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Wildfire Revisited

Posted on December 8, 2017 by Bill Leave a comment

Ventura Fire

Things are hot in Southern California. Earlier, it was hot in Santa Rosa and the Napa Valley. When there is a high pressure system over the Great Basin and a low develops off the California Coast, the pressure gradient gives rise to hot downslope winds blowing from east to west. The Santa Ana. Wildfires proliferate in the mountainous chaparral country. As the population continues to grow, the urban areas extend into the brush country.

That Great Basin high is also a fire maker for Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, and Arizona. Here in Colorado, low pressure systems move down the Plains and the pressure gradient creates winds similar to California’s Santa Ana. As with most natural phenomena, it is not if, but when.

It’s gonna burn, folks.

The brush country is that way because frequent wildfires prevent any significant tree growth. When the brush burns, it tends to return in just a few years. With trees, not so much.

Rawah Burn. Over 100 Years, Trees Have Not Returned

I remember backpacking through a 100 year old burn in the Rawah Wilderness here in Colorado. The trees had not returned, and the topsoil was eroded away on the hilltops. Fires in Colorado’s chaparral country such as west of Glenwood Springs burn and in five or ten years the brush is back, ready to burn again.

I have seen this happen in my lifetime. The ridges south of the Colorado River and west of Glenwood have burned at least twice. Lightning causes some of the fires, but once a fire spread from the town dump. The tragic 1994 fire that killed fourteen firefighters was north of the river and just west of Glenwood. The fuel load was greater because the area had not burned for some time.

Storm King

If you go back to the Storm King fire area, you will see the brush returning. It’s not ready to burn yet, but given some time and a few wet years, it will be ready to go again. The town of Glenwood has built up right to the brush on both sides of the river.

Brush Returning

Back to California, the towns have grown up to the brush and those wanting a view are living in the brushy areas. The canyons are more heavily wooded and full of houses. All the coastal mountains from San Diego north are in the chaparral zone. All the urbanization is also in those areas. Quick commute? Live just below the hills in a canyon. Nice view, build your house on the ridge.

Those examples of the urban-woodland interface are not unique to Western Colorado and California. The Colorado Front Range is another example. Fires have burned from west of Fort Collins to south of Colorado Springs.

Waldo Canyon Fire

The Waldo Canyon fire burned into town on Colorado Springs’ west side and into Manitou Springs. The Black Forest Fire was in a different climate zone with Ponderosa Pine , but with lots of brush. That area is wetter, but is also subject to drought and wildfire, just less often.

Arizona and Utah have similar country, and fire killed 19 firefighters in mixed brush and timber just outside Prescott. I am waiting for a big fire just west of Denver. It’s only going to get worse. People are moving into the brush country in increasing numbers, if you move to Colorado or California from Chicago, you want the mountain experience. The jobs are in the cities, and the closest mountain areas are brush country. Four Mile Canyon outside Boulder and Ojai, California are examples of what fire does to development in the chaparral.

Young people looking for an exciting career should look into wildland firefighting. It is a growth industry. Oh, I haven’t even mentioned climate change. It will increase job opportunities.

Posted in Chaparral, Climate Change, Colorado Mountains, Diablo Wind, Environment, Fire, Santa Ana Wind, Stories, Western Colorado, Wildfire, Wind

Aftermath

Posted on August 26, 2017 by Bill Leave a comment

The Infamous Stairs

Falling down the stairs two weeks ago has turned out to be a life changing event. I knew I was getting old, after all the URL you used to get here is DOFBILL, for Doddering Old Fart. I have been using it for several years. But, friends, this last excursion down the stairs hurt. It still hurts. I started physical therapy again for balance work. I haven’t been able to get motivated for doing anything. Getting here to the coffee shop to write took until noon today. I am usually here by 9:00 AM. All I want to do is lay in bed and watch U Tube videos.

