Dianne's Place

2010-12-03T17:32:00.001-05:00

Music

For breath vibrating reed,
For bow across strings,
For pursed lips vibrating in metals,
I am thankful.

For mallets beating on stretched skins,
For the touch of fingers on keys,
And for the uplifting of voices,
I am grateful.

For the mathematical purity of vibrations
Giving rich harmonic overtones,
For sounds played in resonance with each other
Forming melody and chords
Creating beautiful music
I am thankful.

2010-11-20T09:33:00.001-05:00

White Oak Sinks: Goals v Experiencing

Conrad Anker said that if he makes three attempts to summit a mountain and is unsuccessful, then it is not meant to be, and he moves on. Elise and I made three attempts to find the back way out of White Oak sinks. Each time we ended in a pathless tangle. The third time we were sure we were near the trail junction. We could see the blue sky of the ridge line, but we couldn’t find the way to get there. And I became nervous. I know people with much better mountain skills than me have gotten disoriented in the turns and twists of mountains. I didn’t want to be the subject of a rescue party. So, again we descended.

Elise and I met for the first time yesterday in the parking lot of El Jimador. A mutual friend had enlisted us to colead the SMHC outing to White Oak Sinks next April. It is a delightful area, but I had not been there in many years. Elise had been there just once, so we, with good reason, felt the need for a scouting hike. A hike is multifaceted. It is about the destination, the goal. It is about being in the woods, experiencing. The hike is visual, our eyes rest on trees, evergreen, bare, and some with a few leaves clinging. We walk along the pretty creek, and admire the rolling slopes and sink holes. The hike is auditory. We listen to the rippling creek, fluttering air, bird song, and squirrels dancing across the leaves. The hike is feeling the sensual kiss of the mountain air. It is about the physical act of walking, mile after mile, laboring uphill, balancing downhill.

Today it is also about talking, learning about each other, having time to explore different topics as we make our way along the trail. We kept coming back to one thought. Goals can detract from experiencing. Many people walk each hike as a step in the goal of coloring in the whole trail map---walking every trail in the park. I had long ago realized this wasn’t for me, and Elise has recently realized it is not for her either. We want to enjoy each hike for itself. If we want to come back to the same trail five, ten times, we don’t want to worry that we are “wasting time!!”

Conrad Anker, the big mountain climber, where one would think the goal of summiting is everything, has also found that sometimes experiencing the joy of the day IS the goal. Perhaps we will return later to find that pesky back trail out of the sinks, but today was a fine day. A good hike in a beautiful place with a new friend, nothing could be better.

2010-09-18T15:23:00.002-04:00

Fare Well

Fare thee Well, my little one
As I send you off on your journey
To become yourself.

We have been one, you and I,
Since the moment you came into existence
How can I let you go now?
I will be empty.

I wanted you long before you came to be
I almost gave up hope
But you are strong of will
You will continue, even long after I am gone.
Your nature pushes you to grow, to explore.

I have loved these months we've been together,
Just you and I, two souls in one body.
I nourish you with food, and my blood.
You nourish me with your being.

I feel you dancing inside me
And nothing else matters.
I will miss you so much.
Even when I hold you, and look at you,
And hear your voice, I will remember
We were once closer than any two can be.

So, fare well, my baby
May your life please you.
I have given you your beginning.
Now you go out into the world.

2010-09-17T20:43:00.003-04:00

Autumn Afternoon in the forest

The oak forest sits, still in the quiet fall afternoon,

A canopy of yellow brown leaves.

Suddenly, the dull fall leaves burst into a new dimension.

As the setting sun dips to an acute angle,

The treetops catch warm golden rays.

Light touches the leaves and gives them life.

Each leaf becomes radiant, glorious,

As if encrusted in diamonds.

The entire forest is transcendent.

It shines and dances

In the gentle touch of the setting sun.

reworking--from original, Nov 2008.

2010-01-15T20:33:00.009-05:00

Wynton Marsalis: Blues Symphony
Atlanta Symphony Orchestra, January 14, 2010
At Martin Luther King Auditorium, Morehouse College

Symphonic Music. Total immersion in glorious sound.
Dressing up. Sitting between mother and daughter
Flanked by father and son in law. Surrounded by hundreds.
Every seat filled. Every heart rapt. Everyone is family.
Beautiful, spare hall. Organ pipes in geometric harmony.
Rich rich sound filling the hall, filling the hearts.
Spano, with black shirt rolling and flowing
As he dances his direction.
Rhythms of America.
Bluesy horns, syncopation.
Washboards and whistles.
Hand claps and foot stomps
Written in the score.
New Orleans and New York.
Oh, the clarinet--wailing, crying.
Soul lifts as music moves from sorrow to joy.
Faces light up. Bodies want to dance.
The musicians having FUN with the music.
Celebrating humanity. Celebrating the uplifting
from mundane to sublime through
Glorious music.

2009-02-16T07:50:00.006-05:00

When She Was Good……….

Yesterday Daphne, Phoebe, and I drove through beautiful south east TN to Blue Ridge, Georgia where we met Bobbi, Joe , Bruce, and Ellie and Tiny for breakfast and a 5.8 mile hike in the dog friendly mountains of north Georgia. Ellie and Bobbi are taking a dog training class, so Bobbi was full of wisdom regarding dog-think. After a bit of early walk shenanigans, I got Phoebe to more or less heel the entire hike. Ellie never did take to the idea. I believe her view was “I’ve been pulling Mom for eight years, surely this is the way things should be. Why would I want to walk behind her.” I did take advantage of my hounds pulling power during a long climb towards the end of the hike. I felt like a dog musher, just sailing up the mountain behind my two locomotives.

Bobbi was so impressed by Phoebe’s excellent behaviour, especially since our first hike together, in December, was cut short because I was exhausted trying to control Phoebe as well as Daphne. I, though, remembered, our big story this week, and recited Bobbi a rhyme from childhood:

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
And when she was good,
She was very, very good
But when she was bad,
She was horrid.

Phoebe, a nine month old hound mix, has the wandering gene. Last month she escaped and was gone exactly one week before showing back up as if nothing were amiss. Happy, healthy, just the same Pheobe whose tail I had last seen a week previously running towards the far corner of the yard. After three weeks of lock down, she again escaped when I wasn’t careful enough about getting her in the door. She made a 180 degree turn out of my hand and bolted, again for the far corner.

My emotional state was better on this second Phoebe vacation. I adopted a “Que sera.” If she doesn’t want to live with me, she’ll have to find her own way. Daphne and I reverted to the pre-Phoebe life. A little quieter, emptier, but a good life.

Friday morning Daphne and I were in the living room when she started making a whining fuss. I opened the door to let her out and heard a dog crying in the distance. Daphne was quite concerned about it. I let Daphne free so she could follow the sound. I tracked behind her on the street. Daphne led me to a place where, when I looked up, I saw a shed building on the ridge, and a brown hound crying on the roof. Phoebe….. On a roof…..

A fence blocked my path, so I walked back to my house, picked up a leash, and then walked down the other street to approach the storage sheds on the back of the neighbor’s property. Phoebe was on a second story roof, but the shed had a single story area. I walked around the building, trying to find a way to get her. I also walked into the building (no doors, just lots of JUNK). I could see how she probably got on the roof. There were stacks of ummm stuff, that made a precarious ladder (certainly nothing I would climb, and apparently nothing Phoebe was willing to descend). Above the stacks there was a hole in the roof. Phoebe looked down at me through the hole, and cried some more.

