Blanding was at least 2 miles from anything naturally beautiful, and as far as 100 miles from "civilization". Any trip out of town was to either go hiking or have a destination. I would go to Salt Lake City Airport to pick up my son-300+ miles one way. That's a day trip.
After picking him up and heading back to Blanding, its usually dark by the time we are outside of Moab. I mean really dark. When he came out for Thanksgiving, we were heading home and he says Mom, are those cell towers? I looked at what he was looking at, and no, they weren't cell towers. It was the constellation Orion, so bright and big. He thought Orion's belt were cell towers. Nope, I anwered him, that's what we call a constellation. That began a great conversation about stars and spirits and kept us going the last 100+ miles home.
One sunny Saturday, and they were all sunny in the middle of the desert, I decided to take a road trip to the dirt mall in Monument Valley. It was just me and Kia in my little Celica. The space between Blanding and the Valley is massive, and for the most part, deserted.
I headed to the Valley, passing through White Mesa and Bluff. After Bluff, its a whole bunch of nothing for miles and miles. The next town is Mexican Hat on the San Juan River and has a cool little restaurant/motel. The last motel until Gouldings in the Valley. Mexican Hat is so named for a rock formation. A red rock pinacle, with a huge boulder in the shape of a hat balanced on top. I heard no one would climb it becuase no one wanted to disrupt the balance. Good idea. Crossing the San Juan River, you are officially on Reservation land.
My little car was having trouble climbing up and down mesas, and I was starting to freak a little about whether she'd make it or not. There really is a middle of nowhere, and we were in the middle of it. We keep going, and there, at the top of a mesa, is the largest full moon during the day that I have ever soon.
I stopped freaking out and started giving thanks for such an amazing sight. The moon was sitting on top of a mesa. It was so bright I imagined I could see craters. There are moments like that, always natural moments, that take my breath away. This was one of them.
My angst over my car's engine gone, we kept heading to the Valley. How do I describe Monument Valley? It is vast. The Valley has rock formations called the Mittens, that everyone has seen in any John Wayne western. I've seen the Mittens spotted with snow. I watched the Olympic Torch run through the Valley from the Visitor's Center. We were some of the only white faces in the crowd. There was a boy dressed in full on yellow feathers because he was going to dance. I asked him if I could take his picture. He wanted $5.00 which I didn't have, but I did give him $2.00 for the photo. You always need to ask before just pointing and shooting your camera.
I have flown in a hot air balloon over Valley of the Gods in the Valley and been to the top of Moki Dugway where the entire landscape is empty, except for the house at the bottom, that is a B&B. I have ridden on horseback into the backcountry with an Indian guide and have seen rock art in places you would never see unless you were on foot or the back of a horse.
This trip, I was headed for the dirt mall. The dirt mall is near the intersection of Arizona and Utah. The dirt mall is essentially a series of shacks with dirt floors. Artists sell their work to tourists there. Walk into any given shack and you'll be hit with the smell of weed. Start a conversation with some, and you can learn some interesting things. I have a lot of satisfaction knowing that most, if not all of my jewelry comes from an artist that I know, or know of. The artist is always willing to talk about their art and I am always asking questions.
This journey through my VISTA experience is a great execise in memories. I hope you are enjoying it as well.
Thanks for reading!
Friday, July 22, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Flying High
I believe I have mentioned once or twice, that I was poor as a VISTA volunteer. I never felt poor as a VISTA. I had a cute little house, great friends, and adventures to share with them.
Being 100 miles from the closest Wal Mart in Cortez Colorado, was a day trip. Cortez is a one horse town, much like Blanding, but they had a Wal Mart. Going to that Wal Mart though, was a road trip out of Blanding, which was always a good thing. I hate Wal Marts, but besides that, Wal Marts have everything you always thought you needed but have made it this far without. Blanding celebrated the grand opening of a downsized Wal Mart, really downsized, while I was there. Now folks didn't have to drive 100 miles one way to pick up socks and dog food.
As a volunteer, I heard about some very cool things to do. The absolute best thing I've ever done was ride in a hot air balloon over Bluff Utah and Valley of the Gods in Monument Valley. My friend Kelly and I volunteered to help crew a balloon. Being a crew member meant we got to fly for free. Fly. For. Free.
Being a crew member meant you had to work as well. We arrived in Bluff at daybreak, when the pilots start to fill their balloons with COLD air fans and once they were filled, they fired off the gas and we were off. I was on the open end of the balloon, holding onto one of the sides, while a huge fan blew air into the balloon. We're in the desert. It's February. Believe it or not, it gets cold in February, before the sun rises. I thought I was going to die of frostbite, standing near that fan. Then we got to climb in.
Getting into the basket was not easy. Those things are taller than they look at the end of a balloon in flight. Gracefully climbing into that basket was out of the question. It was more a get your ass up and over the damn ledge! Actually, the pilot and his wife were very helpful and a whole lot of fun. You have to be a bit crazy, with a lot of expendable income, to fly balloons as a hobby.
