The rain dripping off the eaves onto the upturned plastic bucket and flower pots played the rhythm of "On the Trail" from Ferde Grofé's "Grand Canyon Suite". I smiled, burrowed down, and went back to sleep glad that my Sunday options for could-do and should-do were cut in half by the rain and wet ground.
I watched enough bits of Ken Burn's "National Parks" to drift into a scenic dream of canyons, boulders, twisty trails, and mountains. Getting to the bottom of the ironing basket today should be easier than a trek to the bottom of the canyon, if not so picturesque.
© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder
Showing posts with label National parks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label National parks. Show all posts
10/4/09
4/17/08
Scene of the crime
My little sons used to fall into duck ponds, fishing lakes, and prairie dog enclosures at zoos. They survived, none the worse for wear, and don't even remember those soggy OOPS moments. One son tried hard to fall into geysers in Yellowstone National Park, and his mom's nerves are still frayed. Another son loved playing in the waves at South Padre, and I never relaxed a minute on those beach vacations being ever vigilant for an undertow.
On my last drive through Oklahoma I checked out Edmond's Hafer Park, the scene of a particularly memorable duck pond dunking. The park is lovely, well-kept, and well-used. Families were picnicking at every available table. A group was hosting an event in the pavillion at the duck pond. Teens were reenacting a medieval battle while dressed in cardboard armor and pillowcase chain mail.
Red marks the very best spot for falling into the pond.
© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder
On my last drive through Oklahoma I checked out Edmond's Hafer Park, the scene of a particularly memorable duck pond dunking. The park is lovely, well-kept, and well-used. Families were picnicking at every available table. A group was hosting an event in the pavillion at the duck pond. Teens were reenacting a medieval battle while dressed in cardboard armor and pillowcase chain mail.
Red marks the very best spot for falling into the pond.
© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder
3/30/08
Kansas wind, grass, hills & meadowlarks
Heading to Nebraska, I drove the Kansas Turnpike (I-35) northeast from El Dorado to Topeka. I loved the serenity of the Flint Hills landscape, and made a plan to see more of it on my way back to Texas. It surprised me not to see any wind farms in this almost vacant, and definitely windy, area.
Kansas Highway 177 heads south through the Konza Prairie Biological Station for Long-term Ecological Research, the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve, and the "Heart of the Flint Hills". Part of the highway is designated both a Kansas Scenic Byway and a National Scenic Byway. There's no traffic, the drive is like a cleansing meditation, and it goes through the Prairie Chicken Capital of the World*. What more could you want?
The Konza Prairie Biological Station is a joint effort between The Nature Conservancy and Kansas State University to study interactions of grazing, climate variability, fire, and animals, to put it in very simple terms. The website is intriguing. KPBS is also home to the Konza Environmental Education Program for K-12 students.
The Konza Prairie Scenic Overlook on Highway 177, halfway between Manhattan and I-70, offers a panorama of the hilly tallgrass prairie. The bronze plaques in the shelter provide excellent explanations of the geology, ecology, and history of the area.
Heading on south, I saw lots of meadowlarks on fences, and I wondered again about wind farms. The western meadowlark is a very handsome songbird, the state bird of Nebraska, and the only bird I know that looks like Gordon McRae in "Oklahoma"! It's the bandana, of course. And you know how that wind comes sweepin' down the plain.
Next stop was the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve north of Strong City. This is the only unit of the National Park System "dedicated to the rich natural and cultural history of the tallgrass prairie ecosystem". It's also another cooperative venture. The Nature Conservancy owns nearly all of the land, with the National Park Service owning the tiny remainder. The NPS operates the preserve, while the Kansas Park Trust is charged with enhancing the visitor experience. I arrived too late for tours or an extended hike, but was able to wander around the 1880's buildings of the Spring Hill Farm and Stock Ranch built by cattleman Stephen F. Jones and his wife Louisa.
The limestone just below the surface of the Flint Hills prevented plowing, and preserved this area of tallgrass prairie. Limestone supplied the building materials for everything from fences to the massive three-story 60 x 100 foot barn.
This view looks from Spring Hill toward the Lower Fox Creek Schoolhouse:
Kansas does have a number of wind projects, with more in various stages of planning and implementation. Governor Kathleen Sebelius has worked to ban wind farms from the scenic Flint Hills with arguments of stewardship for this ecological gem. If I didn't have to iron today, I could spend much more time trying to understand Kansas energy politics, but real life makes demands on even the most relaxed of returning bloggers.
© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder
Kansas Highway 177 heads south through the Konza Prairie Biological Station for Long-term Ecological Research, the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve, and the "Heart of the Flint Hills". Part of the highway is designated both a Kansas Scenic Byway and a National Scenic Byway. There's no traffic, the drive is like a cleansing meditation, and it goes through the Prairie Chicken Capital of the World*. What more could you want?
The Konza Prairie Biological Station is a joint effort between The Nature Conservancy and Kansas State University to study interactions of grazing, climate variability, fire, and animals, to put it in very simple terms. The website is intriguing. KPBS is also home to the Konza Environmental Education Program for K-12 students.
The Konza Prairie Scenic Overlook on Highway 177, halfway between Manhattan and I-70, offers a panorama of the hilly tallgrass prairie. The bronze plaques in the shelter provide excellent explanations of the geology, ecology, and history of the area.
Heading on south, I saw lots of meadowlarks on fences, and I wondered again about wind farms. The western meadowlark is a very handsome songbird, the state bird of Nebraska, and the only bird I know that looks like Gordon McRae in "Oklahoma"! It's the bandana, of course. And you know how that wind comes sweepin' down the plain.
Next stop was the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve north of Strong City. This is the only unit of the National Park System "dedicated to the rich natural and cultural history of the tallgrass prairie ecosystem". It's also another cooperative venture. The Nature Conservancy owns nearly all of the land, with the National Park Service owning the tiny remainder. The NPS operates the preserve, while the Kansas Park Trust is charged with enhancing the visitor experience. I arrived too late for tours or an extended hike, but was able to wander around the 1880's buildings of the Spring Hill Farm and Stock Ranch built by cattleman Stephen F. Jones and his wife Louisa.
The limestone just below the surface of the Flint Hills prevented plowing, and preserved this area of tallgrass prairie. Limestone supplied the building materials for everything from fences to the massive three-story 60 x 100 foot barn.
This view looks from Spring Hill toward the Lower Fox Creek Schoolhouse:
Kansas does have a number of wind projects, with more in various stages of planning and implementation. Governor Kathleen Sebelius has worked to ban wind farms from the scenic Flint Hills with arguments of stewardship for this ecological gem. If I didn't have to iron today, I could spend much more time trying to understand Kansas energy politics, but real life makes demands on even the most relaxed of returning bloggers.
*Cassoday, Kansas
© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder
2/16/05
Danger Baby turns 20
This week my middle son will have his twentieth birthday. I never thought we would make it! Maybe I can finally quit having that nightmare about him being washed down the storm sewer of our long-ago suburban Omaha cul-de-sac house. I just always felt that I needed to worry double-time about him, waking or sleeping.
A former brother-in-law summed it up well when he announced why he liked three-year old Mike:
He's ornery, he wears hats, and he eats fish.
Often Mike wore more than one hat--fireman, cowboy, baseball, racing helmet, army, construction hard hat, way-too-big stocking cap-- in various configurations. He only played soccer two years because soccer is a seriously hat-deficient sport. He had to make do with a neon yellow sweatband!
T-ball was better. It had caps, and he could wear one of my clip-on earrings to pretend he was Ruben Sierra. We cranked up the volume on the car tape player for "We Are the Champions" on the way to T-ball games!
Harry Houdini's mother had a tough life. She has my complete sympathy and respect. Danger Baby was an Eighties escape artist. I had to tie his shoelaces together when he sat in his baby carseat to keep him from climbing out. He could stand up in the crib and tear the wallpaper off the wall.
I never could keep him confined to the grocery cart child seat. I would stop to read the nutritional info on a can of soup, and Danger Baby would be three aisles away. In the time it took me to select a head of lettuce, he could climb out and load six dozen fresh bakery cinnamon pull-aparts into the grocery cart.
The only thing Danger Baby couldn't escape was the electric mixer beater. While licking the beater he managed to get it hooked over both his teeth and his chin. Jaws!
In 1986 we took a family vacation to Yellowstone. For at least six hundred miles Danger Baby played with a Matchbox tractor while sitting in the carseat, then threw it on the floor, hollered "rackoo-rackoo" until the tractor was retrieved, then repeated the cycle. On this vacation his claustrophobic tendencies were revealed as he ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY refused to sleep in the tent. After a long highway drive, I ended up sleeping in the car while Mike slept in the carseat, and his dad and brother slept in the comparatively relaxing and luxurious tent. In the Tetons I had to keep Mike zipped into my sleeping bag to keep him from burning himself testing the cabin woodstove. At Yellowstone I had to keep him from falling into the geysers, and from completely freaking out when Old Faithful blew. At Jewel Cave he suffered a total spelunko-wacko panic attack that disrupted the whole tour group, and he never did like elevators after that.