I did manage to work with the painters the other day. Our new stretch of fence looks good. However, I dropped the tote tray full of painting tools and they all spilled. They are still on the floor. I talked to to Carol about all this, and she wisely figured out what is going on with me.

I am in mourning. I guess I should have figured it out by myself, but I was too numb. I retired in 2011, I sold the motorcycle. I knew I was more and more limited physically, but this fall brought it all home. At 74 years, I am old.

This was reinforced yesterday when I went for my three year endoscopy/colostomy. I got chewed out by the doctor for not following the rules. No caffein, no chocolate (!), no booze (I had already quit a year and a half ago), no spicy food, on and on. I told Carol if I can’t have spicy Mexican food, life isn’t worth living. What a stupid remark, as she not-so-gently pointed out.

I have limitations, have had them for years. I just had never gotten to the acceptance phase. Bouncing down the stairs feet first brought it all home. In John Mellencamp’s Jack and Diane, he sings “Oh,yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone”. That line has had residency in my head for two weeks.

Well, the thrill is not gone. Some of the thrills, however, are gone. No mountain climbing. No motorcycling. No more solo four wheeling trips where I could stay stuck for a week before anyone came along. I have to let go of risky stuff. The odds have changed. I am an old man.

After mourning comes acceptance. I am in that process now. The sages say the task of elders is looking inward. I am doing Insight Meditation for that reason. My meditations do take me inward, but much of the time I am thinking about outer stuff. In fact the best inner work I do is at the keyboard. A good writing session sets the stage for good meditations.

Not all the outer world things have to go. I can still get into nature. The sunrise is still there. The Japanese Beetle season is about over. I still have a life. So, what’s the big deal already? There is my sense of humor, and it is intact. Part of me knows it is all right. If I can still make bad puns and turn phrases upside down I still love life. Carol would probably be happier if I had a more conventional sense of humor.

I haven’t mentioned the most important thing in my life. The people. Starting with Carol, my soul mate and the everlasting love of my life. All we do, all we are, and those morning cuddles. Her children, who have become my children as well. All our friends. The poignancy of losing friends. The memories. Yes I can let go and still live fully.

Posted in Acceptance, Aging, Balance Problems, Falling, Falls, Insight Meditation, Meditation, Stories

New York City

Posted on October 11, 2016 by Bill Leave a comment

Carol and I are back from New York. Carol’s daughter lives in a nice high rise apartment on the West Side and has a high powered job in marketing. Carol went early and spent a few days with her before she went to the west coast and I showed up.

Central Park

The apartment looks across Central Park to the East Side and points east. I could have spent the whole time looking at the view. The cliche says visit, but don’t live there. With the apartment, I could live there. Go down to the street and Central Park and the Lincoln Center are right there, along with shopping for everything you need within a couple of blocks. Manhattan is a wonderful place with more attractions you could see in a lifetime.

The people are from everywhere on the planet and are actually nice for the most part. Except for the Gray Line people who are beyond sick of tourists. They lie or don’t know. Or both. Everyone else is nice and willing to help confused tourists trying to get around on the subway.

A Courtyard in the Cloisters

Our first excursion was up to the north end of the island to The Cloisters, a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Built in the 1930’s by John D. Rockefeller Jr, it is a big stone edifice with several courtyard gardens surrounded by cloisters supported by columns from ancient churches and abbeys in Europe. Carol looked at the gardens and I looked at the architecture and stonework.

The many rooms on several levels are filled with medieval European art. There are paintings, tapestries, sculpture, and architectural features. The themes are consistent. The New Testament, focusing on Jesus and Mary. There are lots of saints and martyrs as well, but it is mostly the Holy Family. It is easy for me to go into overload in museums, but the cloistered gardens offered relief.

