed in my skin.
I would have hiked longer and explored more, but I had a college class to get ready for. This would be a very pleasant winter hike of easy six miles. I only did about four today.
I shared some butter cookies with the dogs on the way home. Sammy is especially fond of butter cookies. At one point I was eating a cookie while driving, keeping my eyes on the road. The next thing I knew I had a dog’s mouth on my cookie which was against my mouth. I could feel Sammy’s whiskers, sense his hot breath and smell his halitosis. He would do anything for those butter cookies.
I got home at 3:45pm knowing the dogs got another day of exploration and exercise under their paws and I got to discover another canyon. I could live another 30 years, though, and still not discover every canyon in Arizona...
Sunday, November 9, 2008
The eastern Santa Rita foothills
Today was a fun day in the Santa Ritas, a sky island recreation area south of Tucson. Mount Wrightson at 9431' stands out as the tallest summit in this range. Most people visit the peaks from the northwest as they come from the Old Pueblo. But for me the easist entry is from the southeast, from Sonoita.
I need to remind myself to come here more often. Canyons are interspersed with meadows, rolling grasslands, stockponds and dry creek beds.
I turned west (left) from SR83 to FR 92, a wide gravel road that travels due west. Then I branched off on another FR toward Kentucky Camp in a northwesterly direction, ascending as I moved over the curvy road.
I turned west (left) from SR83 to FR 92, a wide gravel road that travels due west. Then I branched off on another FR toward Kentucky Camp in a northwesterly direction, ascending as I moved over the curvy road.
The access road to the old mining town was closed and so instead just drove north on FR165 to the intersection of Box Canyon Road. I was heading too far north from the main mountains at this point, but got to see the terrain near the proposed (and very controversial) Rosemont Copper Mine that local environmentalists have been trying to cancel. A mine in this area would certainly ruin the beauty of the grasslands.
I wanted to explore little-known creek beds. But even in the remote areas I encountered hunters, hikers, ATVers and campers.
I returned on the same FR back to Kentucky Camp, then turned south on FR 4085, a road open to ATVs. It was quite passable for regular vehicles like mine. A few campers had parked under mature oaks and had themselves a hunting party.
The tall dry grasses swayed in the gusty winds. Dust Devils blew across the paths. The wind brought with it a little chill; darker clouds lay to the north. A few abandoned mines were off the trail here.
I went on several short hikes with the dogs but did nothing major today. I concentrated on the more remote areas as I was with the dogs and wanted to leave the hunters in peace. The area was popular today. ATVers also shared the roads with me.
I spent more time Four-wheeling than I did hiking or exploring. But I didn’t mind, as now I have a better idea of the roads in the eastern Santa Ritas.
I returned on the same FR back to Kentucky Camp, then turned south on FR 4085, a road open to ATVs. It was quite passable for regular vehicles like mine. A few campers had parked under mature oaks and had themselves a hunting party.
The tall dry grasses swayed in the gusty winds. Dust Devils blew across the paths. The wind brought with it a little chill; darker clouds lay to the north. A few abandoned mines were off the trail here.
I went on several short hikes with the dogs but did nothing major today. I concentrated on the more remote areas as I was with the dogs and wanted to leave the hunters in peace. The area was popular today. ATVers also shared the roads with me.
I spent more time Four-wheeling than I did hiking or exploring. But I didn’t mind, as now I have a better idea of the roads in the eastern Santa Ritas.
The roads were in good shape considering signs warned explorers that the OHV trails "were not maintained for passenger vehicles." I maneuvered deep ruts, steep inclines, steeper descents, low-lying mesquites and rocky barriers on the forest trails. I was exploring FR4085 for five miles before it got too steep and rocky for me. The last thing I wanted to do was tumble down a remote cliff with three dogs in the backseat and no one knowing I was missing.
I had been in these foothills last March with the dogs and hiked up Cave Creek Trail. By the time I got to that trailhead today it was already too late to explore much. By 3:30pm the sun was setting low behind the peaks.
There is a ten-mile loop I want to explore and perhaps offer it as a hike to the club. There’s some rock climbing involved., but it ascends to the Florida Saddle with spectacular views of the Southeastern ranges.
