nature

island walk

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shell


click image for enlargement

As I said before, the next day, Jonathan’s mom and I went to Qualicum Bay and spent a few hours doing errands and enjoying a good talk. On our way home, I took over the driving. I would be driving her van while she went over to Vancouver so I wanted to practice with her and get a feel for the roads on the Island. I drove from just outside Parksville to Deep Bay on the Island highway. It was a nice drive and she gave me some useful hints on how to drive this particular vehicle.

After we got home, we had a relaxing afternoon and evening hanging out together.

The next day, she was heading to Vancouver. I offered to drive her down to Nanaimo. I wanted to have a good idea of the roads and the direction we were going when I had to drive Jonathan and I down to the ferry in a few days. We drove down, uneventfully, and it was a nice trip. On the way back, I came up the coastal highway, enjoying the ride with Juneau. We stopped at a grocery store to pick up some special things for dinner (I was making homemade strawberry shortcake for Jonathan) and then drove on in. I was exhausted after the drive, though. Driving someone else’s car is much more stressful than driving your own because you’re always aware that it is theirs and you don’t want to do any damage to something they’ve entrusted with you.

island train tracks

Jonathan and I had a nice evening hanging out. We watched a movie and had a good dinner of baked salmon, salad, and squash soup. While watching the movie, I stretched out, putting my head on Jonathan’s lap. I, of course, fell asleep as I’m known to do whenever I lay down or a movie comes on. During that time, Jonathan played with my hair. I think I was purring. There are few things better than having someone play with my hair. That is such an intimate act to me because I don’t let too many people play with my hair. I loved that. I totally relaxed and enjoyed it.

The next day, we decided to go for a hike with Juneau. He needs to be walked at least twice a day and on this morning, we decided to head out back towards the railroad tracks.

A quick social commentary here: Behind the house, there is a housing development going in. Fifteen houses are being built on a relatively small plot of land. Trees are being clear-cut and the noise levels have gone up quite a bit. In a place that used to feel secluded and private, you are now confronted with bareness. Within the next year, there will be many more people, more lights, more cars, and more noise. It is very disturbing. You feel like you’re out in the middle of nowhere and then you’re not. This development has been held off for fifteen years and Jonathan’s mom did try to buy some of the land to preserve it but was unsuccessful. At this point, there is nothing that can be done but it is still disturbing to see. Since I was there in December, it has changed so much and it makes me incredibly sad. Maybe it’s the shock of seeing so many trees cut down or seeing the orange tags defining where more will be cut. Maybe it is seeing the sky where there once were trees and I know that next time, it will be roof lines. I’m not sure. It just made me sad.

jonathan on hike near train tracks 1

We headed out and pushed through the brush. It was a little chilly and we were bundled up for the day. We came across a couple (with their dog) cutting trees for firewood and then continued on up the dirt road. We came to the top of a hill that had been clearcut. It overlooked the bay and the view was stunning. We contemplated that this was probably going to be developed, as well, because the view would be too much for developers to bypass.

We headed down the hill towards the train tracks. The trees felt so close and the tracks almost looked like they weren’t used at all. There were even little trees growing up in the middle of the tracks but if you looked closely, you would notice that the tops of them were sheared off and thereby know that the tracks were in use.

tiny

Little flowers grew up between the rails. Shells were on the grass between the rails. Some of the wood was rotting. It was all a smorgasbord for the senses: textures and colors and depth. Between and around these train tracks an entire micro-world was growing and if you didn’t look carefully, you’d miss it.

Juneau went off into the brush on the sides of the tracks. He would be running along, enjoying whatever was out there, while we walked along the tracks. He would cross over, glance at us, then go off into the brush on the other side. He was always near, though, and we could hear him as we chatted.

island train

The air was crisp and felt good. The walk was gentle and enjoyable. We discussed all kinds of things as we walked along. Occasionally, I’d stop and snap off a couple of pictures. Eventually, we came to a private road that crossed over the tracks. Jonathan sat down, watching Juneau. I took pictures. I was wondering about the trains, though. We had heard a horn earlier but no train had come by. I put my foot on the rail and thought I felt something. I looked up in surprise and just down the track was the train. I jumped off the tracks and Jonathan laughed. I probably looked a bit shocked because I wasn’t expecting the train. As it passed by (all 2 cars of it), the people within smiled and waved at us. It felt like we were so far from the rest of the world and here, in the middle of nowhere, people were waving in such a friendly way. At that moment, I thought, “This is a wonderful place to live.” I was touched by the friendliness and openness that seemed to come through that brief exchange.