I developed a plan. A tree grew beside the single story part of the building, and there were lots of tires lying around. I stacked three tires on rims next to the tree, and lay a couple rimless tires next to my pile. I hauled myself up the tires and leaned against the tree for balance. The roof hit me at mid chest. I reached up my arms and lured Phoebe to within grabbing range. It actually took her several attempts to get to me. She was afraid of the slope of the roof.

When I got a paw, I started sliding her to me. There was a good three inches of tree litter on the roof, and all of that slid with Phoebe, drowning me in dirt, leaves, and twigs. After a few seconds of firm pulling, resisted mightily by a frantic Phoebe, she slid enough that I could grab her shoulders and swing her off the roof to drop in the waiting tires. She bounced off the tires and galloped around ecstatically to celebrate with Daphne her release from the roof.

2009-01-05T10:42:00.002-05:00

Seven Islands Wildlife Refuge

(photos with permission from Melinda Fawver)

The French Broad breathes a sigh as it exits the North Carolina mountains. It leaves off ripping through valleys, no more rocks, rapids, eddies. It meanders, easing its way along the valley floor on the way to join the Holston. Sometime in the early 1800’s a farming family followed the river out of the mountains and found a peninsula in one of the crooks of the French Broad, where some bumps in the land stick out into seven small islands in the water.

The land was tended by generations, but then life in America changed. The city of Knoxville was sprawling towards the peninsula, and farmers (or the children of famers) all around the peninsula sold their land to city people who built fine houses on the water front.

I don’t know how Knox County became the owner of this peninsula. But the county owns it, and has preserved it as a wildlife refuge. The hayfields are turning into meadows of native grasses, and birds come to winter. And people come to walk, to sit by the river, to let their children look through the old barns, to climb the hills and look out over the river, the seven islands, and across to the mountains.

Last summer I agreed to lead a hike scheduled for January 2009 for the Smoky Mountains Hiking Club at the Seven Islands. I had never heard of it, and had to research even how to get there. I enlisted my friend Rae, who remembered hiking there several years ago, and we found our way to the refuge, and spent a day scouting around, planning the hike we would lead in January. It was a gorgeous October day, and we had an excellent time, even though we made several bad route choices. That’s what scouting a hike is all about.

Yesterday, January 4, was the day of the scheduled hike. Rae had injured her back earlier in the week, so I was without a co-leader. The day dawned cool and gloomy. I met my friends Peggy and Julie in Maryville and we drove over to the rendezvous place on Asheville Highway. When we got out of the car we put on jackets while we checked in hikers, got everyone in a carpool, and headed the ten miles to Seven Islands.

Julie had to navigate from the back seat, to keep me following the green signs. I was hoping nobody remembered that I had said to turn left at the end of the interstate exit. At least I had said “south” towards the river, but it was a right turn. After that, Julie clearly announced upcoming turns when she spotted green signs. She’d figured out I wasn’t reliable. I did manage one serious navigation error. Just when we pulled into the lane that would lead to the Refuge, I turned down a wrong lane, followed by my four sheep. When that lane ended at a house, we all had to turn around and try again. Fortunately there was a wide turning spot, and it was only a quarter mile in.

Several hikers met us at the parking lot, and when all signed in, we had a group of twenty. I asked Mindy to sweep, and she graciously agreed. During the few minutes drive from Ashville Highway to Seven Islands, the weather made an abrupt change. The sky was cloudless, a warm sun beaming down. What happened to January? This is like October. I shucked my jacket, and was wishing I’d worn a lighter sweater, and brought sunscreen.

I herded us up, explained the general route plan and started up the hill. We quickly “summited” (if you can claim summiting a 200 foot hill), and enjoyed the views along the ridge line. When Rae and I scouted in the fall, we missed a pond marked on the map. In January, there was no trouble seeing the pretty pond. My excuse is that there was still enough leaf cover in October to block my view. We reached the “viewpoint,” and admired the distant mountains, and the islands in the river. Charlie noticed that if we went through the brush we would reach a place which was both higher and closer to the river, so we did a little “off-trail” (picking our way across tractor mown brambles and a little patch of woods) to the edge. Unfortunately, the hill was tree covered, so the view wasn’t that much improved.

The most difficult part of the hike was descending from the ridge to the bottom lands. The trails in the refuge are tractor paths mown in the grass. It must be a powerful tractor, because the path pretty much goes straight up the side of the hill. Those of us who maintain mountain trails were critiquing the trail design. It was muddy, slippery, and susceptible to wash out. The sad thing is, there was plenty of space for switchbacks, and that would have made both the walking easier, and been better for the land. Tim and I talked (only half jokingly) about writing to the county suggesting they make switchbacks.

Everyone safely navigated the descent, and we walked a short trail to the river. There was a small clearing with a bench at a bend in the river. The French Broad was full to the rim, and was ripping along. December’s rains are being carried out of the mountains. We made this beautiful spot our lunch stop. Alice told her story of how the French Broad got its name. She said French trappers followed a woman out of the mountains. Funny to hear that from this darling tiny 80ish woman.

The trail follows the river upstream to the point of the peninsula. There are some cliffs across the river, and at one point is a cave midway up and shaped just like an old fashioned key hole. Yellow stains come out of the cave and stain the cliff to the river. I announced that this was an old goldmine, and the yellow stain was residue gold. Tim improved on my tale, saying all the recent rains had opened up a new vein, and it was just pouring out.

We did see a few birds as we walked, but not as many as I hoped. I don’t think we had many “birders” with us. We just walked along, talking, marveling at the glorious January day. The trail turns back on itself after it rounds the point, and climbs a small hill to another ridgeline, perpendicular to our first ridge. We walked along this, enjoying the views across the meadows to the river. I was walking along with Alice when suddenly she was sprawled out flat on her face. I experienced a moment of terror, but then she said “I’m ok, I’m ok”, refused help, got herself back on her feet, dusted herself off, and took off again. What a woman. Alice’s trademark is her umbrella, which she uses as a sun shade. It is the prettiest site to see a beautiful old woman walking through a meadow, shading herself with an umbrella. She and I conjectured that it is because she hikes so often that she can take a fall and keep going. So many people her age would even be afraid to walk on rough ground for fear of falling and breaking bones.

The trail led to the “homestead,” and we walked right through the barn sheltering the monster tractor. At the homestead we descended to the paved lane and used it to walk the last quarter mile to the parking lot., just tired enough to know it had been a wonderful day.

2008-11-23T08:12:00.003-05:00

Two takes on describing perceptions of a drive through the park, and thinking about the word "transcendent, " which came to my awareness listening to Colin Powell's best speech of his life.

Autumn afternoon in the forest

Your love brightens my heart
Like the sun setting on an October afternoon
dapples the golden leaves.

We are beautiful, those leaves and I
Until touched by that light, by that love.
Then we become transcendent.

No longer ordinary yellow leaves
We are glorious. We are golden.
We shine. We dance.
We glow. We are radiant.

We reach for the joyous touch
Of warming love, golden rays,
and become more than we are.

Autumn afternoon in the forest

The oak forest sits still in the quiet fall afternoon,
The canopy full of yellow brown leaves.
As the setting sun dips to an acute angle
The tree tops catch warm golden rays.

Suddenly, the dull fall leaves burst into a new dimension.
They transcend yellow.
They transcend leaves.

The light touches the leaves and gives them life.
Each leaf becomes radiant, glorious
As if encrusted in diamonds.
The entire forest shines and dances
In the gentle touch of the setting sun.

2008-08-03T08:14:00.004-04:00

Lammas, the loaf mass

I celebrated Lammas yesterday by doing some A.T. maintainence. I knew it was Lammas, but hadn't researched it past knowing it was the end of summer peak.

In the wake of the UU shooting I have been very sad, and it was so good to spend a day in the high mountain near Clingmans Dome, walking, sling-blading grasses, mining rocks with my hands, eating nuts and fruit, talking to Julie and the others in my little work detail.