I had been in these foothills last March with the dogs and hiked up Cave Creek Trail. By the time I got to that trailhead today it was already too late to explore much. By 3:30pm the sun was setting low behind the peaks.
There is a ten-mile loop I want to explore and perhaps offer it as a hike to the club. There’s some rock climbing involved., but it ascends to the Florida Saddle with spectacular views of the Southeastern ranges.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Highway clean-up
I didn’t want to get up this morning, even though I told the Master Gardeners during the Thursday meeting that I would help out with the highway clean-up today.
The early morning was cold. Kevin was up early to make sure I’d get up (his coffee is a great lure out of bed) and after a few cups I left the house. I dislike these early-mornings outside when it’s still too dark and too cold.
I made it to town at 7:15am. I recognized Dee right away, and he turned around to show me where the tools were for the clean-up: yellow reflective vests, blue garbage bags from ADOT and pokers. I brought my own gloves.
It was just Dee, Maryann and I. There were many more during the last clean-up in April. Sarah joined us moments later to complete the foursome.
We started out with Campus Drive, the quarter-mile road behind Walmart and the community college. I drive this road twice a week and didn’t notice much trash, and in fact, there really wasn’t much. Most of the litter was fast-food bags and coffee cups.
The bigger toil was in another wash, in the north side of town in an older neighborhood. Mature Italian Cypress, Foothill Palo Verde and sumac lined the wide wash. This is the wash that the Cochise County Master Gardeners have adopted to clean up twice a year.
“This looks a lot better than it did last April!” said Sarah. The wash was mowed recently by city maintenance crews and many of the weeds were removed along the rocky wash.
This is where we were all cloistered together and had a chance to get to know one another. I am the newest member so most questions were directed my way.
“So, what brought you to this part of Arizona?” asked Dee.
“The Army…I first got here in 1986 and fell in love with the mountains. I told myself after I retire I’m moving back here. And I did. And I love it! There's something about Cochise County that I find so attractive.” I can't go anywhere in Arizona and wonder what it was like for the Peoples who lived here before White Man came over to claim the land. But I didn't tell Dee that part.
The others were in agreement. Dee himself is an Army brat who was born in Panama. He’s been in the area for 30 years and doesn't want to live anywhere else. He’s also one of the most passionate gardeners in the group, who shines best when he’s teaching others about plant propagation or seed collection. He can look at a tree and tell you the tree's Latinic name, its growth cycle, its characteristics, its growth needs and how to best propagate it.
“Wasn’t it here that a body was found last winter?” asked Sarah, putting a stop to my questioning and changing the conversation topic.
The area she was pointing at was heavily eroded by the summer’s monsoons. If there was a boy found here it would have been embedded in thick layers of mud.
Sarah and Dee had to leave after two hours. Maryann and I decided to finish the rest of our adopted wash. The trail wasn’t that badly trashed, and recent weed moving by the city showed that whatever trash was in the wash had been removed by prison labor.
The wash widened further as we walked north. New houses that were erected in 2006 bordered near the north by-pass. Dogs barked in the distance. Discarded clothes were strewn in the sandy wash..
I found a switchblade knife. I thought it was just a large pocket knife and picked it up.
"DON'T TOUCH THAT! That could be a crime scene weapon!"
Ooops. Too late. "Well, if you read about me in the paper getting arrested for knifing someone because my fingerprints were on the knife, you'll know why!"
Maryann chuckled. "I can vouch for you. Is there any blood on it?" she asked.
I pushed the release button. The blade sprang out. It was well over three inches long, enough to cause some serious bodily harm. "No, no blood."
We didn’t find much on this stretch of the wash. An abandoned couch and an old child’s stroller lay battered in the wash. Months of harsh summer sun and rains did a good blanch job on both. Both were too heavy to lift out by ourselves.
“I’ll have to call the city to have them remove that stuff.”
By now it was 11am and the heat was coming on. Once we decided the majority of the clean-up was done, we sat down by our cars and talked.
I first met Maryann during the first Master Gardener’s meetings in March. She went through the course last year and was still working on getting her hours in (we have to volunteer 50 hours the first year). She became the new highway clean-up contact point. We met again in April for the San Pedro House Native Plant project and hit it off well again.