We headed up the small dirt road to an overgrown road. It was a paved road that had become overgrown with grasses, trees, ferns, and mosses. We walked back a little ways. I was taking all kinds of macro shots (surprise, surprise!) and Jonathan told me to look up. He said there was an entire world around me that I might be missing. Heh. I took a picture of him pointing up, saying that I saw that world. Heeheehee. Juneau was enjoying the romp through the trees.

island dog

We headed back toward the tracks and walked up them a ways. Then I noticed that I had lost my lens cap. Jonathan and I started walking back to see if we could find it. Then Jonathan started running back to the last place we had been. Juneau ran after him. I followed more slowly, looking at the ground as I followed. By the time I caught up to them, neither of us had found it and I was feeling foolish for losing it. We decided to head back to the house, looking for it as we did.

tracks to nowhere

Juneau decided to take off at that point. He went down into an area marked as private property and Jonathan and I both became worried. There had been talk of one of the people around saying they would shoot Juneau if they saw him off of a leash and we didn’t want that to happen to him, especially on our watch. We called to him. Typically, he would come when we called. This time, though, he refused to come. In fact, he ran the opposite way, which was infuriating because we were worried. We thought that if we continued walking, he would come. He didn’t. Then he reappeared and Jonathan went after him. Juneau thought it was a game and took off. We started walking again. At that point, Jonathan found the lens cap (thank goodness!). Then Juneau came up behind us. He was immediately put on the leash because we didn’t want to risk him running off again.

We got home, exhausted, had some lunch and crashed onto the bed for an afternoon nap. The evening was like the one before: dinner, TV, and Jonathan playing with my hair (purr, purr, purr).

The next day, we would be leaving. It would be my last full day in British Columbia and I was already feeling the impending departure.

I was already feeling sad.

winter…spring…la-la-la…

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What time of the year is it?

I wrote this to Jonathan this morning:

“I was awakened early this morning (around 1, I think) to crashing and banging. We were having quite a thunder and lightening storm. A few times, the lightening seemed to be right on top of me. Then, it started snowing. It’s been snowing for a few hours now.

Spring? What is that? Heh.

I’m looking forward to sunshine in Vancouver.

Okay. Is that weird? I’m fleeing Arizona for sun in Vancouver. *laugh* Totally weird.

When I wrote that, there were only a few inches of snow on the ground. Since then, the college I work at has been closed for a snow day. The university in town was closed (which rarely happens). So, no work and no school for me…right before spring break!

I just measured the snow on top of my car and we’re at 10 inches and it’s still snowing.

HOWEVER…this is what really amuses me…you probably won’t hear much about it on the news. Boston got 10 inches last week and it was major network news. We can get two feet and no one talks about it.

I think we’re made of rougher stock out here in the west. I do. We usually delight in the weather we get and are celebrating the heavy snows this winter (FINALLY!!! YAY!!!).

It has always struck me as something humorous when the northeast and the mid-atlantic states complain about the HUGE amounts of snow they get and for us, it’s a blip on the screen.

Heh. ;-)

But it’s still a snow day here today…and my car is stuck…and I’ve already played in the snow.

Now maybe I should be taking pictures…

But maybe a cup of hot chocolate first.

Hmmmm….

rio de flag

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Flagstaff is a typical desert town: we don’t have much running water. We don’t have any rivers. We don’t typically have streams or creeks.We have a few lakes that are created by snow runoff in good years (and they are fairly nice sized lakes).

rio de flag
click for enlargement

This year, however, the river that used to run all of the time, the Rio de Flag, is running again. A normally dry drainage area is once again filled with water.

It’s amazing hearing those water sounds when you’re not used to hearing them. It’s a lovely music that people tend to take for granted when they are around it all of the time.

It’s interesting to me. When I travel, I tend to take a lot of pictures of water: rivers, lakes, the ocean, waterfalls, etc. I can’t get enough water because we don’t typically have any.