Lammas, the loaf

Celebrated on the “cross season---halfway between the summer solstice and fall equinox.
Called “first harvest.
Ends the period of greatest light—6 weeks on either side of the solstice.

Lammas, the loaf mass

The following is from School of the Seasons
http://www.schooloftheseasons.com/lammas.html

The Celts celebrate this festival from sunset August 1 until sunset August 2 and call it Lughnasad after the God Lugh. It is the wake of Lugh, the Sun-King, whose light begins to dwindle after the summer solstice. The Saxon holiday of Lammas celebrates the harvesting of the grain. The first sheaf of wheat is ceremonially reaped, threshed, milled and baked into a loaf. The grain dies so that the people might live. Eating this bread, the bread of the Gods, gives us life. If all this sounds vaguely Christian, it is. In the sacrament of Communion, bread is blessed, becomes the body of God and is eaten to nourish the faithful. This Christian Mystery echoes the pagan Mystery of the Grain God. Grain has always been associated with Gods who are killed and dismembered and then resurrected from the Underworld by the Goddess-Gods like Tammuz, Osiris and Adonis. The story of Demeter and Persephone is a story about the cycle of death and rebirth associated with grain. Demeter, the fertility Goddess, will not allow anything to grow until she finds her daughter who has been carried off to the Underworld

2008-03-31T13:40:00.002-04:00

My morning prayer, posted on an east window, so I can do heart opening sun salutions.
Prayer

I breathe in this new day

I exhale hopelessness
And breathe in faith

I exhale indifference
and breathe in gratitude

I exhale insensitivity
and breathe in Beauty

I exhale sadness
And breathe in joy

I exhale harshness
and breathe in kindness

I exhale resentment
and breathe in forgiveness

I exhale isolation
and breathe in love

adapted from Edwin C. Lynn
in Family Prayers: A sampler,
UUA

2008-03-18T20:05:00.002-04:00

New Life

Dark in the bosom of the earth
Cradled, protected, nourished
Hiding, safe, secure.
But alone, unfulfilled

A swelling of the heart
A leap of faith
A bursting and breaching
Of protecting walls.

Rushing toward light and life
Tender, fragile, exposed
Trusting, yielding. Hoping
That the offering will be cherished and honored.

New life
The springtime gift
To those with the courage to accept.

2007-12-22T07:40:00.000-05:00

Winter Solstice,
The reign of Darkness is broken
as the sun,
Slowly. slowly begins her return.
Pregnant with the sleeping seeds
Of returning life.

This year the full Moon adds her light to the darkness
Welcoming back the sun
And baby Zaguar
The new life, the new light
Graces the world
And reminds us that
All is a circle.

We welcome this new life, Zaguar,
As we welcome the new life that
Will come with the warming sun.

2007-11-24T19:10:00.000-05:00

Autumn Morning Light

Look! The ground fog is lifting.
The orange-red sun has risen to an acute angle.
A tree stands in front of the sun,
its symmetric branches bearing only a few scattered leaves.
The fog, as it rises through the branches,
scatters and diffuses the sunlight
into white beams of God-light.
A halo of misty light spreads
from the spaces between each of the branches,
as if the tree itself were the source of the light.

2007-09-24T16:42:00.000-04:00

Ends and Beginnings

Twenty years of love, hope, security, companionship, plans.
One year of fear, noncomprehension, anger, grief, pain.
Eight months of learning to unlove, to sever the "we" and become "I."
Ten minutes in the reception area of the law office signing no contest papers.
Two months left to wait until my new life starts.
Not all beginnings are wonderful.

2007-08-24T15:32:00.000-04:00

Purposeful Hiking.

The forecast for the day is 92 in town. I am at Newfound Gap at 9am, enjoying the cool breeze. The sun has yet to burn off the mist, and the feeling is more like fall than mid summer.
I have a mission today. I will hike out to Icewater Springs to cut back vegetation encroaching on the trail. I am a volunteer with Smoky Mountains Hiking Club, which is responsible for maintaining the Appalachian Trail throughout this national park. I advertised on the club’s list serve that I would be “mowing” today, and would welcome help, so Ed and Jeanine are with me . Ed is a tall, fit fellow, a bit older than me. I look at his legs and decide he will not enjoy my hiking pace, so we agree that he will walk out to Charlies Bunyon at his preferred pace, and work back, cutting blackberry branches and anything else taking advantage of the sunlight corridor the trail provides.
Jeanine is new to trail work. She has been on a couple “training trips,” but this is her first real “responsible for getting work done “mission. I have been taking care of the trail for about ten years. I don’t go out a lot, just a few times a year, as my life is full with other things, but my days tending to the trail are cherished. I have walked this section of trail over 50 times. I know it, as I know my back yard. Before each turn, I know what I will see around the corner. I know the location of the difficult steps, and my preferred path over them. I see the places where I have worked with the crews who do major tread repair, and admire how our work has held up for several seasons. A trail is not permanent. The mountain looks so timeless, so static, but when really known, shows itself to be ever changing. With each water droplet, each grain of dirt, each pebble, the mountain slowly moves itself down to the plain. To keep a trail in place is continous work.
Jeanine and I hike the three miles up to where we will start our work, at the junction of the Boulevard Trail to Mt. Leconte with the A.T. This is “my section,” the one I am responsible for, and I want to work on it while we are fresh. We use swing blades to mow grasses, ferns and vines. We have also carried up loppers in our backpacks, and get them out to cut small firs and overhanging branches from larger firs. I enjoy javelin throwing the cut trees down the mountain.
Jeanine is a great worker, totally throwing herself into her work. All new workers are tentative at first, fearful of cutting too much. I give her “permission” to cut, and she blossoms into it. Grass flies off the swing blade, carpeting the trail. At first she uses the loppers to individually prune branches off small trees. I tell her it’s ok to cut down the entire sapling, and down they come once after another. All gardening must be ruthless. One plant has to die so another can live. It’s the same on the trail. A maintainer has to keep pushing the trail back up the mountain.
We enjoy looking at the trail behind us, seeing it as a wide corridor where there was previously a dark tunnel. Hikers come along and ask the usual questions. “What are you doing?” “Do you work for the park service?” One fellow, and I’m not sure whether he is kidding, says “I was thinking I might have to notify a ranger that someone was out here destroying the vegetation.” Many hikers thank us for our volunteer work.