Danger Baby really wanted to be a stunt rider. He watched a "Reading Rainbow" show about rodeos, and took to standing on the seat of the wooden rocking horse while wearing the "Lyle the Crocodile" Halloween costume, blue snowboots, and as many hats as he could balance on his head.
While reckless, Danger Baby was also very caring and attentive to his imaginary baby alligators. Whenever they fell off the back of his red tricycle he would stop and carefully help them back into position. Danger Baby has turned out funny, considerate, focused, planning, frugal, sentimental...
A former brother-in-law summed it up well when he announced why he liked three-year old Mike:
He's ornery, he wears hats, and he eats fish.
Often Mike wore more than one hat--fireman, cowboy, baseball, racing helmet, army, construction hard hat, way-too-big stocking cap-- in various configurations. He only played soccer two years because soccer is a seriously hat-deficient sport. He had to make do with a neon yellow sweatband!
T-ball was better. It had caps, and he could wear one of my clip-on earrings to pretend he was Ruben Sierra. We cranked up the volume on the car tape player for "We Are the Champions" on the way to T-ball games!
Harry Houdini's mother had a tough life. She has my complete sympathy and respect. Danger Baby was an Eighties escape artist. I had to tie his shoelaces together when he sat in his baby carseat to keep him from climbing out. He could stand up in the crib and tear the wallpaper off the wall.
I never could keep him confined to the grocery cart child seat. I would stop to read the nutritional info on a can of soup, and Danger Baby would be three aisles away. In the time it took me to select a head of lettuce, he could climb out and load six dozen fresh bakery cinnamon pull-aparts into the grocery cart.
The only thing Danger Baby couldn't escape was the electric mixer beater. While licking the beater he managed to get it hooked over both his teeth and his chin. Jaws!
In 1986 we took a family vacation to Yellowstone. For at least six hundred miles Danger Baby played with a Matchbox tractor while sitting in the carseat, then threw it on the floor, hollered "rackoo-rackoo" until the tractor was retrieved, then repeated the cycle. On this vacation his claustrophobic tendencies were revealed as he ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY refused to sleep in the tent. After a long highway drive, I ended up sleeping in the car while Mike slept in the carseat, and his dad and brother slept in the comparatively relaxing and luxurious tent. In the Tetons I had to keep Mike zipped into my sleeping bag to keep him from burning himself testing the cabin woodstove. At Yellowstone I had to keep him from falling into the geysers, and from completely freaking out when Old Faithful blew. At Jewel Cave he suffered a total spelunko-wacko panic attack that disrupted the whole tour group, and he never did like elevators after that.
Danger Baby really wanted to be a stunt rider. He watched a "Reading Rainbow" show about rodeos, and took to standing on the seat of the wooden rocking horse while wearing the "Lyle the Crocodile" Halloween costume, blue snowboots, and as many hats as he could balance on his head.
While reckless, Danger Baby was also very caring and attentive to his imaginary baby alligators. Whenever they fell off the back of his red tricycle he would stop and carefully help them back into position. Danger Baby has turned out funny, considerate, focused, planning, frugal, sentimental...
8/16/04
Millipede Spirals
Rinconado Canyon Petroglyph Trail is in the southern part of Petroglyph National Monument, and is administered by the National Park Service. Last time I visited the Albuquerque city-administered north part of the Monument. During my ninety minute hike I only saw two other people, both jogging. One guy even had that hose contraption for drinks of water that made him look like a scuba diver out of water. I was reminded of stories of Anasazi messengers running through this country to deliver news to other settlements.
I'm not Hawk Eye when it comes to spotting petroglyphs on the escarpment unless they are smack dab in front of me. I could blame this on my bifocals, but it is more often because I get distracted by lizards, birds, wild flowers, cloud formations, and millipedes as I walk along.
The millipedes are everywhere! They are five to six inches long. They make delicate curving tracks in the sand that look like the sketches of sleep-walking highway engineers. Sometimes the millipedes curl themselves into tight spirals. Are they resting? Sick? Dying? Warding off enemies like the wagons in a circle? Clearly, I don't know beans about millipedes. I will have a new challenge when I get home, as this is one of the first trips I've made without a backseat full of field guides and reference materials.