Brooklyn Bridge

At our age, one thing per day is enough, so next day we took the Gray Line tour of Brooklyn. I wanted to see Brooklyn, having read so much about the borough. Those double decker bus tours are a good way to get an overview of an area. Don’t use Gray Line, however. Take the Big Red Bus. We did most of the tour, had lunch at Junior’s, a Brooklyn tradition, and took the subway back to Manhattan rather than catching the next bus. We went to Brooklyn, but I wasn’t satisfied. Renting a car and using the guidebook and maps is what I would do next time.

The Hayden Planetarium at the Museum of Natural History

Next day was the Museum of Natural History, one of those places you could spend weeks exploring. As Neil DeGrasse Tyson fans, we saw a planetarium presentation on dark matter, going back to the Big Bang, narrated by Tyson. We walked through a number of sections, but focused on only one. Yes, you guessed it, Geology. I don’t know if I learned anything new, but a lot of things came together for me.

Our last excursion was to the High Line. Carol is an avid gardener, and the High Line is a mile long garden above the streets. It was built as an elevated railroad serving the Meatpacking District. The rail cars could be unloaded into buildings backing up to the rail line, and gravity aided the Meatpacking process. Abandoned, it was derelict for a number of years until it was redeveloped as an elevated garden.

The High Line

There are good views of the Hudson River and the city. The gardens are amazing, a hugely diverse number of plantings. It’s fun to enjoy the greenery above the noise of the city. Big problem, though. As we walked along, my eyes an nose started running and my eyes hurt. An instant allergy attack. Staff members said which grass, but I was so distressed I don’t remember the name. Here in Colorado it is Rabbit Brush doing me in every fall.

We flew United into LaGuardia and left from Newark. They sure cram a lot of people onto those planes. I had virtually no legroom. Oh, for the days when Frontier was a good airline.

We will return, there is still lots to do in New York.

Posted in Cloisters, High Line, New York, Stories, West Side

It’s Not Easy Being Green

Posted on October 11, 2016 by Bill Leave a comment

Kermit

“It’s not easy being green”. I like to use that line with people who dye their hair green. They don’t seem to mind, as they are extroverted enough to do such a thing and be seen in public. I particularly like the phrase because I have a green pickup and my totem animal is the frog. I even have a couple of stuffed frogs people have given me. I have been kissed, but, alas, never turned into a prince. I do tend to hop and croak, but draw the line at eating flies.

I have found that at my age, I can initiate conversations with strangers I wouldn’t have dared to do when I was younger. People just figure I am a silly old man. Right on. I am bald and usually wear a hat. I walk up to African-American people, men and women, with dreadlocks and tell them I have wanted

Whoopi With Dreadlocks

dreadlocks for years. Then I take my hat off. I always get a laugh and a couple of comments. It’s my way of connecting with black people. It is also a way of showing respect for how they look in a humorous way. I have had a lot of fun with it. I also have a bit of a Rastafarian streak.

Another joke I use with strangers is when I see someone with a college shirt on. With the Denver University people I ask them why Colorado College grads keep a copy of their diploma on the dash of their car. It’s so they can park in the handicapped slot. Here in Colorado, it’s often CU and Nebraska. By the way, that N on their helmets stands for nowledge.

I used the joke with Duke-North Carolina, Auburn-Alabama, Notre Dame-Penn State, Denver Metro-CU Denver, USC-UCLA, and sadly after Saturday’s game, Washington-Oregon. The combinations are endless. I have had the most fun with Texas Tech-Texas A&M. I told the joke to a couple, he with a Texas Tech T-shirt. She screamed, “I’m an Aggie!”. He couldn’t stop laughing. I used Purdue with a guy wearing an Indiana shirt. “My dad’s a Purdue grad and an engineer”. He promised to use it on his dad.

Then there are the Gingers. I tell them they should rule the world. Gingers are a downtrodden minority no one is really aware of. The pure redheads are usually able to effectively protect themselves, given their temperament. Of course many of them are Irish, which opens up a whole new area.