This year, we have some…and it is beautiful.

mirage

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reflections
desert reflection ~ gilbert, arizona

I was visiting my brother, Todd, in Gilbert this weekend.  When I went into the backyard, this is what I saw in the swimming pool.  I loved it immediately.  It made me think of a desert mirage only better.

Sorry I haven’t been posting.  I had finals, final projects, and my GRE this week.  To say the least, it has been a very stressful week.

I’m heading back to Vancouver tonight.  I’m sure I’ll have tales and pictures to come.  If I don’t get in here before, happy holidays to all of you…may you be granted the spirit of the season.

eruption

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At 8:32 Sunday morning, May 18, 1980, Mount St. Helens erupted.

I was living in Missoula, Montana on that day. I was 13 years old. I can remember when it happened and how it affected us like it was yesterday.

While we were on the other side of Washington (barely over the state line), we were still covered in a few inches of volcanic ash. We were warned not to go outdoors because the ash was so fine and it could damage our lungs.

We were kids, though, and while our parents were at work, we went outside to play. I can remember playing basketball at a friend’s house in the ash. It would billow up around us with every dribble.

We missed school because the ash caused problems with cars, with transportation, and with general business. We had to go to school on Saturdays that year to make up for the lost days.

Everyone collected the ash. It was a collector’s item. I still have a small container of it, labeled with the date.

It was a huge event in my life. Something I will never forget. I can still remember writing the date in my 13-year-old penmanship in my homemade journal.

May 18, 1980.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day.

monsoons

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Monsoon season has been pretty nice this year. We’v gotten some of those amazing downpours that you’d never go out into but that are so much fun to watch from inside. The lightening crackles right outside your window and the thunder booms so loud you jump even though it doesn’t scare you and you knew it was coming.

I love this time of the year. I love how the night air is chilled, with a promise of autumn right around the corner. I love how everything that had turned brown returns with a vengence and grows faster than you can keep up with it. I love how the ground sinks beneath your steps instead of kicking up dust.

I’m going to miss the rain today. It might not sound like a big deal but I love it. I’m heading down to Phoenix with my youngest brother, my niece, and my new nephew for my other brother’s surprise birthday party. We’re heading to his favorite restaurant (Riazzi’s for those of you in the Valley) for a few hours to surprise him and then heading back up to home. It’s only a few hours but it’s still enough to miss out on the evening rain shower.

I know that it’s silly to miss rain. However, we really don’t get a lot of it. It seems that some years we have only 2 seasons, snowy and sunny…and sometimes those are combined for 9 or 10 months of the year. Rain is different…it’s nourishing, enriching, fully of amazing power.

We may live in a forest up here but it’s still considered desert. And in the desert, rain is life.

happy, happy

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There are a lot of things that I love about the town I live in. I love that I’m in Arizona (a state is truly beautiful if you’ve never been here) but that I don’t have to suffer through the high temperatures. I love that my home is surrounded by mountains and pine trees and wild animals. I love the vibes I get from this place. I dream about it when I’m away.

Today, though, I was reminded again of a reason to love this place. Just when you think you’ve got the weather figured out, it throws you for a turn. A favorite saying is “If you don’t like the weather, wait 5 minutes.” I was awoken by popcorn snow hitting my window. I looked out and there was a slight spattering of snow around my deck. When I went out to warm up my car and take my baby out for his morning walk, I was greeted with at least 3 inches of snow…with a lot more coming down.

I love that. I love that I’m kept on my toes.

It makes it hard to grow things in this area. In fact, we have one of the shortest growing seasons on the earth. We have deep freezes into June and they begin again at the end of August. It’s hard to grow things here. But, it’s also enjoyable. I love those summer mornings that are brisk. The year it snowed on June 17th was a memorable one.

I’m picking up my 4-year-old niece from pre-school today. I don’t get to do this very often so it’s always a treat to see her in the middle of the week. Her parents both have to work late and asked if I would help out. Happily, I agreed.

So, I called over to affirm the plans. My sister-in-law tells me that my niece is pretty excited about me picking her up.

My niece’s words: “She really wants to see me?”

Well, yes, of course.

She makes my heart swell.

deer

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“Doe, a deer, a female deer…”

I’ve lived with deer in my life one way or another since the day I was born, I think. I’ve lived in the Rocky Mountain area of the United States nearly all of my life and with that come the opportunities of seeing, touching, and hearing white-tailed and mule deer often.