Maryann is married to Johnny, who works with Kevin on post. Kevin’s talked quite a bit about his coworkers on post. He always has funny stories to say about Johnny and Tommy, his favorite co-worker from New York. (Those two men are a blast to listen to, with their distincitve East Coast accents) Maryann is like me: an avid outdoorswoman who, in her younger years thought about being a park ranger. But she opted to study nursing and I joined the military. (Sometimes I think I made the wrong choice of career, but now that I am retired I am enjoying the pension and great health care coverage.)
“You know, I’ve met so many people in the Master Gardener and Hiking Club here, but there’s so little time to get together with anyone outside of our group gatherings. Work and class get in the way”
“I know, I know. We are the same way…” replied Maryann.
Maryann also volunteers for the Ramsey Canyon Preserve nearby and is a diehard member of the Nature Conservancy. Between the Ramsey Canyon hours, her nursing job and being a wife she has little time to socialize.
Maryann also likes to help wildlife. She and Johnny have four adopted dogs, a few cats and some chickens.
“Wanna kitten?” she asked me. A feral cat gave birth near their chicken coop a few months ago. The mother cat is tame enough around Maryann and the kittens are now old enough to recognize her. She’s already keeping two of the five kittens, but wants to find good homes for the other three.
“Are you going to go to the company Christmas party?” asked Maryann. That would be a cool way to chat with Maryann while the boys hang out and talk boy stuff: like all the construction/carpentry jobs they do on post and the fun times they have working together.
“I’d love to, but I’m driving to Chicagoland during the semester break. If it’s before the break, I’d love to go and hang out with you!”
We departed shortly before noon, promising to get together sometime, and off I was heading south. Gasoline prices in town had dropped another 12 cents to $2.55, which is almost what it was when I first came back from Iraq. (Side note: my old unit redeployed to northern Iraq yesterday, 7 Nov; I’m glad I’m no longer in that hellhole!)
Kevin was asleep on the couch when I got back home. The garden was in full sunshine and the dogs were ready to go outside. With Me. On a hike.
Against my better judgment, I took them to Upper Hunter Canyon Trail. Two horse trailers and tents were parked at Kelley Springs (popular with target shooters) so we drove right past that area and continued our ascent. I kept the dogs at a fast gallop by then so that they wouldn’t remember to dart back toward the horse trailers.
"This way, guys!"
We continued up the rocky trail to the wilderness sign, explored a dry creek bed where I gathered up some discarded backpacks. We returned down the same trail. The dogs by now were on a challenging run downhill to the usual loop, a total of 3.5 miles. When we got back home the dogs attacked the water bucket with vigor.
The early morning was cold. Kevin was up early to make sure I’d get up (his coffee is a great lure out of bed) and after a few cups I left the house. I dislike these early-mornings outside when it’s still too dark and too cold.
I made it to town at 7:15am. I recognized Dee right away, and he turned around to show me where the tools were for the clean-up: yellow reflective vests, blue garbage bags from ADOT and pokers. I brought my own gloves.
It was just Dee, Maryann and I. There were many more during the last clean-up in April. Sarah joined us moments later to complete the foursome.
We started out with Campus Drive, the quarter-mile road behind Walmart and the community college. I drive this road twice a week and didn’t notice much trash, and in fact, there really wasn’t much. Most of the litter was fast-food bags and coffee cups.
The bigger toil was in another wash, in the north side of town in an older neighborhood. Mature Italian Cypress, Foothill Palo Verde and sumac lined the wide wash. This is the wash that the Cochise County Master Gardeners have adopted to clean up twice a year.
“This looks a lot better than it did last April!” said Sarah. The wash was mowed recently by city maintenance crews and many of the weeds were removed along the rocky wash.
This is where we were all cloistered together and had a chance to get to know one another. I am the newest member so most questions were directed my way.
“So, what brought you to this part of Arizona?” asked Dee.
“The Army…I first got here in 1986 and fell in love with the mountains. I told myself after I retire I’m moving back here. And I did. And I love it! There's something about Cochise County that I find so attractive.” I can't go anywhere in Arizona and wonder what it was like for the Peoples who lived here before White Man came over to claim the land. But I didn't tell Dee that part.