Lincoln Tunnel

I also have my New York joke, useful with anyone from a four-state region around the city. “Do you know why the suicide rate is so high in Manhattan?” “The light at the end of the tunnel is Jersey.” Even Jersey natives laugh at that one. Now, New Jersey truly is The Garden State, except for those ugly industrial flats across the river from Manhattan. When in the Army, I was stationed at Fort Monmouth on the Jersey shore. This child of the Colorado Plateau was overwhelmed by the lushness of that area. I had never seen so much green.

So, now you know how I make a fool of myself in public. Try it, it’s much better than expressing panic about the election.

Posted in Green, Hot Pot, My Story, Stories

Cops and Repression

Posted on August 12, 2016 by Bill Leave a comment

Cops are a constant presence in our lives. When I was a young kid, the town marshal in Fruita drove a red Ford pickup with no lights or siren. It wasn’t long before there were real police with a cruiser. I have a lot of interactions with police officers because I am a lousy driver.

Cops

The first really negative interaction was during all the demonstrations following the invasion of Cambodia in 1968. We peace creeps stood across the barrier from helmeted Fort Collins police officers who could hardly restrain themselves from bashing heads. They were putting up with a lot of verbal abuse. The cop across from me was hyperventilating. Fortunately, nothing happened.

Cops today are shooting people and getting shot. Ferguson, Missouri and Baltimore showed the nation how the police are an instrument of repression in some cities. Fortunately this is not always the case. After 9-11, Denver Water placed armed guards at the gates to the water treatment plants. Most of the guards were retired or off duty Denver Police Officers moonlighting. They usually worked one shift per week, and I got to know many of them at the plant where I worked.

It was a shock to me to discover that most of them were really nice guys. That did not fit my stereotype of cops. A couple of them, however, were not nice guys. They were right wing bullies filled with fear and anger. The hate they projected was almost physically tangible. They did not make eye contact and their speech was formal with an undercurrent of menace.

I am sure every police department of any size in the land has a contingent of those fellows. They are the enforcers, using violence to deal with undesirables. They are relatively safe form reprisal because of the need for police to provide mutual support to one another. There is a code of silence and even lying to cover for a fellow officer. This is more common in some departments than others.

These men serve as instruments of repression, usually to minorities. Their self-appointed job is to keep undesirables in line, using any method they think they can get away with, including murder.in the USA, their targets are usually black, with Latinos and other minorities as alternate targets.

Ferguson Riot

At one time, most of the racial repression came from groups like the Ku Klux Klan, with their cross burnings, beatings, and lynchings. Today, those groups have waned, and another means of repression has replaced them-rogue cops and rogue police departments. Cops and police departments have always been part of the system of racial repression, but now they are the default lynchers. There are no cross burnings on South Table Mountain in Golden these days.

This system has run into trouble because almost anyone with a smartphone can record police violence and get the recordings to the media. The code of silence is broken. In times of unrest like today, the violent incidents are on the television screen every evening, just like the atrocities in Vietnam were in the 1960s. Change in technology has made those conducting the new lynchings vulnerable. The old system of other cops and prosecutors allowing the lynchers to get away with their brutality is not gone, as Baltimore has recently shown, but it’s days are numbered.

It may be that one factor creating the Trump phenomenon is the breakdown of repression. The white working class, already hit by the loss of industrial jobs, is facing competition from people who were once sentenced to remain at the bottom. White working class men once had those minorities to look down on. Now the minorities are on the City Council and the police department.

Posted in Agression, Cops, Fear, History, Polarization, Politics, Race, Stories

At the Crossroads in 2016

Posted on August 2, 2016 by Bill Leave a comment

This is a guest post by my wife, Carol Leavenworth.

At the Crossroads in 2016

By Carol Leavenworth, LPC

Most of the time I try to ignore politics. But this year the presidential campaign has become so bizarre that I’ve been watching with a kind of morbid fascination. How did we get here? How could a man like Donald Trump possibly have become a serious candidate for President of our country?