We're in the basket, and we start to fly. I don't know how high we got, but I didn't care. It was quiet when the gas wasn't being used. I was surprized at how quiet and easy it seemed. I wasn't thinking about air currents and updrafts or whether the pilot actually knew what he was doing. I was digging the sensation of flying, quietly.
I don't remember how long we flew, but we landed back in Bluff. Getting out of a basket is a lot easier than getting into one. The pilot and his wife explained that since we were "virgin" fliers, there's a little ceremony to celebrate your first flight. There we were, in the parking lot of a restaurant, with a balloon close by, kneeling. Champagne was popped and poured into paper cups. We had to grab the cup with our teeth and drink the champagne. We were now deflowered fliers! And that was just the first day.
Thanks for reading!
Being 100 miles from the closest Wal Mart in Cortez Colorado, was a day trip. Cortez is a one horse town, much like Blanding, but they had a Wal Mart. Going to that Wal Mart though, was a road trip out of Blanding, which was always a good thing. I hate Wal Marts, but besides that, Wal Marts have everything you always thought you needed but have made it this far without. Blanding celebrated the grand opening of a downsized Wal Mart, really downsized, while I was there. Now folks didn't have to drive 100 miles one way to pick up socks and dog food.
As a volunteer, I heard about some very cool things to do. The absolute best thing I've ever done was ride in a hot air balloon over Bluff Utah and Valley of the Gods in Monument Valley. My friend Kelly and I volunteered to help crew a balloon. Being a crew member meant we got to fly for free. Fly. For. Free.
Being a crew member meant you had to work as well. We arrived in Bluff at daybreak, when the pilots start to fill their balloons with COLD air fans and once they were filled, they fired off the gas and we were off. I was on the open end of the balloon, holding onto one of the sides, while a huge fan blew air into the balloon. We're in the desert. It's February. Believe it or not, it gets cold in February, before the sun rises. I thought I was going to die of frostbite, standing near that fan. Then we got to climb in.
Getting into the basket was not easy. Those things are taller than they look at the end of a balloon in flight. Gracefully climbing into that basket was out of the question. It was more a get your ass up and over the damn ledge! Actually, the pilot and his wife were very helpful and a whole lot of fun. You have to be a bit crazy, with a lot of expendable income, to fly balloons as a hobby.
We're in the basket, and we start to fly. I don't know how high we got, but I didn't care. It was quiet when the gas wasn't being used. I was surprized at how quiet and easy it seemed. I wasn't thinking about air currents and updrafts or whether the pilot actually knew what he was doing. I was digging the sensation of flying, quietly.
I don't remember how long we flew, but we landed back in Bluff. Getting out of a basket is a lot easier than getting into one. The pilot and his wife explained that since we were "virgin" fliers, there's a little ceremony to celebrate your first flight. There we were, in the parking lot of a restaurant, with a balloon close by, kneeling. Champagne was popped and poured into paper cups. We had to grab the cup with our teeth and drink the champagne. We were now deflowered fliers! And that was just the first day.
Thanks for reading!
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Gardening for God
For the second year in a row, I have a garden. This year's garden is twice the size of last years garden and vegtables are actually growing. I have never gardened in my life. I tend to kill things for lack of interest in their well-being. Plants in my house were typically silk with no attention necessary.
My first attempt at a garden last year was a cluster. Really a cluster. Who knew gardens need rows to really grow properly? We did actually eat what we grew from that garden, and I learned a lot from the experiment.
When I was a VISTA volunteer I lived in a small town with 99% Anglo Mormans. I love the Mormans. They were kind and friendly and unlike a lot of people's experience, not in my face with their religion. Well, maybe they were, because I was living amongst them, however I pretended not to notice.
All good Mormans have a garden. As a VISTA, I felt that I should try to integrate myself into the community so I would go to community meetings and in the fall, there would be garden parties where everyone got together and brought food out of their own gardens. I'll never forget being in the middle of nowhere Utah when 9/11 hit. A few days after the event, I was invited to a garden party. I wanted to talk about what had happened. I had just left DC and family and friends were impacted by this horrific event. In the middle of nowhere Utah however, the sense was "it will never happen here, would you like some cole slaw?"
I lived in a little bit of a house on about a quarter of an acre of red dirt. My landlady invited me to a Morman women's group, where the topic was gardening. I fondly refer to it as "gardening for God". Whether you live in an apartment or on a farm, every good Morman has a garden. It was a lovely meeting and I met some lovely women afterwards. My landlady asked me if I was planning on a garden that year. Well, um, I would like to I replied. (I had 3 packets of seeds: sunflower, green beans and cucumbers). Well I'll just send over my husband and he'll till the soil for you so you can get started . Wow, I replied, that would be fabulous! I didn't tell her I only had three packets of seeds and was clueless as to what gardening actually entailed.
A few days later, I'm back home from work and hear this horrific noise. As I look out my window I see a tractor larger than my house turning the ground up for my "garden". I headed outside to talk to her husband. The tires on that tractor were at least 6 feet tall. I'd never been so close to any piece of machinery that big in my life. When my landlady suggested her husband would till my little quarter acre piece of dirt, I anticipated a hand tiller, not a ginormous tractor!