The others were in agreement. Dee himself is an Army brat who was born in Panama. He’s been in the area for 30 years and doesn't want to live anywhere else. He’s also one of the most passionate gardeners in the group, who shines best when he’s teaching others about plant propagation or seed collection. He can look at a tree and tell you the tree's Latinic name, its growth cycle, its characteristics, its growth needs and how to best propagate it.
“Wasn’t it here that a body was found last winter?” asked Sarah, putting a stop to my questioning and changing the conversation topic.
The area she was pointing at was heavily eroded by the summer’s monsoons. If there was a boy found here it would have been embedded in thick layers of mud.
Sarah and Dee had to leave after two hours. Maryann and I decided to finish the rest of our adopted wash. The trail wasn’t that badly trashed, and recent weed moving by the city showed that whatever trash was in the wash had been removed by prison labor.
The wash widened further as we walked north. New houses that were erected in 2006 bordered near the north by-pass. Dogs barked in the distance. Discarded clothes were strewn in the sandy wash..
I found a switchblade knife. I thought it was just a large pocket knife and picked it up.
"DON'T TOUCH THAT! That could be a crime scene weapon!"
Ooops. Too late. "Well, if you read about me in the paper getting arrested for knifing someone because my fingerprints were on the knife, you'll know why!"
Maryann chuckled. "I can vouch for you. Is there any blood on it?" she asked.
I pushed the release button. The blade sprang out. It was well over three inches long, enough to cause some serious bodily harm. "No, no blood."
We didn’t find much on this stretch of the wash. An abandoned couch and an old child’s stroller lay battered in the wash. Months of harsh summer sun and rains did a good blanch job on both. Both were too heavy to lift out by ourselves.
“I’ll have to call the city to have them remove that stuff.”
By now it was 11am and the heat was coming on. Once we decided the majority of the clean-up was done, we sat down by our cars and talked.
I first met Maryann during the first Master Gardener’s meetings in March. She went through the course last year and was still working on getting her hours in (we have to volunteer 50 hours the first year). She became the new highway clean-up contact point. We met again in April for the San Pedro House Native Plant project and hit it off well again.
Maryann is married to Johnny, who works with Kevin on post. Kevin’s talked quite a bit about his coworkers on post. He always has funny stories to say about Johnny and Tommy, his favorite co-worker from New York. (Those two men are a blast to listen to, with their distincitve East Coast accents) Maryann is like me: an avid outdoorswoman who, in her younger years thought about being a park ranger. But she opted to study nursing and I joined the military. (Sometimes I think I made the wrong choice of career, but now that I am retired I am enjoying the pension and great health care coverage.)
“You know, I’ve met so many people in the Master Gardener and Hiking Club here, but there’s so little time to get together with anyone outside of our group gatherings. Work and class get in the way”
“I know, I know. We are the same way…” replied Maryann.
Maryann also volunteers for the Ramsey Canyon Preserve nearby and is a diehard member of the Nature Conservancy. Between the Ramsey Canyon hours, her nursing job and being a wife she has little time to socialize.
Maryann also likes to help wildlife. She and Johnny have four adopted dogs, a few cats and some chickens.
“Wanna kitten?” she asked me. A feral cat gave birth near their chicken coop a few months ago. The mother cat is tame enough around Maryann and the kittens are now old enough to recognize her. She’s already keeping two of the five kittens, but wants to find good homes for the other three.
“Are you going to go to the company Christmas party?” asked Maryann. That would be a cool way to chat with Maryann while the boys hang out and talk boy stuff: like all the construction/carpentry jobs they do on post and the fun times they have working together.
“I’d love to, but I’m driving to Chicagoland during the semester break. If it’s before the break, I’d love to go and hang out with you!”
We departed shortly before noon, promising to get together sometime, and off I was heading south. Gasoline prices in town had dropped another 12 cents to $2.55, which is almost what it was when I first came back from Iraq. (Side note: my old unit redeployed to northern Iraq yesterday, 7 Nov; I’m glad I’m no longer in that hellhole!)
Kevin was asleep on the couch when I got back home. The garden was in full sunshine and the dogs were ready to go outside. With Me. On a hike.
Against my better judgment, I took them to Upper Hunter Canyon Trail. Two horse trailers and tents were parked at Kelley Springs (popular with target shooters) so we drove right past that area and continued our ascent. I kept the dogs at a fast gallop by then so that they wouldn’t remember to dart back toward the horse trailers.