As a Jungian therapist, I have to ask myself how I and other politically liberal people may have unconsciously contributed to Trump’s success. Observing the contrast that emerged from last month’s political conventions between the Democrats’ positive vision for the future and Republicans’ negative and pessimistic view, I think I have begun to understand why these two wildly disparate standpoints appeal to such vast numbers of Americans.

Garden of Eden

As a psychotherapist I know that the loss of the fundamental safety and comfort that we enjoyed while we were held in our mothers’ wombs is a universal human experience. At birth we are thrust into a world of uncertainty and fear where our needs will never again be met instantaneously and our very survival is not necessarily assured. And life continues to become ever more precarious from there. The story of the expulsion from the Garden of Eden reflects this experience.

Life outside The Garden is filled with danger and risk. Growth is impossible unless we embrace this reality. We must leave our mother’s side and venture out into the world – to school, to work, to new homes that we create for ourselves. That most of us do this pretty well doesn’t mean we are always comfortable with our lives or that we necessary feel all that safe.

But we want to be. A primary motive driving us throughout adulthood is to find the lost wholeness, safety and comfort that some small part of each of us vaguely remembers from the far distant past.

In tough scary times like these, this drive is even stronger. To allay our fears and satisfy deep needs to feel safe and whole we are inevitably drawn to leaders who encourage us to lay down our burdens and give over our struggle to a strong parent figure who will make it better for us. This is a profoundly human impulse, and today Donald Trump is the man who is appealing to that impulse.

Well good, you might say. Why not let him do it? The difficulty here is that it won’t work. We can’t resolve life’s important challenges by giving in to shadowy fears and returning to old dependencies. Going back will not help. In fact whenever we act on these regressive impulses, we risk ending up worse off than before. Think back on your own life. Most if not all of us can find instances in our own personal histories when we’ve chosen what we thought was the safe road only to find ourselves with more problems than ever.

But if we can’t go back, what will work?

It was First Lady Michelle Obama speaking at the Democratic Convention who reminded me of the viable and healing way through dark times. Her remarks swept away the negative and pessimistic mindset that I had fallen into as I watched the nightly news reports throughout the winter and spring. Hearing her, I recalled to myself the truths that I try to impart to others in my work as a psychotherapist. It is the choices we make from our best selves that are the ones that enable us to move forward in resolving life problems, big and small. Even more importantly these are the choices that build the inner capacities and strengths that will ultimately bring each of us to a new experience of the abiding wholeness and safety that can arise only from within. We heal ourselves and the world in the process of creating, developing and expressing our best selves.

Crossroads

The enormous divide that we see between the two major candidates for President tells us that we have arrived at a great crossroads. Eight years ago we made a courageous decision to elect the first African American man to the Presidency. He pulled us back from the brink of worldwide economic ruin and brought us here to the time when we are asked to make the even more courageous decision to elect a smart, politically savvy, seasoned and progressive woman to be our President.

Hillary Clinton points us to a future where we face the challenges that confront us head on rather than building walls and hiding behind them. She invites us all to work together to secure our futures. She affirms that none of the tasks before us can be solved by one person or one group. She does not promise to take care of us. She promises to lead us. And she asks us to dig deep once again and act from our best selves.

When we do, we help the world and we help ourselves. Acting on our best selves out in the world feeds our souls and contributes to the long and difficult task of rebuilding the inner wholeness that is the true goal of our searching hearts.

Posted in Fear, Jungian Therapy, Politics, Stories, Terrorism, Trump

Japanese Beetles

Posted on July 28, 2016 by Bill Leave a comment

We are being attacked. When the weather gets hot, Japanese Beetles come out and eat roses, hollyhocks, buckthorn, linden trees, and grape leaves. The poor roses hardly have a chance. The new flowers are ragged by noon. All that is left on some of the grape leaves are the veins. The hollyhocks lose their flowers as well.