It is fun to look at the spirals pecked into the stone faces as I hike. The spiral is one of mankinds oldest symbols. My $1.50 kiddie pamphlet that I got for teaching art indicates that the spiral can mean the migration of a clan or tribe. What if it just means, "Look at all those bizarre millipedes, ladies and gentlemen!"?
When I was driving in El Malpais yesterday there were signs warning of elk crossings. We've all heard stories of the damage caused to a minivan that hits a deer. Imagine what hitting a big daddy elk could do to my little rent-a-car. Just in case the spiral petroglyph is a millipede crossing sign, I am careful not to step on any.
I'm not Hawk Eye when it comes to spotting petroglyphs on the escarpment unless they are smack dab in front of me. I could blame this on my bifocals, but it is more often because I get distracted by lizards, birds, wild flowers, cloud formations, and millipedes as I walk along.
The millipedes are everywhere! They are five to six inches long. They make delicate curving tracks in the sand that look like the sketches of sleep-walking highway engineers. Sometimes the millipedes curl themselves into tight spirals. Are they resting? Sick? Dying? Warding off enemies like the wagons in a circle? Clearly, I don't know beans about millipedes. I will have a new challenge when I get home, as this is one of the first trips I've made without a backseat full of field guides and reference materials.
It is fun to look at the spirals pecked into the stone faces as I hike. The spiral is one of mankinds oldest symbols. My $1.50 kiddie pamphlet that I got for teaching art indicates that the spiral can mean the migration of a clan or tribe. What if it just means, "Look at all those bizarre millipedes, ladies and gentlemen!"?
When I was driving in El Malpais yesterday there were signs warning of elk crossings. We've all heard stories of the damage caused to a minivan that hits a deer. Imagine what hitting a big daddy elk could do to my little rent-a-car. Just in case the spiral petroglyph is a millipede crossing sign, I am careful not to step on any.
Quoth the Raven
Mike called me about 10 p.m. The condo smoke detector was going flop bot and cracker dog. I wasn't very with it since I had been sound asleep. My best guess was a spider was doing the bossanova inside the detector. I had fallen asleep during a PBS show about ravens.
Ravens are amazingly smart and aerodynamic. They hang out in great groups of adolescents waiting for some mom to offer them chips and salsa with Dr. Pepper. Bernd Heinrich wrote a fascinating book about ravens called Ravens In Winter.
Woke up about 5:15 Monday, so I just got up and got dressed. When the motel was ready for its continental breakfast I consumed more grape jelly. I was excited to head east watching the sunrise over the mesas. Feeling rosy pink down to my very core!
Arrived well before the visitor center opened at the Petroglyph National Monument west of Albuquerque. Watched gambrel quail mutter-puttering around, lava colored lizard, and hot air balloons above the Rio Grande. Breathe in. Breathe out. The ranger was glad to chat with me about ravens since he watched the show, too.
A dozen years ago I awakened to Texas music during the drive to Petroglyph Park. We drove up Coors Blvd. listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter singing, "I Feel Lucky". It was such a surprising song to me. This time I truly feel lucky on the drive.
Ravens are amazingly smart and aerodynamic. They hang out in great groups of adolescents waiting for some mom to offer them chips and salsa with Dr. Pepper. Bernd Heinrich wrote a fascinating book about ravens called Ravens In Winter.
Woke up about 5:15 Monday, so I just got up and got dressed. When the motel was ready for its continental breakfast I consumed more grape jelly. I was excited to head east watching the sunrise over the mesas. Feeling rosy pink down to my very core!
Arrived well before the visitor center opened at the Petroglyph National Monument west of Albuquerque. Watched gambrel quail mutter-puttering around, lava colored lizard, and hot air balloons above the Rio Grande. Breathe in. Breathe out. The ranger was glad to chat with me about ravens since he watched the show, too.
A dozen years ago I awakened to Texas music during the drive to Petroglyph Park. We drove up Coors Blvd. listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter singing, "I Feel Lucky". It was such a surprising song to me. This time I truly feel lucky on the drive.
Walking on Hot Coals
I've wanted to return to El Malpais National Monument for twelve years. "The Bad Country" always beckons me. I need scruffy country with bare rocks and wide vistas. It is a bonus when I can smell the sage and wild flowers, the sun-warmed rock, the coating of dust+sweat+sunscreen+bug repellant. The fakey scent of Tang is linked with a sense of true return to nature.
Twelve years ago I bought the poster of La Ventana natural arch in El Malpais, and had it framed for the ex-man's office. I've enjoyed a small photo of La Ventana taken by Mike, who was going into 2nd grade. After the difficult hike back up to the arch I wonder how little Mike got such a great photo of the arch. I am glad to learn that he remembers that day...