"This way, guys!"
We continued up the rocky trail to the wilderness sign, explored a dry creek bed where I gathered up some discarded backpacks. We returned down the same trail. The dogs by now were on a challenging run downhill to the usual loop, a total of 3.5 miles. When we got back home the dogs attacked the water bucket with vigor.
Friday, November 7, 2008
"Put the dog down!"
I stopped at the vet’s office to pick up Vinnie after another fun day at the high school. It was 3:15pm and the vet office was busy. The clerk with the stunning blue eyes recognized me and got Vinnie for me, who was meowing in a new cat carrier.
“I brought her in a cardboard carrier” I told the clerk.
“I know, but we have so many of these plastic carriers—people donate them to us when their pets die—and you can have this one.”
Vinnie huddled in the corner of the carrier, meowing the entire time.
I like this vet office. The personnel were friendlier than the office I normally go to in Sierra Vista. The rates are very reasonable, too but it’s farther and the office hours are shorter. Still, I'm seriously considering taking my pets to this office from now on. The staff provide personal service and I don't have to wait for hours (like at my other vet), two things that have bothered me about the other vet. The other office was sold by a national conglomerate, VCA, and raised their fees. The last time I was there with Sadie I nearly waited two hours for a scheduled appointment.
Vinnie was spayed, given a rabies, distemper and leukemia shot. I only paid $40 since the spaying and rabies were paid for when I adopted her from the Bisbee animal shelter in July.
“How much would this have cost me (to get spayed)?” I asked Mr Blue Eyes.
“One hundred dollars.“
"The city of Bisbee pays you $100 for a spaying?”
“Oh no, we charge them far less than that” Mr Blue Eyes assured me.
And as we chatted about the price of genital mutilation of adopted pets, a scraggly man pulling a ragged-looking Airedale came through the door. The Airedale was muzzled and wanted to sniff every corner of the office. He was not happy with the muzzle and tried to pull the muzzle off with his paws. All in vain. The dog had a hard time breathing with the muzzle on; it was panting heavily.
“What a pretty dog you have there!” said a large blonde woman next to me. “What kind of dog is that?”
“An Airedale” answered Mr Scruffy.
The dog kept pulling to smell the scents of the office, wagging its stubby tail. Dead leaves lay matted on its back. The dog needed a good grooming.
When the clerks finally got to Mr Scruffy to get the pet’s paperwork started, the man answered loudly “Oh, you don’t need my address, this dog isn’t coming back here. I want him put down. He came after me this morning…”
All of us got quiet. Mr Blue Eyes looked especially nervous and lost his train of thought with me as he was describing the rabies vaccination paperwork with me. This office does not give out rabies tags, just the paperwork, as the doctors feel the tags only get caught in fences and wire hooks and strangle cats. One of my cats had a near-death experience when his collar was stuck on a window blind; ever since I no longer put collars on my cats.
But to put a dog down?
Mr Scruffy was visibly agitated. His pet was oblivious, wagging its tail. “I paid $500 for this thing!” Mr Scruffy added.
I looked the doomed dog between its hind legs. It was not neutered. My anger toward Mr Scruffy increased. With all my heart I wanted to tell him “Listen Asshole, if you can spend $500 for a dog, you certainly can spend $100 to have it neutered. Neutering a dog will calm it down within a month and it won't be so aggressive toward you.” Not to mention that an abused dog will tend to bite its abuser...
But I kept my mouth shut, paid my bill and left the office, carrying Vinnie in her new carrier. The experience in the office with Mr Scruffy traumatized me so much I ignored Vinnie’s meows almost the entire drive home.
According to the Humane Society of the United States, three to four million animals are killed each year because they are not wanted. The price for pet neutering is insignificant when compared to the financial and human toll of putting unwanted animals down.
I don’t know if the veterinarian at this shelter willingly puts down unwanted pets. Perhaps he could give the owner alternatives to his dog’s aggression (like neutering!). What I do know is that putting down an animal at the owner’s request is not easy for the veterinarian and the assistants who work in veterinarian offices. Perhaps, too, if the owner had calmed down before bringing his Airedale in, he could have thought more rationally about the outcome of his dog. Perhaps the dog has a painful injury? Perhaps his collar is too tight? Perhaps, just perhaps, he’s hormonally challenged and just needs his testicles cut off.