Japanese Beetle

It’s war! They are relatively new arrivals here in our neighborhood. They showed up last year and this year they are all over our plants. The evil little beetles come out and eat during the hot weather, lay their eggs in the lawn, the grubs hatch and eat the grass roots. Next spring, the grubs become beetles, and the horrible thing starts all over again.

When they hit the peach and vineyard area around Palisade, the chemicals came out and the infestation was stopped. They don’t talk about the harm done to beneficial insects. We try to be organic, so the poisons are out.

The first tactic we adopted is to go out with a small pitcher with some dish soap laden water, find the bugs, and flick the bugs into the water with a table knife. It goes on all day. The grape arbor is high, and I am banned from going up more than two steps on the ladder, so some escape. I am not big on killing living beings, but here is an exception.

They are fairly round with an iridescent shell. Ugly little beasts. At the end of the day we have dozens floating in the water. With a lot of research, mostly on University Extension Service websites, we discovered neem oil with a tiny amount of azadirachtin kills and repels the little beasts.

As the grubs get active in the turf, we are going to introduce some nematodes that attack the grubs. With luck, we won’t have those dead spots in the lawn. The nematodes stay around, so one time for them.

On my bug hunt one morning, I didn’t find one beetle. The fortified neem oil is working. After a couple of days they are back and it’s back to work. The neighbors won’t be killing the grubs, so we will have an annual battle.

If you have Japanese Beetles, neem oil with azadirachtin works. Straight neem oil works on lots of harmful insects, but not without some azadirachtin for our little buddies. If you need neem oil and don’t have Japanese Beetles, we have a couple of bottles we will give you. Good hunting!

Posted in Beetles, Gardening, My Story, Spring Flowers, Stories

Rattlesnake Canyon

Posted on August 26, 2015 by Bill Leave a comment

Dramatic

Rattlesnake Canyon is near Fruita, Colorado, where I grew up. My friends and I ran all over the hills north and west of the Colorado National Monument, but I had never been to

Rattlesnake Canyon. It is a bit too far for kids on foot. We got into the canyons just east of the canyon, now part of the Black Ridge Wilderness, but I did not know about the arches in Rattlesnake Canyon.

Close to town, the canyon is a bit tough to get to. The Pollock Canyon trailhead near the river means an overnight backpack to do justice to the country. The other route follows Black Ridge west from the Glade Park Store, and is for 4×4 vehicles or Subarus you are willing to bash around. From the trailhead it is about four miles on the trail if you take the shortcut.

I have rambled around the Colorado Plateau off and on all my life. From the Grand Canyon to Dinosaur and from the Grand Hogback to the Wasatch, the plateau offers some

Rattlesnake Canyon

of the most magnificent country anywhere. Rattlesnake Canyon is up there with the best. Arches has more arches, and there are bigger canyons (not that many), but Rattlesnake has it all. The real bonuses are that it is close and not cluttered up with people. With the exception of Grand Canyon, most anywhere else offered some solitude at one ime. No longer. Thirty miles from Grand Junction, with a competent high clearance vehicle you can be in wilderness in view of Fruita.

Ah, the sense of space. I live in the city and it is impossible to have a sense of space, even with Mt. Evans looking down at you. From those canyon rims the expanse opens my mind. Grand Mesa, the Bookcliffs, and the Roan Cliffs rim the Grand Valley, quite a scene by itself.

The canyon walls are Wingate sandstone capped by harder Kayenta sandstone. That cap rock forms a bench with the Entrada sandstone (slickrock) set back from the rim. Rim Rock Drive in the Monument is mostly on that bench, and the trail to Rattlesnake drops down on the bench and curves around the canyon rim to the arches. The arches are in the slickrock, ancient sand dunes turned to stone. It is easy to see the rounded dunes in the rock. Erosion works its way into the cliffs following the curve of the dunes, forming alcoves. As the alcoves erode farther, sometimes the back of the alcove drops out, leaving an arch. I saw six of them. Arches in Colorado, the second largest concentration in the country, maybe the world.