One of my earliest memories of a deer isn’t necessarily the most pleasant memory that I have. When I was young, my father hunted every winter in the mountains of western Montana (where we lived). The meat he brought
home was meat that we needed and was welcomed with open arms. We had a curing shed where the deer were hung and we were, as children, kept out of that shed. My parents felt that seeing a deer carcass was not the best thing for a child. They were, in retrospect, right in that decision.

One year, I remember Dad “bagging” a deer and bringing it home to skin and treat the meat. I don’t know why this happened but I went into the shed. I can remember a shadow of the deer hanging there. More, though, I remember the blood. It seemed, to me, that there was blood everywhere. I can smell the wood of the shed and the blood of the deer to this day.

As I grew older, deer continued to play a significant role in my life.

Visiting my grandparents in Colorado each summer, the yearly trips to Rocky Mountain National Park gave me the opportunity to see the famous Roosevelt elk and white-tailed deer each year. These deer are the biggest deer I’ve ever seen. I don’t know if they’ve inter-bred with the elk (Roosevelt elk are huge) or if they are extremely large because they live in a national park but their size has always struck me as abnormal.

I missed out on deer for a while when my family moved to Las Vegas, Nevada. Even in the rural areas around Las Vegas, deer were not in abundance.

After four years in Las Vegas, we moved to Flagstaff. We were back in the mountains and at that time, Flagstaff was a relatively small town (less than 30,000 residents). The inhabitants of the town coexisted with the wildlife in a beautiful symbiotic manner. We would see deer come down off the mountain often.

We lived near the mountain and I would drive over a hill to go to work each night. There were nights when I could swear I would see deer on the hill. They would appear in the middle of the road and I would swerve or slow down to miss them but then I would realize that they weren’t there at all. It was the most unnerving thing to happen but it happened so often that I had a feeling the deer may be speaking to me.

A few years later, my sister-in-law and I were heading to Prescott for work and met up with a deer on I-17 at Rocky Park Road. It was a dark summer evening (no moon) and we were zipping along at 11 p.m. From the corner of my eye, I saw a deer on the right shoulder of the road. In less than a second, that same deer was in the middle of the road and I was changing lanes to avoid hitting him. I was unsuccessful. We hit him in the left lane, holding fast to the road. His antlers came through the windshield and hit my arm, his body crushed in the roof to an inch from our heads.

We were lucky. We walked away with minor injuries. He was not so fortunate. As the night wore on and we waited for the emergency vehicles to arrive (a trucker behind us had stopped and called while making sure we were ok), we heard him breathing in the ravine below us. I heard his ragged breaths turn into labored suffering.

That night, six deer were hit on I-17 within a 30-mile stretch of the road. Two people were killed. For some reason, the deer were out that night and needed to cross the highway.

My family called me a “bambi-killer” as they used humor to try to overcome the trauma I felt from the accident. I was distraught over having killed an animal. I was saddened by having to hear him die. I had nightmares for weeks. I couldn’t drive at night without seeing deer around every corner. When I would get to the Rocky Park area, whether going south or north, I would slow to dangerous speeds of 25 mph because I was afraid to hit another. If I fell asleep as a passenger in the car, I would wake up in terror the minute the driver would put on his or her brakes.

A few months later, after my car had been rebuilt, I took a chance and drove down I-17. I’ve never been a religious person but that night I began speaking to the deer and to the moon, asking for all of the earth’s children to be cared for as I drove down the road.

Two months ago, as I sat in my bedroom reading a book, I heard a rummaging outside my living room window. Since I live alone, I was a bit worried at the mysterious sound. I turned out the lights and slowly opened my curtains. As I peered out into the neighbor’s yard, I saw the largest rack of antlers that I have ever seen. This bull turned toward me, stared straight at me, and walked slowly out of the yard as if he owned it.

I can assure you that at that moment, he did.

A family friend, a medicine man from the Navajo nation, told me that he was sure my totem animal is a deer. I can see that. I can feel it. Deer speak to me.

rain

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“To stay in places and to leave, to trust, to distrust, to no longer believe and believe again, . . . to watch the snow come, to watch it go, to hear rain on a tent, to know where I can find what I want.”