My pets are part of my family. I try to give them the best lives possible. If I could not afford a pet, I would not have one. I know the day will come when I may have to have Sara or Sammy put down, but I want to make sure it's because I want to end their suffering, and not to calm down my own anger.
“I brought her in a cardboard carrier” I told the clerk.
“I know, but we have so many of these plastic carriers—people donate them to us when their pets die—and you can have this one.”
Vinnie huddled in the corner of the carrier, meowing the entire time.
I like this vet office. The personnel were friendlier than the office I normally go to in Sierra Vista. The rates are very reasonable, too but it’s farther and the office hours are shorter. Still, I'm seriously considering taking my pets to this office from now on. The staff provide personal service and I don't have to wait for hours (like at my other vet), two things that have bothered me about the other vet. The other office was sold by a national conglomerate, VCA, and raised their fees. The last time I was there with Sadie I nearly waited two hours for a scheduled appointment.
Vinnie was spayed, given a rabies, distemper and leukemia shot. I only paid $40 since the spaying and rabies were paid for when I adopted her from the Bisbee animal shelter in July.
“How much would this have cost me (to get spayed)?” I asked Mr Blue Eyes.
“One hundred dollars.“
"The city of Bisbee pays you $100 for a spaying?”
“Oh no, we charge them far less than that” Mr Blue Eyes assured me.
And as we chatted about the price of genital mutilation of adopted pets, a scraggly man pulling a ragged-looking Airedale came through the door. The Airedale was muzzled and wanted to sniff every corner of the office. He was not happy with the muzzle and tried to pull the muzzle off with his paws. All in vain. The dog had a hard time breathing with the muzzle on; it was panting heavily.
“What a pretty dog you have there!” said a large blonde woman next to me. “What kind of dog is that?”
“An Airedale” answered Mr Scruffy.
The dog kept pulling to smell the scents of the office, wagging its stubby tail. Dead leaves lay matted on its back. The dog needed a good grooming.
When the clerks finally got to Mr Scruffy to get the pet’s paperwork started, the man answered loudly “Oh, you don’t need my address, this dog isn’t coming back here. I want him put down. He came after me this morning…”
All of us got quiet. Mr Blue Eyes looked especially nervous and lost his train of thought with me as he was describing the rabies vaccination paperwork with me. This office does not give out rabies tags, just the paperwork, as the doctors feel the tags only get caught in fences and wire hooks and strangle cats. One of my cats had a near-death experience when his collar was stuck on a window blind; ever since I no longer put collars on my cats.
But to put a dog down?
Mr Scruffy was visibly agitated. His pet was oblivious, wagging its tail. “I paid $500 for this thing!” Mr Scruffy added.
I looked the doomed dog between its hind legs. It was not neutered. My anger toward Mr Scruffy increased. With all my heart I wanted to tell him “Listen Asshole, if you can spend $500 for a dog, you certainly can spend $100 to have it neutered. Neutering a dog will calm it down within a month and it won't be so aggressive toward you.” Not to mention that an abused dog will tend to bite its abuser...
But I kept my mouth shut, paid my bill and left the office, carrying Vinnie in her new carrier. The experience in the office with Mr Scruffy traumatized me so much I ignored Vinnie’s meows almost the entire drive home.
According to the Humane Society of the United States, three to four million animals are killed each year because they are not wanted. The price for pet neutering is insignificant when compared to the financial and human toll of putting unwanted animals down.
I don’t know if the veterinarian at this shelter willingly puts down unwanted pets. Perhaps he could give the owner alternatives to his dog’s aggression (like neutering!). What I do know is that putting down an animal at the owner’s request is not easy for the veterinarian and the assistants who work in veterinarian offices. Perhaps, too, if the owner had calmed down before bringing his Airedale in, he could have thought more rationally about the outcome of his dog. Perhaps the dog has a painful injury? Perhaps his collar is too tight? Perhaps, just perhaps, he’s hormonally challenged and just needs his testicles cut off.