About that trail. I got away from Denver at 6:00 AM, not my best time of day. I filled my water bottle and left it on the kitchen counter. I didn’t realize it until I was at the trailhead at about 1:30 PM. I am also out of shape, my exercise restricted by a couple of broken ribs for five weeks. Have I mentioned that I am 72 years old and impulsive? I looked at the sign, 3 1/2 miles. It was only 90 degrees or so, a piece of cake.

First Arch. Where I climbed up the rock through the arch.

I covered about half of the trail when I realized I was getting a bit dry. “Keep going, I can drink later”. The arches were a progression along the bench and close to the trail. With that row of arches on one side and that magnificent canyon with 400 foot sheer walls branching into side canyons on the other side, I was literally staggered by the beauty. Well maybe the stagger was because I was tired and thirsty. I caught up to a party of six people at the last arch, known as First Arch. At First Arch was the sign saying End of Trail. I didn’t know that, and by that time I was stopping to rest fairly often, so while resting I watched the party climb up the slickrock through the arch. I knew the trailhead was only about 1/2 mile from the arch. So, it was climb up the rock through that impressive arch or backtrack 3 1/2 miles. I climbed.

I have done a lot of sandstone climbing, and used to be pretty good at it. That was when I wasn’t 72, tired, getting sore, and thirsty. I climbed anyway. I would do about 20 feet, catch my breath, figure out my next moves, and climb again. The proper way to climb that stuff is on your feet even if it is steep. Feet have more traction than denim, and the work is easier than trying to slither up. I slithered. I was too weak to trust myself trying to walk up those steep slopes.

The rock has curves, little depressions, some tiny ridges, notches, and hollows to give one a way up. I tried to pick the easiest route, but it was still pretty steep. My knees paid the price, getting some good scrapes. Up on the rim, that last half mile was tough. It was uphill, but not too bad. I stopped twice and flopped down in the shade for a few minutes while walking slowly back to the truck.

There was about 1/4 of a cup of coffee in the truck that sure tasted good. I was lightheaded and pretty wobbly during the drive out. I stopped at the Visitor Center in the Park and drank water for a while. I got a motel room in Fruita about 6:00 PM, didn’t eat dinner, and drank water until lights out about 9:30.

Sunday morning I had breakfast, drank water, and took the scenic route back to Denver. I drank water and went up Plateau Creek to Collbran, went over Grand Mesa to Paonia where I had lunch and drank water, then over McClure Pass to Glenwood and home on I-70. I was fully rehydrated by Monday.

I didn’t see a rattlesnake in Rattlesnake Canyon

After a few minor incidents in the backcountry over the years, I have developed several rules to follow when Out There. Take water. Take enough water for the other persons you come across who didn’t bring enough water. Be in shape. Research where you are going so you know what to expect. Have a map. Carry the ten essentials in case you get into trouble. Tell people where you are going. You really should not go alone. I broke every rule.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I know. I am an impulsive ADD. When I got to the trailhead and saw I had no water I should have driven out. But, I wouldn’t have this story to tell. What I did do right was pace myself, not panic, and take my time getting out. It is just that my brain didn’t kick in until three hours too late.

Posted in Arches, Colorado Plateau, Current Activities, Dehydration in Back Country, Four Wheeling, Memoirs, My Story, Pain, Rattlesnake Canyon, Stories, Uncompahgre Uplift, Western Colorado

The Garden

Posted on April 23, 2015 by Bill 2 comments

I am married to an artist. She paints, she writes (lately, haiku), is doing lots of cooking with our new kitchen, and she gardens. It’s spring, so a lot of our effort is going into the garden. I willingly garden, but it is mostly the labor part. I dig, I built a cold frame and re-glazed it, I water and help plant. I do not, however decide what to plant or where. I am getting better at pruning with my left-handed Felco Pruner. I mow, compost, rake, clean up, water, and haul.