A little after noon hunger overcomes our desire to work our way to the shelter at Icewater springs before lunch. We only lack a hundred feet or so, but we decide to lay down our tools and walk over to the shelter. Jeanine has never been to the shelter before, so I enjoy watching her first time view. I helped rebuild this shelter eight years ago, and think it is quite the elegant lean-to. I also take Jeanine down the path to the privy, and do a quick lecture on composting privies. Ours has a “throne” which can be slid to sit atop one of three bins. One bin is “active” while the other two are composting.
As we eat our sandwiches, fruit, nuts, and trail bars, Ed arrives at the shelter. He has mowed himself the mile back from Charlies Bunyan, and declares that all is well between the shelter and Bunyan.
After lunch we agree that Jeanine and I will finish working toward the shelter while Ed hacks at the major grass growth around the shelter. Then we all walk back to where Jeanine and I had started our mowing. Our plan is to walk and mow our way back to the trailhead. Watching Ed mow, I see how he could work faster than us. His powerful long arms hacked into the tall grasses, chopping big sections with each swing. Ed gets a bit ahead of us, and on a breathing break I look up and think the sky looks ominous. We’re on a ridgeline which runs for about a mile. I tell Jeanine I think we might ought to leave the mowing and get across the ridgeline before the sky starts acting up. We pick up our blades and hike back down to the last look out before the trail slopes back into the woods. Ed is at the lookout, admiring the view. Although we’re still two miles from the trailhead, we can see and hear cars moving on the road below. After a day spent in the wilderness, a person just doesn’t want to hear cars.
Ed REALLY wants to get the whole trail mowed, but I am running out of steam. The athletes call this “hitting the wall.” When I swing my blade, no grass is cut. I declare I am done. Jeanine is glad to stop, and claims she is only continuing to cut because I am. Ed, though, can’t help himself. If he sees a large stand of grass, he has to take some swipes at it. So we walk down the mountain, with Ed taking the occasional swipe, me whining softly to myself (I hope softly—anyhow that’s my story), and Jeanine happily traipsing along.
When we get to the trailhead, Ed said “Dianne, just call me, and we’ll come finish the last part we didn’t get.” I reply, “OK, Ed, thanks for your great work.” I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is, “another volunteer can get that last section, I believe I’ve done enough for a month or so.”
There is nothing like working physically hard all day at something worthwhile. We could have spent the day hiking the mountains, but by hiking AND mowing, Ed, Jeanine and I gained the satisfaction of not only enjoying ourselves, but accomplishing something that benefits both hikers and the mountain.

(regarding the pictures: I left my camera in the car, so these pictures are from other maintaining outings).

2007-08-01T06:35:00.000-04:00

The Mermaid’s Solitude

She sat in solitude on her island of rock,
Protected by surging seas.
Solitude was her grief, and solitude her comfort.

Then came the wayfaring sailor, lured by her beauty.
He wooed her from her rock and into his arms.
They played in the waves, loved in the deep.
He was the sun she orbited, the center of all.
She was the moon, reflecting soft glow from his brilliance.

Seasons melted, one to the next.
She basked in the comfort of shared love.

But, one day as the migrating birds flew off into the horizon,
So did the wayfaring sailor.
“I tire of you,” said he.
“I’m off to seek my bliss, across the rolling sea.”

She sits in solitude on her island of rock,
Protected by surging seas.
Solitude her grief,
And solitude her comfort.

2007-04-03T22:23:00.000-04:00

My Mantra
I AM whole, perfect
I AM strong, powerful
I AM loving, beloved
I AM harmonious, healthy, happy

2006-07-30T20:32:00.000-04:00

Alaska Cruise
Whittier to Vancouver
September 6-13, 2004
Sunday afternoon we flew over the Smokies and Blue Ridge Mountains on a beautiful trip to Atlanta. At the gate waiting area we talked to another group of Alaska travelers from Alabama, everyone excited to be embarking on their first trip to the magic North Country. We were so relieved to be taxiing on the runway out of Atlanta. FINALLY, after our aborted trip in May, there was nothing but air between us and Alaska. The flight was a VERY long eight hours, but two hours out of Anchorage we started crossing the Wrangle-St. Elias Mountains. For an hour of flying there were snow covered peaks and glaciered valleys. The pilot pointed out some 19-20,000 ft peaks. It was interesting to actually see that the glaciers really were frozen rivers. I could see the black lines of the moraines outlining flow patterns.
We arrived in Anchorage at sunset, flying over Turnagain Arm of the Cook Inlet. At the airport, we were corralled by the Princess rep who helped us collect our luggage and saw us onto a bus into town. We got a tour of downtown as we picked up and dropped off passengers at several hotels. Finally, about 11p Alaska time (3am eastern) we arrived at our hotel, and fell into bed.
Monday morning, Labor Day, we were up before sunrise, our bodies still on Eastern Time, and our minds bouncing with excitement to be in Alaska. Pete photographed a building from our hotel window as it reflected the morning sun. We collected Mom and Dad and ventured out onto the Anchorage streets in search of breakfast. We found a nice café with hearty food.
With city map in hand, we took off on our tour of Anchorage. We found the visitor center, with its little grass-roofed cabin. We walked a ways on the paved waterside trail, and were thrilled to see Denali floating on the horizon. In Anchorage, we were over 100 miles south of Denali, and it is rarely seen, because there are usually clouds obscuring it. I felt blessed that the mountain allowed me to see it. We also visited the Alaska state museum, spending time at various exhibits.
At 11am we boarded a bus for the two hour ride to Whittier, on the coast. The drive along Turnagain Arm was very scenic. The road was sandwiched in a narrow space between mountain and the inlet. The tide was out, and there were mudflats. Towards the end of the inlet we saw beluga whales chasing salmon. The bus driver stopped at a creek so we could look at the spawning salmon thrashing in the shallow water. He also stopped so we could admire a small hanging glacier in the mountain by the road. We arrived at the 2.5-mile Whittier tunnel minutes before it opened to traffic our direction. The tunnel carries railroad as well as wheeled vehicle traffic, but each direction, and each modality has to take turns.
We came out of the tunnel at Whittier and saw the Dawn Princess at the dock. Whittier residents are more likely to own a boat than a car, since the tunnel is their only connection with the inland. Most of the town’s 200 residents live in a large cement apartment building built during WWII. The building also contains schools, shops and theater. We were herded through the lines for embarking on the ship, photographed, and given a little plastic card that was our ship entrance pass and credit card. We found that when we disembarked and re-embarked at ports of call, a security guard would use the card to log us as on or off board.
We boarded the Dawn Princess and found our rooms. Our room steward, Alex, introduced us to the room. We were quickly out of the room and looking for food, which we found on Deck 14 at the Horizon cafeteria, then went on an exploratory mission to try to familiarize ourselves with our new home.
We met Mom and Dad, as we would each evening of the voyage, for dinner at our assigned restaurant, the Florentine room. Pete and Dad enjoyed flirting with the greeter. Pete practiced so he could greet her in a different language every night. It was exciting just to see what would be on the menu. There were always five courses: appetizer, soup, salad, entrée, and dessert. I loved everything, but especially trying out the appetizers and soups. Various of us had different fishes, pheasant, duck, Cornish hen, steak, beef Wellington, escargot. We tried out things we’d never had the opportunity to sample previously. My ongoing comment was “I am going to hate going back to my own cooking.”
As the sun set, the Dawn Princess moved away from the dock. We had been in Alaska 24 hours. The top deck was full of passengers, but as the dusk deepened, and the air chilled, people became more and more rare. Pete, Mom and Dad also gave up and went down to bed, but I didn’t want to leave. Eventually I had the deck to myself. I was sitting quietly, just glad to be where I was, and watching the surrounding mountains fade into darkness. I told myself I would stay out until we passed a certain peak. Just about the time I was going to go in, I noticed a long cloud about 30 degrees up from the horizon. It had an odd color-slightly yellow. As I watched it, the yellow deepened to green, and there would be slight movement in the “cloud.” “Is this it??” I asked myself. After several minutes of watching it increase and decrease in intensity, I knew it WAS IT. I was seeing the aurora borealis. I was SO excited. And here I was alone, with no one to share the miracle. A few passengers showed up—they must have seen the lights from inside and came onto the deck. Pete and Mom and Dad were on my mind. If this were our only opportunity to see northern lights, Pete would be devastated if he missed it. I ran along the deck, caught an elevator to our cabin on the eighth deck, and burst into our room. “Pete, get up RIGHT NOW, NORTHERN LIGHTS!!!!” He was up and out of the room in 60 seconds. We couldn’t make up our minds to bother Mom and Dad—it was late, and we didn’t know if they would be as excited about Northern lights as we were (We know we’re geeky, and happy to be so, but everybody isn’t excited about the things which excite us). The show was still going on when we got back up on deck. We stayed for as long as we could, with a small crowd that had gathered-maybe 20 people. Once of the ships crew did photography, counting out a 90 second exposure. His work was on sale the next day in the ship’s photo gallery, and I intended to buy one, but didn’t get around to it. (Mom and Dad did stay up with us the next night, and the aurora danced for them, too, so I didn’t feel so bad about not waking them up the first night.)
Aurora
(c) 1995 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) & Si Kahn/Joe Hill Music (ASCAP)