After climbing back down from the arch I set off for the trail at Lava Falls. This trail was rough going, as it was across lava with fissures, craters, and falls. My ankles were a wreck. Not a place for an evening stroll!
The motel in Grants was next to the Walmart, so I dropped in to buy camera batteries. The store was full of poster children demanding affordable preventive health care. The town of Grants is dying. The change in twelve years is obvious. The economy based on Route 66 motorists and uranium mining has cratered. It was too sad and depressing to go tromping around taking photos of rotting neon motel signs. Be sure to watch "Destiny Turns On the Radio" sometime.
Twelve years ago I bought the poster of La Ventana natural arch in El Malpais, and had it framed for the ex-man's office. I've enjoyed a small photo of La Ventana taken by Mike, who was going into 2nd grade. After the difficult hike back up to the arch I wonder how little Mike got such a great photo of the arch. I am glad to learn that he remembers that day...
After climbing back down from the arch I set off for the trail at Lava Falls. This trail was rough going, as it was across lava with fissures, craters, and falls. My ankles were a wreck. Not a place for an evening stroll!
The motel in Grants was next to the Walmart, so I dropped in to buy camera batteries. The store was full of poster children demanding affordable preventive health care. The town of Grants is dying. The change in twelve years is obvious. The economy based on Route 66 motorists and uranium mining has cratered. It was too sad and depressing to go tromping around taking photos of rotting neon motel signs. Be sure to watch "Destiny Turns On the Radio" sometime.
8/15/04
Let's give a big hand to Rudy and the Tadpoles!
It was so great to be back in El Malpais! What a place of power! What a place of danger for giant poodles!
I left the Monument visitor center at the same time as a very married couple, older than me, traveling with Rudy the Giant Poodle. We arrived at the first scenic overlook within seconds of each other. Rudy escaped from the car, and galomphed to the water pools on the sandstone ridge. I tried to gaze off toward the perfect blue Mt. Taylor like some inscrutable Tony Hillerman character, but I couldn't pull it off. I was too busy laughing at Rudy's discovery of tadpoles in the rain pools. Rudy was trying to catch the tadpoles with both paw and mouth, and dancing all around the edge of the pool. Rudy's classic tourist owners were hollering warnings to the poodle about falling off the cliff, while shrieking about guppies and trying to sneak up on Rudy with a red retracto-doggy leash. I had to go off hiking and clambering around on the rocks because I wanted to holler, "Run, run like the wind, Rudy!"
Turquoise Toenail Trail
Woke up too early for the motel's continental breakfast, so I watched CNN Headline News and painted my toenails. Used my charm to convince the desk clerk to upgrade my Thursday reservation to a King with a view of the Sandia Crest at the price of a Queen with a view of the interstate interchange.
After my requisite meal of grape jelly I headed back to the UNM campus with my camera. Wandered all through the art department and performing arts center, and around the residence halls. Then headed west out of Albuquerque on Central, which is both the campus drag and the historic Route 66. Wish I had brought the 66 travel guide from Janie! Anyway, I grooved on the old neon motel signs. Stunned to find a Stuckeys still operating at exit 89 from I-40 just east of Grants.
Checked in with my folks. Howie had lost an inlay. This is on top of Fritzi's root canal nightmare. I would have loved sharing this vacation with them, but am so relieved that this latest complication occurred back home.
After my requisite meal of grape jelly I headed back to the UNM campus with my camera. Wandered all through the art department and performing arts center, and around the residence halls. Then headed west out of Albuquerque on Central, which is both the campus drag and the historic Route 66. Wish I had brought the 66 travel guide from Janie! Anyway, I grooved on the old neon motel signs. Stunned to find a Stuckeys still operating at exit 89 from I-40 just east of Grants.
Checked in with my folks. Howie had lost an inlay. This is on top of Fritzi's root canal nightmare. I would have loved sharing this vacation with them, but am so relieved that this latest complication occurred back home.
12/31/03
I'd like to thank the Academy...
...for having jeans in my size on sale for $6.88 and $9.99. Okay, it's not an Oscar, but Academy Sporting Goods has been one of my top ten discoveries of 2003.
The new year is a time for lists, either looking back or forward. I am going to offer ten visions I'd like to see. To have them in my imagination is a sugarplum gift.