My pets are part of my family. I try to give them the best lives possible. If I could not afford a pet, I would not have one. I know the day will come when I may have to have Sara or Sammy put down, but I want to make sure it's because I want to end their suffering, and not to calm down my own anger.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Habseligkeiten
Vinnie went to the vet today to get spayed. She was overdue. The poor cat had no idea what was about to happen to her when I grabbed her by the scruff and placed her in a cardboard carrier where she stayed, despite her desperate meows to be freed, until I got to the vet's office.
The veterinarian office was in Bisbee-San Jose, a few miles from Naco and the border. I left the house with the dogs at 8:30am and drove eastward in the cold morning air. The vet office didn’t open until 9am, and I used the free time to walk the dogs along an ATV trail nearby. The dogs were grateful, as all three of them had to poop.
It was a cold morning, our first below-40F morning this fall. The backyard grass was coated in a fine layer of frost. An even colder morning is forecasted for tonight.
I stopped at the river on the way home to give the dogs some free time to run. They hadn’t been walked in three days and their pent-up energy was visible. The Girls ran back and forth up the sandy banks of the river, chasing each other and growling in playful delight. The dogs were tracking endless scents along the immigrant trail.
It was a pleasant walk. The red-winged grasshoppers started coming out of their frosty sleep. The sun was high enough by 10am to warm up the ground. I passed a beaver dam and walked underneath the shady canopies of cottonwoods half-bare from fallen leaves.
A USBP helicopter swooped down shortly after we headed on a well-trodden immigrant trail that paralled the river. It was 10:10am. The sound reminded me briefly of the A-10 Warthogs that would take off from Baghdad whenever the base was attacked by incoming rounds. I stopped in my tracks. Was it me the agents were after? The helicopter followed the path of the River Trail further east of my position. I was walking southbound, so certainly I wasn’t too suspicious. Nor was I trespassing on private land.
I kept the dogs along a wide, dry wash and turned around when I noticed I was going too far south. Some parts of the trail were in tall reed grasses bent by human traffic. The grass was bent facing north. Trash littered in piles along the river: empty plastic bottles, candy wrappers and leftover granola bars..
The trash was even more obvious as I went back north. Backpacks, large black plastic bags (immigrants use the plastic to wrap themselves at night) and discarded plastic bottles, food bags and clothing. A pair of high heels stood by a small pile of clothes. Under-wire bras, long-sleeved sweaters and undergarments were scattered around a cottonwood.
A small black plastic bag contained penicillin tablets and other legal medicines.
Habseligkeiten, I thought. That’s German for paltry personal possessions. The word has a bittersweet ring to it. It's always in plural form. Why did that word suddenly come to my mind when I saw those scattered personal effects across the trail? Images of German World War II refugees came to mind, images of Families in war-torn Germany wandering with what few possessions they could spare after American bombing raids demolished their homes.
I grew up listening to the tragic war stories of my German grandmother, who together with my mother had to run from the American bombing raids over Magdeburg where they lived. She gathered what she could into several large bags. "Wir haben alles verloren--we lost everything" she would tell us, her eyes always drifting and her voice always quivering with the pain of distant grief.
If my own mother hadn't had the courage to flee Communist East Germany after that war, I could have been born a German. I never would have had the freedoms Americans enjoy who are born in this country. I will always be grateful to my mother for allowing me to be born an American.
Perhaps that is why, despite my anger at blatantly breaking the laws, I can not completely deny immigrants entry into the United States for a better way of life. (Or why I always want my government to reserve war as a last chance.)
I just wish they would immigrate legally. Our immigration laws must be changed to give all who request, and all those who pass background checks, entry into this country LEGALLY. That also means giving those who have already applied and who are waiting, a legal entry into this country.
One backpack contained personal identification. A photo-copied voter registration card from the Instituto Federal Electoral was folded in one side pocket. (This is a legal document for Mexican immigrants in Arizona.). The photograph on the front was of an indigenous woman, 23-year-old Maria Yesenia, from Ojo de Agua las Salinas, a small fishing community of Copala in the province of Guerrero, not far from Guatemala. She was staring at the camera when the photograph was taken, her black hair pulled to the back, exposing her gold loop earrings. On the back was a fingerprint and a holograph. I have no doubt she had little chance of advancing in life as an indigenous woman..
The other identification was an immigration permit for Elena Galvez, issued by the Secretaria de Gobernacion and stamped 27 October 2008 .