When the light is low and the day is done
Aurora dances down
When she find the land that thirsts for sun
Aurora dances down
When the stars are up and the moon is dark
Aurora dances down
When the night leaps out like a fiery spark
Aurora dances down

Chorus
She'll spin and turn and chill and burn
Till your knees fall to the ground
She wears the starry crown
When the moon and sun are joined as one
Aurora dances down
Go to folkmusic.com for the rest of this wonderful song by John McCutcheon

), because the ship would be entering College Fjords with the dawn. We quickly dressed and went up to the Horizon buffet, collected breakfast delicacies, and scored a table by the window. The sky lightened as we entered the fjords, and we saw our first tidal glacier (one that comes down to the sea) from our breakfast table. It got crowded in the restaurant, so we gave up our table and went outside to admire the glaciers and try some photography. At some points during the day we connected with Mom and Dad, but they were on a different schedule than we were. They took all their meals in the sit down restaurants, because they liked the luxury. Pete and I tended to have breakfast and lunch at the buffet line, because we didn’t want to take a lot of time with meals. We all did go one afternoon to high tea, which was very elegant, but we all decided we didn’t need all the extra food when we would be eating dinner a few hours later.
Mom and Dad are bingo enthusiasts, and spent several afternoons in the bingo games. Pete and I spent most of our days on the deck, bundled up against the cool wind, enjoying sailing past mountain after mountain, and always on the lookout for wildlife. A naturalist was on board, and would announce on the ship’s loudspeaker when he sighted anything of interest. We saw the “blows” of some humpback whales but never had an actual whale sighting. We passed a large colony of Stellar’s sea lions, and some Dall’s porpoises swam along with us for a while. There was an alleged grizzly sighting on high ground. I missed the sea otter and seal sightings by being on the wrong side of the deck.
Wednesday, we entered the Glacier Bay National Park. Two park rangers came aboard and manned the loudspeaker as we sailed up to the glaciers. This was the coldest day of the trip. I think we were wearing every item of outer clothing we brought. The ship has lateral thrusters, and can turn itself in a tight circle, so wherever we were on deck, we could see all the surrounding glaciers. I hoped to see a calving, but I missed. We were far enough offshore (even though these glaciers are so huge that it seemed we were right up to them) that the sound of a calving was a second or two after the event. I heard the sound, but never saw the baby berg drop down.
Thursday morning we woke up in Skagway, the town whose claim to fame is the staging site for the Klondike gold rush in the 1890’s. We had 8am tickets on the White Pass railroad, which was built to carry the gold seekers up into Canada where they could float rivers into the Yukon Territory. The train ride was fun. We gained elevation quickly, and when we crossed into Canada the terrain became tundra. It was all a jumble of rocks, occasional scrubby evergreen bush, little lakes dotting here and there, and hanging glaciers on the surrounding peaks. It was easy to imagine that the area had been covered by ice in the not too distant past. We got back to the ship at noon, had lunch at the buffet, and then rearranged our clothes to head out on a hike. A trail head started a quarter mile from the ship and led to Dewey Lake. It was a pleasant, if somewhat steep in places (but not as bad as New Hampshire) walk to the beautiful lake. We also walked the two miles around the lake, and were sorry to discover it was dam created. We had hoped to hike to a glacier lake. Oh well, next trip. We did a quick walking tour of Skagway and then got back on the ship to change for dinner. The ship left Skagway at sunset. We enjoyed watching the undocking maneuvers from the deck.
There was entertainment every evening, but we didn’t really make the most of it. We went to the naturalist talk one evening, another night a movie which I slept through, Mom and Dad went to some stage productions, we saw a fairly lame magician, and a nice jazz band. There was live music in the various bars, and we stopped by a few places. I think I was too exhausted from being mostly outside all day to be very interested in evening entertainment.
Friday the port of call was Juneau. A representative from the visitor’s bureau offered to drive us up to the hospital if we thought we might like to apply for a job. We did call the HR office but got the answering machine. How life can be altered by little circumstances. Who knows what might have happened if a live person had answered the phone. We bought tickets for the tram up Mt. Roberts, and walked around the visitor center there. A Tlinget Indian gave a lecture about his culture. It was my intention to hike on Mt. Roberts, but I miscommunicated with Pete, and we ended up riding the tram back down to the town. We spent the day walking around town and visiting the Alaska State Museum.
Saturday we arrived in Ketchikan, our last stop in Alaska. We bought tickets for a “duck boat,” a novelty vehicle which is a bus on land and a tour boat on water. We toured both the town and harbor of Ketchikan, with an entertaining guide. We also used the opportunity help the local economy by purchasing art. We got two animal prints, a moose and an ocean otter.
The Dawn Princess left Ketchikan with the setting sun, and we threaded our way through the straights toward Canada. We crossed the border during the night, and spent all day Sunday sailing. The weather had deteriorated, and also we were in more exposed seas, so it was rougher sailing. We were blessed the entire week with excellent, if sometimes chilly, weather. The only rain was on this last day of sailing. We entered the straight between the mainland and Vancouver Island in the afternoon. There is so little human activity visible on either shore. We spent a lot of time on deck, but saw very few boats or lights, no roads.
Monday morning we docked at Vancouver (what a difference from the small docks in the Alaska towns. The ship looked so big at the dock in Skagway, in Vancouver it was a small part of a huge waterfront. We were in an early leaving group, so we had a very hurried last breakfast on the ship, and then went down to the seventh deck to wait for our group to be called. Mom and Dad of course were having breakfast in the dining room, and they showed up just minutes before we were called. We were herded onto a bus to take us to the airport. The bus driver gave us a nice tour of Vancouver in the rain. The airport was miserable. We moved from one line to another, pushing our luggage at a rate which would lose a race with a snail. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be a VIP and not have to stand in line with the masses? Finally, the line torture was over and we got to board our east-bound plane to Atlanta. We arrived home in time to fall into bed.
It took me several weeks to sort through my feelings about the trip. The cruise line was very professional, although Mom prefers Carnival (I have no comparison since this was my first cruise). Everything was done very smoothly, and the service was great. I wasn’t wild about being with so many people all the time, and don’t see myself repeating this. My next trip to Alaska will be without a group. The star of the “show” for me was Alaska, not cruising. I loved the glaciers, the mountains were breathtaking, the three towns we visited were delightful little tourist towns (well, Juneau is actually a city). Looking back, we wasted too much time in gift shops. Next trip my motto will be “More mountains, less shops.”

2006-07-30T20:30:00.000-04:00

Firefly symphony

Come with me to the woods at dusk. Bring a chair, find a quiet place. Sit, and let the night close around us. Feel the quiet. A few fireflies blink on. As the darkness deepens, the light from the fireflies brightens, until the fireflies are the light. We have darkness, and we see twinkling points of firefly light. We look around us, and see thousands of fireflies, like stars in the desert, except, unlike the stars which occupy a two dimensional distant ceiling, the fireflies surround us, they are next to us, flitting by us, as far away as we can see, and every space in between.