1. A friend has just moved back to Nebraska from Idaho. Her mention of seeing grain elevators again set off a terrible ache of geographic homesickness. I would love to see the flat, straight highway in the reduced speed zone, with the grain elevators, railroad tracks, and telephone wires off to the left. A light coating of snow on dark brown stubble neatly combed into rows under a slate gray sky would bring me to tears.
2. Sunrise over the South Dakota Badlands. I can smell the chalk, dust, and sage, see the snake and the magpie. Tall sunflowers grow along every fence. The late night short cut to the Badlands is a profound memory. We so rarely visit a place without artificial lights. The Milky Way seemed to swirl and wrap about us in ribbons.
3. Mexican freetail bats exiting Carlsbad Caverns. This sight is still one of the most powerful spiritual experiences of my life.
4. Hot-air balloons lifting off at the Plano Balloon Festival and skimming over the pink lake in the early dawn light.
5. The Monahans Sand Dunes of West Texas with their cleansing winds and shifting forms. Sandpaper for mental anxiety. Alternate candidate: The white lizards of White Sands, N. M.
6. A lapful of rapt little boys listening to stories about wolves and dogs.
7. The frozen purple midnight solitude at the bottom of Palo Duro Canyon following a March blizzard, and better yet, the last of the snow on the red rock formations the next morning.
8. Buzzards soaring over Dinosaur Valley State Park viewed while sitting on the river bottom and flying a kite. Lift! Soar! Tug!
9. The inside of an old-timey hardware store with three aisles, squeaky-dark wooden floor, tiny drawers built into the wall, a loft over the main floor, dust motes and light from the tall windows facing Main, and the smell of galvanized buckets.
10. A sandbar on the Platte River, preferably with the smells of oatmeal cookies, driftwood, and bonfire, and the sound of Bob Devaney's Cornhuskers beating the Oklahoma Sooners on an early transistor radio.
Few milestones in my life have been as satisfying as learning to zip a red plaid autumn jacket. The zipper pull is still a train engine, and the zipper is the train track. Matching the two sides of the jacket and coupling the parts of the zipper pull, to zip my jacket without derailment is still scented with dry pin oak, maple, sycamore leaves, and accomplishment.
The very best in 2004,
Nancy-Louise
The new year is a time for lists, either looking back or forward. I am going to offer ten visions I'd like to see. To have them in my imagination is a sugarplum gift.
1. A friend has just moved back to Nebraska from Idaho. Her mention of seeing grain elevators again set off a terrible ache of geographic homesickness. I would love to see the flat, straight highway in the reduced speed zone, with the grain elevators, railroad tracks, and telephone wires off to the left. A light coating of snow on dark brown stubble neatly combed into rows under a slate gray sky would bring me to tears.
2. Sunrise over the South Dakota Badlands. I can smell the chalk, dust, and sage, see the snake and the magpie. Tall sunflowers grow along every fence. The late night short cut to the Badlands is a profound memory. We so rarely visit a place without artificial lights. The Milky Way seemed to swirl and wrap about us in ribbons.
3. Mexican freetail bats exiting Carlsbad Caverns. This sight is still one of the most powerful spiritual experiences of my life.
4. Hot-air balloons lifting off at the Plano Balloon Festival and skimming over the pink lake in the early dawn light.
5. The Monahans Sand Dunes of West Texas with their cleansing winds and shifting forms. Sandpaper for mental anxiety. Alternate candidate: The white lizards of White Sands, N. M.
6. A lapful of rapt little boys listening to stories about wolves and dogs.
7. The frozen purple midnight solitude at the bottom of Palo Duro Canyon following a March blizzard, and better yet, the last of the snow on the red rock formations the next morning.
8. Buzzards soaring over Dinosaur Valley State Park viewed while sitting on the river bottom and flying a kite. Lift! Soar! Tug!
9. The inside of an old-timey hardware store with three aisles, squeaky-dark wooden floor, tiny drawers built into the wall, a loft over the main floor, dust motes and light from the tall windows facing Main, and the smell of galvanized buckets.
10. A sandbar on the Platte River, preferably with the smells of oatmeal cookies, driftwood, and bonfire, and the sound of Bob Devaney's Cornhuskers beating the Oklahoma Sooners on an early transistor radio.
Few milestones in my life have been as satisfying as learning to zip a red plaid autumn jacket. The zipper pull is still a train engine, and the zipper is the train track. Matching the two sides of the jacket and coupling the parts of the zipper pull, to zip my jacket without derailment is still scented with dry pin oak, maple, sycamore leaves, and accomplishment.
The very best in 2004,
Nancy-Louise
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
LinkWithin