We are landscaping in back, so lots of things are changing. We have a nice new patio with a pergola. The iris are already in along the fence and in the alley just outside.

The project this week is raspberries. We had a 15 foot long cedar planter built just in front of the big blank slab of a garage wall that is YELLOW. I prepared the planter soil with compost made from last falls leaves and a lot of coffee grounds from the coffee shops. The raspberries will get fairly high and will break up that expanse of garage. We were planning to have the raspberries planted by the pros but Carol got a call from a woman she met at a class offering free raspberries.

Raspberries

We jumped in my pickup and went over to their garden in what used to be a run-down neighborhood between I-25 and Highlands. It is being transformed with new construction, but still retains some of the flavor of what it used to be. We dug up about fifteen plants, brought them home and planted them. They were bare root, so some of them are looking pretty droopy, but I think they will make it. My job is to set some eight foot cedar posts and run wires between them to support the raspberry canes. The bushes can get about six to eight feet tall. I can’t wait to have fresh raspberries in my muffins.

Our perennials are doing fine. We were a bit worried after that early hard freeze we had last fall. Even Carol’s attempt to clone the Pacific Northwest with a salal plant and some azaleas survived. There is a deciduous bush next to the front door that is supposed to be evergreen that lost all its leaves. It has lots of little buds and a few leaves, so I think it will be all right.

One of the things we are getting done in front is putting big rocks and some perennials on the slope from the lawn down to the sidewalk. I am not getting any stronger, and that slope is hard to mow. It also gets dry in summer, as it faces west.

Our Little Free Library is up and running. It is one of the features on the slope. It is so much fun going out to check the books. We get quite a bit of business, but no problem, because people keep bringing us books. It’s painful, but I am culling some of my books. It seems like some of my soul goes with them. I hope they will enrich the soul of their next owner. It is good, life as a householder.

Posted in Current Activities, Gardening, Haiku, Home Improvement, Little Free Library, My Story, Planting Raspberries, Stories

Beware of Cats

Posted on March 16, 2015 by Bill Leave a comment

Cat Trapped in a Folk Music Environment

It started innocently enough. I like to get on Facebook, and some of the people I am friends with are into the animal rescue thing. Lots of cute pictures of cats and dogs. I didn’t pay much attention to them until this great cat picture appeared. I liked it, laughed, and shared it on my page.

It is important when using social media to avoid posting material one might regret later. I have ADD, and one characteristic of my condition is impulsivity. I get myself into trouble. I don’t do Twitter as a result. I also watch my behavior on Facebook and have seldom made a fool of myself. But, I posted a cat picture.

This time, however, it all went bad. I haven’t posted anything rash, but that one act, posting a cat picture, has led to my moral decline. I look at too many animal pictures, Like them, and even follow links. Even more dangerously, I find myself following ever more decadent Internet pages. Stories about Kardashians! Jenners! Brad and Angelina! Republicans! Media liars!

I have worthwhile things to do with my life, but my time is increasingly going to meaningless pursuits. I even found myself looking at The Enquirer in the checkout line yesterday. I fear that I may even start watching reality TV shows. Oh, the horror! Will I switch from The New York Times to the Daily Mail? Watch Good Morning America?

My worst nightmare is watching Fox News. I have managed to avoid that so far, but I feel myself weakening. I used to avoid most sports writing and programming, but I found myself talking to my wife about Lance Armstrong this morning. I also tend to follow attractive woman athletes. Mixing my weaknesses together.

Will I have to have ESPN now? Will I find myself at Nuggets and Avalanche games? Will I start following the sports betting lines from Las Vegas? Even worse, will I be at Caesars Palace instead of Carnegie Hall?

Remember, Dear Reader, that a cat caused this crisis.

Posted in Cats, Current Activities, Humor, Memoirs, Moral Decline, My Story, Stories, unjustified Fears

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