Now the wondrous happens. A section of fireflies blink together, then in another area another section begins to blink in sychrony, but not with the first group. The orchestra is tuning up. The "violin" section stops acting as individual players and becomes a group, as do the "woodwinds" over toward the hill. Each group plays its twinkle light song, then rests, and their sections return to black for several seconds. Adjacent groups work into rhythm with each other, so their dark times are the same. After several minutes of tuning up, the entire firefly orchestra plays together. Twinkle, twinkle, four seconds, then four seconds of dark, then light again, as the woods becomes a fairy land. Have we time- traveled to Christmas? A car drives by and ruins the rhythm. The beautiful blackness is gone. But the car light passes, and then the tuning starts again. First the section to our left, then the group out in front regain their synchrony. In my head (but Only in my head) I hear the accompanying music. It is a Bach Brandenburg concerto, rich and pure. The sections play their parts, then together find the music, and soon the whole woods is back to singing in symphony. Darkness, darkness, twinkle lights, dark. Wonderful!!!

Pete and I drove up to Elkmont in Smokey Mt. Nat Park in mid June to watch the synchronous fireflies. We had read about this phenomenon, but this was the first time we had dragged ourselves to the park at night to see them. Fireflies are synchronous only at Elkmont and in Malaysia. It is not understood why these two areas are the only places where this has been seen. The synchronous firelies at Elkmont were only first reported in 1991, by a woman staying in one of the nearby cabins. Best viewing time is reported to be in mid June (firefly mating season), but some years they continue their show through July.

2006-07-30T20:03:00.000-04:00

Yellowstone Sep 4-19, 2005

Hurricane Katrina slammed into Waveland MS on August 27, 2005. What does this have to do with a journey to Yellowstone? It sent the price of gasoline rocketing, and by Wednesday of the following week had caused incidences of gas shortages, with stations running out of fuel. Further, countless hours of news coverage of people living on bridges and rooftops in New Orleans, mothers pushing carriages with starving babies, thousands of missing people, wearied us. We were emotionally exhausted. After donating to the Red Cross and determining that we had no other particular skills to give, we decided that we 1) Would go on our planned trip, 2) would be willing to scrap the overland route, with its risk of getting stuck far from home with no gasoline, for an air flight if one could be found. And Voila! We could fly from Nashville to Salt Lake City for $300 each and rent a car for two weeks for $250. Flying was in, driving was out.
Our last day to work was Sunday Sep 4. We made a reservation at an airport hotel (Fairfield) which would allow us to park our car for two dollars a day for the two weeks. Pete had the car packed, so when I got home from work, I pulled off my scrubs, pulled on traveling clothes, and we were headed west. The slight drawback of our flight was its 6:30 am departure, (BUT that’s 7:30 EDT), so it was a VERY early morning-didn’t even get breakfast bar at the hotel. We flew Frontier Airlines, so we got to change planes at Denver, which we like. Denver is a comfortable airport. The plane out to Salt Lake was practically empty, so we each took a window seat and spent the hour looking down. The good thing about flying so early is we got to Salt Lake and into our rental car (Ford Explorer-free upgrade) by about 11am MDT.
The first item on our agenda on these flying/ camping trips is always to find a store that sells canister fuel. We had mapquested the REI, so we took off from the airport, map in hand, looking for the REI. Our first adventure was figuring out how Salt Lake City numbers its streets. The map we were using was not expanded enough, and it took several trips down streets that ended before we got the big picture and found REI. The REI people pointed out the nearest grocery store, which we could see, but, again, took several tries to be able to get too. Armed with fuel and food, we were ready to be OUT of the city. However, we felt obligated to say at least we had seen the Mormon temple, so we drove to the part of the city where it was. After negotiating more one way streets, and making poor choices, we finally got a glimpse of Temple Square. We ended up circling it three times, between being lost, and then, being found, just looking at it. Going in would have involved another circle to the parking area, and I really wasn’t in to it. Kinda had enough of city traffic by then. And I really didn’t have the patience to deal with Mormons at that point in my day. Part of being on vacation is you get to choose what you do.
By now we were seriously hungry, had a car full of food, but no picnic place in evidence, and we were cranky and needed a rest. We headed north out of the city, and stopped at the first restaurant we found, which was a Denny’s clone. An hour later, fed and refreshed we resumed the trip north.
We drove past busy bee Mormon agriculture for an hour, and then crossed into Idaho. The part of Idaho we traveled through was dry ranching land, very soothing to drive through. We only had a general idea that we wanted to go north and east to get to Yellowstone, so randomly picked a highway that headed east and looked interesting, if somewhat devoid of towns. The first town we came to on that road was Lava Hot Springs. The town proper is in a valley below the highway, but from above we could see that there was activity in some pools, so stopped and looked down. Evening was approaching, the only other town on the road was 30-40 miles away, and this WAS a hot springs. We circled back to drive down into town, drove up and down the two block main street a couple times deciding which motel to try, and pulled into one across the street from the springs. We discovered that, although this is a busy tourist town, the season ends abruptly Labor Day Weekend. There were only maybe four rooms occupied in our motel, and we got the winter rate of $50. (However, it was a pretty bare bones room). Also, there was only one restaurant still open (and I DON’T recommend it). Our room was along the creek (actually the Port Neuf River), and a few hearty souls were tubing its rapids. We didn’t touch the water, and it may have been pretty warm, because there were hot springs everywhere feeding the river, including one 10 feet from our window. I discovered I had forgotten to pack a swim suit, but that wasn’t going to deter me from getting into the pool. I just put on the lightest weight shorts and shirt, and we walked across the street. The hot pools are actually a state park. The water was VERY warm. We had a little trouble getting in—almost like getting in too cold water-you have to enter a little at a time and get used to it. Once in it was great, and a very relaxing way to end a long day which had started in Nashville.
Tuesday, Sep 6
We had cereal and juice from our well stocked larder, then continued east through more beautiful ranch and grass farming land. Signage taught us we were following the old pioneer trails to Oregon. We took a small detour to look at Gravel Creek FS campground, and had our first moose spotting. A cow and calf ran across the road in front of us.

Snake River Canyon
By midmorning we were in Wyoming. Crossing a small mountain range we came into the Snake River Gorge. This is a rafting section. Nobody was in the water on this late season day, but we enjoyed the canyon, and I felt obliged to get in the water (to my knees). It was chilly.
The town of Jackson, WY is at the head of the canyon. This is a famous ski resort town. Very western chic. We blew through town with thoughts of Tetons, and were quickly rewarded with our first view of the famous peaks. We found a gorgeous tent-only
campground right across Jenny Lake from the Grand Teton. We claimed a spot and set up our first camp, had lunch, then set off on a walking tour. We walked around the south edge of the lake, marveling at the views. We took a small detour to Moose Pond, which came complete with a moose. We walked home and fixed a rice mix supper, then got in the car to see the rest of the park. With exquisite timing, we arrived at the top of Signal Mountain just before a glorious sunset. After enjoying the sunset, we stopped at the Signal Mountain lodge for dessert, then admired the starry sky and the coyotes calling.
Wednesday, Sep 7
Hike day. We woke up to a cold morning ready for our Teton hike. We walked back down to the lake and rode the ferry across the lake, which cut four miles off our hike. We chose the Cascade Canyon trail, which first climbs above the lake, then cuts back, following a valley between the Grand Teton and its neighbor. We walked 4.5 miles to the head of the canyon. This is one of the most beautiful hikes I’ve ever done. Everywhere we looked was awesome. The Grand Teton was the highlight, but the cascading creek was delightful, a big bull moose was browsing in a marshy area, and there were huge rockfalls where we searched unsuccessfully for pica. Great day.
After we got home we drove up to Colter Lodge (named after John Colter of the Lewis& Clark expedition who remained behind to become a mountain man) to enjoy a shower and a great meal. The Teton and Yellowstone parks concessions are run by Xanterra. We had wonderful meals in the restaurants. Certainly beats my cooking.