Both women were lucky to make it across before this week’s freezing temperatures.
http://mexico.pueblosamerica.com/i/ojo-de-agua-las-salinas/
The veterinarian office was in Bisbee-San Jose, a few miles from Naco and the border. I left the house with the dogs at 8:30am and drove eastward in the cold morning air. The vet office didn’t open until 9am, and I used the free time to walk the dogs along an ATV trail nearby. The dogs were grateful, as all three of them had to poop.
It was a cold morning, our first below-40F morning this fall. The backyard grass was coated in a fine layer of frost. An even colder morning is forecasted for tonight.
I stopped at the river on the way home to give the dogs some free time to run. They hadn’t been walked in three days and their pent-up energy was visible. The Girls ran back and forth up the sandy banks of the river, chasing each other and growling in playful delight. The dogs were tracking endless scents along the immigrant trail.
It was a pleasant walk. The red-winged grasshoppers started coming out of their frosty sleep. The sun was high enough by 10am to warm up the ground. I passed a beaver dam and walked underneath the shady canopies of cottonwoods half-bare from fallen leaves.
A USBP helicopter swooped down shortly after we headed on a well-trodden immigrant trail that paralled the river. It was 10:10am. The sound reminded me briefly of the A-10 Warthogs that would take off from Baghdad whenever the base was attacked by incoming rounds. I stopped in my tracks. Was it me the agents were after? The helicopter followed the path of the River Trail further east of my position. I was walking southbound, so certainly I wasn’t too suspicious. Nor was I trespassing on private land.
I kept the dogs along a wide, dry wash and turned around when I noticed I was going too far south. Some parts of the trail were in tall reed grasses bent by human traffic. The grass was bent facing north. Trash littered in piles along the river: empty plastic bottles, candy wrappers and leftover granola bars..
The trash was even more obvious as I went back north. Backpacks, large black plastic bags (immigrants use the plastic to wrap themselves at night) and discarded plastic bottles, food bags and clothing. A pair of high heels stood by a small pile of clothes. Under-wire bras, long-sleeved sweaters and undergarments were scattered around a cottonwood.
A small black plastic bag contained penicillin tablets and other legal medicines.
Habseligkeiten, I thought. That’s German for paltry personal possessions. The word has a bittersweet ring to it. It's always in plural form. Why did that word suddenly come to my mind when I saw those scattered personal effects across the trail? Images of German World War II refugees came to mind, images of Families in war-torn Germany wandering with what few possessions they could spare after American bombing raids demolished their homes.
I grew up listening to the tragic war stories of my German grandmother, who together with my mother had to run from the American bombing raids over Magdeburg where they lived. She gathered what she could into several large bags. "Wir haben alles verloren--we lost everything" she would tell us, her eyes always drifting and her voice always quivering with the pain of distant grief.
If my own mother hadn't had the courage to flee Communist East Germany after that war, I could have been born a German. I never would have had the freedoms Americans enjoy who are born in this country. I will always be grateful to my mother for allowing me to be born an American.
Perhaps that is why, despite my anger at blatantly breaking the laws, I can not completely deny immigrants entry into the United States for a better way of life. (Or why I always want my government to reserve war as a last chance.)
I just wish they would immigrate legally. Our immigration laws must be changed to give all who request, and all those who pass background checks, entry into this country LEGALLY. That also means giving those who have already applied and who are waiting, a legal entry into this country.
One backpack contained personal identification. A photo-copied voter registration card from the Instituto Federal Electoral was folded in one side pocket. (This is a legal document for Mexican immigrants in Arizona.). The photograph on the front was of an indigenous woman, 23-year-old Maria Yesenia, from Ojo de Agua las Salinas, a small fishing community of Copala in the province of Guerrero, not far from Guatemala. She was staring at the camera when the photograph was taken, her black hair pulled to the back, exposing her gold loop earrings. On the back was a fingerprint and a holograph. I have no doubt she had little chance of advancing in life as an indigenous woman..
The other identification was an immigration permit for Elena Galvez, issued by the Secretaria de Gobernacion and stamped 27 October 2008 .
Both women were lucky to make it across before this week’s freezing temperatures.
http://mexico.pueblosamerica.com/i/ojo-de-agua-las-salinas/
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