– Ernest Miller Hemingway (1899-1961), American writer, journalist, adventurer, expatriate

Rain, to me, is much more than water falling from the sky. It is a double entendre at its best. It is double-sided. It is hated and revered, cursed and blessed.

This year, a year of severe drought, we’ve cried out for rain. We’ve wanted the skies to open up in their typical monsoon fashion and to drench us with that cooling, softening rain. We wanted to smell the earth after those torrential downpours and to feel the water dripping off of blades of grass.

“Be careful what you wish for” is a common saying. We desire rain. We call out for it. We get it and then I hear people around me saying they wish the sun would come out, wish it would quit raining. At this, at this particular remark, I shake my head. I want more rain. It’s still too dry. We haven’t had enough precipitation yet. I want more. I wouldn’t be disappointed with an entire day of rain, non-stop, sweet, sweet rain.

I remember the year of our floods here. Of course, it wasn’t many years ago…what, 6 or 7 years? We had so much snow and so much rain that the local lake was flowing over onto the roads. Nothing would grow because it was over-saturated.

It was water, glorious, life-giving water that was changing the earth around it, much to the dismay of so many people.

Monsoon season is my favorite time of year. Oh, yes, I love the beautiful Indian summers that we get here. The flowers once again open up their petals and show us their glory. I love the winters where the snow covers the Peaks and everything seems right with the world and we are surrounded by incredible natural sights. I enjoy the spring mornings that bring the daffodils with their golden heads bowed to the light. I ache for the warmth of June and the coolness of sitting on green grasses under large trees with giant leaves.

It’s monsoon season, though, that I crave. I look forward to the crashing thunder and lightening that cracks so close you would swear it’s in your backyard. The lightening shows that allow me to turn off all of my lights and enjoy a purple spectacle. The giant drops of rain that fall from the sky in a plop, plop, plop and bring a smile to my face. The rains bring more life. The rains allow us to live life more.

“Look at the bow in the cloud, in the very rain itself. That is a sign that the sun, though you cannot see it, is shining still — that up above beyond the cloud is still sunlight and warmth and cloudless blue sky.”

– Charles Kingsley (1819-75), British cleric, writer, “Alton Locke,” “The Water Babies”

elk!

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I’ve seen thousands of elk and deer in my lifetime. I’ve eaten more deer and elk than many people will ever see. (It is good meat, btw, and I don’t notice “gamey” tastes but that might be due to the fact that I’ve grown up eating it.) I don’t eat red meat as a rule but I really love venison.

I digress.

It doesn’t matter how many deer or elk that I’ve seen. Whenever I see one up close, I’m literally blown away by their majestic presence. I get excited. I want to call everyone and tell them what I’ve seen.

In the last week, the elk in our area have been really active and have been coming into our small enclave. We are not in town and it’s probably safer for them to come out of the forest and onto our streets. We tend to have a lot of deciduous green trees and those are much more preferable than the conifers that populate this area.

My neighborhood also has a large amoung of aggressive dogs that are not conducive to humans let alone animals so I’m surprised that they even venture in.

Yesterday, I’m driving home from running some errands and I slow down to go onto the dirt road that leads up to my house. I look to the right and there are HUGE elk standing down by Warren’s house. Huge. I’m awed by it. First, it’s 11:30 in the morning. Elk are usually not out at that time, coming out only at dawn and dusk. Secondly, it is just so cool to see them standing there, in broad daylight, eating trees that Warren’s landlord has so lovingly cultivated. Ok, it’s not cool that they’re eating these precious trees but it’s cool to SEE them!

I rushed up to my house to call Warren and tell him to go outside to see them. He says that while my voice is blaring over the answering machine (because he wouldn’t pick up!), he’s trying to sneak outside and get pictures. Heh. :-D Well, I didn’t scare them off with my message and he did get pictures with an SLR. As you can see, I did get them scanned and posted. You can click on the pictures for a larger image. I wanted to make them small enough for anyone’s connection to load fairly quickly.

I just have to say that it was a cool experience. I know a lot of you are urbanites but there are some benefits to living the country life. Oh…and Branna…I was excited about sheep the other day. laughing I’m sure I’d get pretty excited about cows, too. ;-)

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