Thursday, September 8
Today we broke our Jenny Lake camp, after declaring it one of our top camping spots ever, and drove north into Yellowstone, following the Lewis River. We started to learn about the 1987 fire which consumed much of Yellowstone. The Lewis River (named after Meriwether Lewis) area was recovering, but the forest was obviously young. We stopped to photograph Lewis River Falls and pretty Lewis Lake, where there is a small campground. By late morning we arrived at the huge Yellowstone Lake, and toured our first series of hotsprings, in the West Thumb area of the Lakeshore. We learned about thermophyles, bacteria living in hotsprings. They act as a color thermometer. Blue water is too hot for any bacteria. Yellow bacteria live in hotter water than red. We especially enjoyed the cookpot, a hotspring with a built up rim a few feet offshore. The tale is that fishermen would hook a fish from a boat, then paddle over to the hotspring with the fish still on the line, dip the fish in the steaming water, and eat it. We had lunch at a windy spot along the lake shore, then enjoyed the Hayden valley mudpots and buffalo herds before arriving at our next home in Canyon.
Friday, September 9
Canyon is a big operation—huge campground, a lodge, and village. We spent three nights at Canyon, spending one day touring and hiking (climbing) the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River. The elk were in rut, and from our tent we could hear them bellowing. It would be hard to say which part of Yellowstone is the most beautiful, but the upper and lower falls of the Yellowstone, and the wild canyon can certainly compete. Even with fellow tourists everywhere, there was a feeling of pure wildness, with the raging river, impassable cliffs of yellow rock, pounding waterfalls. We walked Uncle Tom’s trail which descended five hundred feet on 328 steps to a view of the lower falls. While down in the canyon we met Peter Larsen, volcanologist from the University of Washington (Yellowstonevolcano.com). He and a graduate student were placing sensors in the canyon to monitor earth movement. In the evening when we went to the Canyon services area for supper a bus from Knoxville Tours pulled up and discharged passengers. We watched them disembark, but didn’t see any familiar faces. A huge rainstorm woke us in the middle of Friday night.
Saturday, September 10

We wanted to see a little back country, so we picked out Grebe Lake (6.6 mile round trip) to walk to. It was an easy walk through more burn. In 17 years, some sections had trees only 4 feet tall. Others were taller, but it is obvious that in Yellowstone, life is hard. Just as we arrived at Grebe Lake the first snowflakes landed. We did a quick survey of the area, then headed back, since we didn’t know what the weather would do. (Spring 2006: Tennessee tourists discovered after spring thaw releases bodies from snow drift). It never got any worse than flurries. We traveled a few miles further on the road and stopped for a short (one mile) hike to Ice Lake, to see a handicapped accessible back country site
Our destination for the day was the Norris Geyser Basin, for our first view of geysering water rather than just bubbling hotsprings. We didn’t get to see any big eruptions, but we enjoyed watching Steamboat and Echino geysers gurgle and dance, with 10 to 12 foot eruptions. We stopped at a visitor center at Norris campground where a retired ranger hosted a film about the history of the park.
Back at Canyon for our last night there, we bought buffalo burger and cooked it with Spanish rice, then made our only fire of the trip.
Sunday, September 11
Overnight there was snow, so we woke up to a magic world on Sunday morning. Canyon campground closed for the season on this day, and by the time we packed up our camp it was pretty deserted. It was cool walking around in the snow thinking the area would be pretty much undisturbed (by humans) until next spring.
We drove back to Norris to visit a few geysers we had missed the previous day (and to give Steamboat another chance to erupt for us, which it didn’t), since we couldn’t follow our planned route to Tower (closed by the snow). By lunch time the weather had improved and we enjoyed a picnic at Sheepeater Cliffs, named after the local Indian tribe. The cliffs are of tubular basalt and looked like hanging curtains.
As we approached the Mammoth area we dropped into the Golden Gate Canyon, on a road hanging off the side of the cliff. The sun made its first appearance of the day and lit up the cliffs. We got to the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel at midafternoon, checked in, and enjoyed a shower and nap. First bed in 5 nights. We walked around the Mammoth area. Many buildings were from the nineteenth century army fort and have been converted for park service headquarters. We walked past a bull elk with his large harem occupying the park HQ lawn. A block away, another huge bull elk, single, lounged around, looking for his chance to steal some women from the other big fellow. As the sun dropped towards the mountains, we drove to the hills above the village to tour the upper terrace of hot springs. I was standing watching the colors change on west facing slopes, breathing the pure cold western air, feeling the calmness and quiet of evening descending on the mountains when Charlene called me while she drove I- 10 from Louisiana to Florida. She relentlessly and compulsively described the devastation she had passed until I finally stopped her and said, “let me tell you about where I am.” I was, with my words able to give her the gift of some peace, to take her away from the nerve jangling, heart wrenching destruction. I was so glad she had chosen that moment to call.
After dinner in the dining room we went to a presentation by a Mammoth Springs resident photographer, story-teller and pianist (one man show). It was pretty entertaining, but there was no TV, so he didn’t have much competition!
Monday, September 12
We woke to another dusting of snow (different story when seeing from a hotel window rather than a tent). We drove the 5 miles out to the edge of the park to visit the town of Gardiner, MT. It wasn’t much in the first place, a few blocks of street set in a bowl of brown grass covered hills, and in mid September it was pretty much hunkered down for the winter. There was one little cafe open, and between local folks and tourists, it was overwhelmed. I hope the waitress made a fortune. She retained her good humor and worked like a demon.
We resumed our touring of the Mammoth Hot Springs. The springs in this area tend to precipitate out travertine (calcium carbonate), which I first saw in Grand Canyon. The travertine builds up in multiple ledges, leaving white castles. During our walking tour we came to Canary Springs, which has changed course recently and is burying the deck in travertine.
We drove south, retracing our route past Norris, then followed the Gibbon River from a three foot wide stream at Norris campground to its junction with the Firehole to form the Madison. Pete liked the Gibbon best of all the rivers we followed. In the Norris area we came on a small herd of buffalo (buffalo are as common in Yellowstone as cows are in Blount County) lying down. Several chose that moment to stand up, and it was fun to watch the dust/frost/snow shake off their fur. We had lunch at a picnic area on the Gibbon, and then enjoyed Gibbon Falls and many hotsprings, including a beautiful sipapoo beside the river. (We gave it that name—it’s a Navaho term. In the Navaho creation story people emerged into the world from a built up travertine spring along the Little Colorado. Whenever we see a spring bubbling from the top of a stone and flowing over it, we are reminded of the sipapoo story.)
We made our new home at Madison campground, first removing the wet tent from its garbage bag and hanging it out to dry. (Took maybe 10 minutes—in the west, if it’s not raining or snowing, it’s DRY). We were in a tent only loop, which we love. All the tents in a circle look so pretty. I guess I also like the sociological aspect of being among people who choose to sleep in a tent. The elk were gathering here also for the rut. Again, one fellow had collected a huge harem, and a half mile upstream (actually right at the junction of the Gibbon and Firehole) another bull had four or five cows and was hoping for more. We were serenaded during the night by the bugling. We drove out of the park into West Yellowstone, MT for supper. West Yellowstone is more prosperous than Gardiner, and we had choices of eateries. We had suppers both our nights at Madison in town, enjoying hearty fare in family owned restaurants (As the author of Blue Highways would say, “three calendar restaurants”).
Tuesday, September 13
We woke to a glorious sunrise in 25 degree air, and since it was our day to visit Old Faithful, decided to have breakfast at the Inn. We drove up the Firehole Canyon road, photographing waterfalls, hot springs, and buffalo. After breakfast (we were unfortunately seated next to a snooty couple who looked uncomfortable about being so close to us. Hey—we bathed at Mammoth—don’t know what their problem was. I’m guessing Old Faithful Inn must attract the more elite visitors.), we stopped at the visitor center to map our geyser viewing itinerary. The idea is to be at the proper place at the proper time. Unfortunately, the eruption times have a deviation factor of several hours, so there is a luck factor involved. We did pretty well. Of the big geysers, we saw Old Faithful erupt at 10:20 and 1:45. We also caught Grand Geyser at 12:30, and Castle Geyser at 1:00. While hanging around Grand, watching it spit and bubble before erupting, we enjoyed watching the buffalo. Humans are confined to boardwalks, but the buffalo (I’m supposed to say bison) meandered everywhere. We saw a young fellow decide to move from one little grazing group across the white crust to another group. He apparently put his foot in a hot spot. We saw him shoot straight up, dance a pirouette, and then trot across to the other group. If you can imagine facial expression on a bison, he looked pissed. Also while we sat on some benches, a sizeable group decided they needed to cross the boardwalk. They meandered right past the geyser hole, and chose to cross the boardwalk just where we’d been sitting. (We had meanwhile mosied off a few feet). The boardwalks are made of recycled plastic and are a little slippery. It was entertaining in a slap stick way to watch them try to get up and over.
In the afternoon we drove back down to Madison, stopping, admiring, and of course photographing geyser basins and mudpots while walking on miles of boardwalk. It actually became overwhelming to see so many weird things.
Wednesday, September 14
Our last day in Yellowstone. We woke up to another beautiful 27 degree morning, breakfasted and broke camp. We revisited the Firehole canyon, and stopped at the Middle Geyser basin for more buffalo and hotspring viewing. We especially enjoyed Grand Prismatic Spring, with its rings and ropes of thermophilic bacteria. Driving south to complete our circuit of the park we passed some great hiking opportunities and wished we hadn’t broken camp. We exited Yellowstone and drove past the Tetons again. In the week we’d been gone, they had gained a good deal of snow. We found a little cabin in Jackson and scoured the town for a restaurant that had prices we were willing to pay. We found a little Mexican place, with good meals under $10.
Thursday, September 15
Today before heading south we spent the morning at the National Wildlife Art Museum. They had a traveling exhibit of Georgia O’Keefe, as well as a large selection of historical wildlife art. It was very enjoyable. Pete was most amazed at the contest entries which were for sale. Ask him about the bunny and its price.
Our trip south started about 11 am. We drove through beautiful hill country and rolling ranchland. We think we saw antelope just north of Pinedale, WY, where we stopped for lunch. Our waitress was a nice black lady. I know that there were black cowboys, but a black lady seemed odd in this out of the way place. We continued south, keeping the Wind River mountains to our left, until we came to I-80. First interstate since Sep 5. We stayed on I-80 for about 15 miles to the next exit, Green River, WY, where we found a great motel. We had a huge room, the bathroom was as big as some entire rooms we have stayed in, and the price was $40. After we settled in we drove around the town, just looking. We found the John Wesley Powell Park on an island in the Green River. This island is the place Powell decamped for his two excursions down the Green and Colorado Rivers. The park had memorials to a couple dozen excursions which had commenced there.
Friday, September 16
We rose early to explore the Flaming Gorge of the Green, described by JW Powell. The terrain shifted from Wyoming short grass plains to Utah red rock desert. We had a picnic breakfast overlooking the reservoir. Later in the morning we drove the Sheep Creek Canyon geology loop. Various rock formations were labeled, with name, era, and what would likely be found in them (oil, fossils, etc.). It was a very pretty road. We THINK we may have seen big horn sheep, but they could have been elk. We THINK we saw curving horns. We for sure saw three horses walking down the road. They stuck their noses in the car for pets (Well, perhaps for handouts, but all they scored were pets). We lunched at a picnic area. As we continued south we came to the actual gorge part of the reservoir. We stopped at several overlooks to admire the flaming red walls of the gorge, and finally the dam. Pete made lots of pictures.
Next we DROPPED out of the high plains into the Utah desert. This was a 3000 ft descent over 11 miles into the town of Vernal. A very dramatic drive. Dinosaur National Park is a few miles east of Vernal, and we found ourselves a great campsite on the Green River. We especially enjoyed taking our lawn chairs to the river beach, sitting and having hors d’ourves (crackers and coke) before starting to cook supper. A huge family of deer came by, also a flock of turkeys. As the sun set and the moon rose we walked around the camp and saw more rabbits than we’d seen in our previous lifetime.

Saturday, September 17
Today was ancient day. First we visited deep time ancient. The park is named for the dinosaur deposits here. For the casual visitor there is a cliff, 30 feet tall, 60 feet long, jammed with exposed bones. Amazing. Buried 70 million years ago in maybe a mudslide, and then at some point in deep time, the earth tilted so we see them vertical. Several species, all together in death. We spent the morning trying to learn as much as we could.
After noon we drove to the other side of Vernal to the McConkle Ranch. Thr ranch abuts red rock cliffs adorned with hundreds of Fremont era Petroglyphs. (CE 0-1000). We climbed the cliffs and came upon an Art History class out of Brigham Young U. It was very interesting eavesdropping on the professor’s speech. We drove back to Dinosaur Park in the late afternoon and did a driving tour in the park which took us to more petroglyphs as well as the remains of a homestead.
Sunday, September 18
Packed up camp for the last time and headed west back to Salt Lake City. It was an enjoyable drive across Utah. We crossed desert, plains, followed a reservoir, climbed the Wastch mountains, saw Park City and the Olympic ski stuff from the highway, and got to an airport hotel in mid afternoon. We repacked our bags for the airplane, took a luxurious bath, then drove downtown for dinner. Another Pete and Dianne adventure comes to a close.

2006-06-19T21:35:00.000-04:00

Daphne and Dianne Discover the Greenbelt
I had been walking on the Greenbelt for 20 years, but somehow I managed to not know until a few years ago that our wise leaders had expanded it beyond the old library to courthouse loop. (It was a great use of tax dollars in my opinion).
Eight years ago Daphne, a one-of-a-kind dog (that's what I say when people ask about her breeding), came to live with us. She is 45 pounds and long legged, so she really appreciates a good walk. I am somewhat more than 45 pounds and short legged, so I really need a good walk.
One day Daphne and I were following our usual route down our road when a neighbor walking her poodle asked if I had tried out the Greenbelt extension. It was news to me that there was one, but several days later Daphne and I loaded into the car and drove to the courthouse to see about this new trail.
I, frankly, wasn't impressed with the first section, walking along the busy road, but then when we found the turn into the section off Montvale, we entered a beautiful world. We walked over to Sandy Springs Park and back, and both Daphne and I knew we had found a new favorite place.

We go as often as I can drag myself out, and have tried out various sections. We usually walk 3 to 4 miles each trip, because I cease to have fun after that. Our favorite section is from the parking area near Kmart to the road crossing near the Alcoa Duck Pond, because it tends to be not as crowded. Daphne feels obligated to greet every dog we come upon, and I know that some of the humans aren't that happy to have the interaction.
If you see us, it is easy to tell whether we are outbound or inbound. On outbound trips Daphne's preferred speed is about twice mine, so she is at the far end of the line in front. We always appreciate when bicyclists ding a bell for us, because we often get lost in thought and our line is strung across the path. Returning home, Daphne walks like a star graduate of obedience school, right at my side. I doubt that she's tired; she just doesn't feel the need to get home first. Daphne and I (and often my husband, Pete, and occasionally a grandchild) have spent many happy hours together power walking and strolling along the Greenbelt. Thanks city fathers!