Wow I told him. Thanks! He climbs down, shakes my hand and asked "So what are you planning on putting in this year? I flashed to my three packets of seeds, and given the sheer amount of land he just turned over, I replied "You know, I really haven't decided yet". A little white lie, to a very nice Morman man. I think God will forgive me. I was incredulous at the amount of turned over red dirt and the size of the machine that did it. Now I had to do something with it.
While I was in Utah, we were in the middle of a major drought. Droughts bring fires and fires cost lives and property. I was not feeling like I had a right to use water indiscriminately for three packets of seeds as a fun little project. I had a friend who lived in town and was the most interesting woman I've ever met. She was Navajo, a Morman, had a teaching degree from Harvard University and had spent her 2 year mission in Switzerland. I went to talk to about what to plant. She gave me some indian corn that her mother had given her and helped me plant the corn and my three packages of seeds (in rows).
So I had had a garden, which I did not water because I wasn't being a "real" gardener and the drought was weighing heavily on my mind; it was originally just a fun idea. Of course nothing came up of any value and I was stuck with a quarter acre of turned red dirt. FYI, water is a major component of any successful garden.
Years later, here in big sky country, a couple of Morman boys appeared at my door. They were spending their mission here in town. I invited them in, with the caveat that I was not going to convert, however I thought they could use something to drink, and possibly dinner. I have a soft spot for Mormans, especially while they are on their mission(s). We had a lovely conversation and at the end of it, before they left, one of them asked if they could sing for me. Sing. Sure I replied. I sat on my sofa and they began to sing to me, in my living room. Just as they were finishing their song, Jeff arrives home to find two strange boys singing to me. The look on his face was priceless.
One of the great gifts of my VISTA experience was learning to accept others and appreciating what they could bring into my life. I have the utmost respect for the Morman community and a soft spot in my heart for gardens because of them. I'm sure my landlady would be very proud of me this year.
Thanks for reading!
My first attempt at a garden last year was a cluster. Really a cluster. Who knew gardens need rows to really grow properly? We did actually eat what we grew from that garden, and I learned a lot from the experiment.
When I was a VISTA volunteer I lived in a small town with 99% Anglo Mormans. I love the Mormans. They were kind and friendly and unlike a lot of people's experience, not in my face with their religion. Well, maybe they were, because I was living amongst them, however I pretended not to notice.
All good Mormans have a garden. As a VISTA, I felt that I should try to integrate myself into the community so I would go to community meetings and in the fall, there would be garden parties where everyone got together and brought food out of their own gardens. I'll never forget being in the middle of nowhere Utah when 9/11 hit. A few days after the event, I was invited to a garden party. I wanted to talk about what had happened. I had just left DC and family and friends were impacted by this horrific event. In the middle of nowhere Utah however, the sense was "it will never happen here, would you like some cole slaw?"
I lived in a little bit of a house on about a quarter of an acre of red dirt. My landlady invited me to a Morman women's group, where the topic was gardening. I fondly refer to it as "gardening for God". Whether you live in an apartment or on a farm, every good Morman has a garden. It was a lovely meeting and I met some lovely women afterwards. My landlady asked me if I was planning on a garden that year. Well, um, I would like to I replied. (I had 3 packets of seeds: sunflower, green beans and cucumbers). Well I'll just send over my husband and he'll till the soil for you so you can get started . Wow, I replied, that would be fabulous! I didn't tell her I only had three packets of seeds and was clueless as to what gardening actually entailed.
A few days later, I'm back home from work and hear this horrific noise. As I look out my window I see a tractor larger than my house turning the ground up for my "garden". I headed outside to talk to her husband. The tires on that tractor were at least 6 feet tall. I'd never been so close to any piece of machinery that big in my life. When my landlady suggested her husband would till my little quarter acre piece of dirt, I anticipated a hand tiller, not a ginormous tractor!
Wow I told him. Thanks! He climbs down, shakes my hand and asked "So what are you planning on putting in this year? I flashed to my three packets of seeds, and given the sheer amount of land he just turned over, I replied "You know, I really haven't decided yet". A little white lie, to a very nice Morman man. I think God will forgive me. I was incredulous at the amount of turned over red dirt and the size of the machine that did it. Now I had to do something with it.
While I was in Utah, we were in the middle of a major drought. Droughts bring fires and fires cost lives and property. I was not feeling like I had a right to use water indiscriminately for three packets of seeds as a fun little project. I had a friend who lived in town and was the most interesting woman I've ever met. She was Navajo, a Morman, had a teaching degree from Harvard University and had spent her 2 year mission in Switzerland. I went to talk to about what to plant. She gave me some indian corn that her mother had given her and helped me plant the corn and my three packages of seeds (in rows).
So I had had a garden, which I did not water because I wasn't being a "real" gardener and the drought was weighing heavily on my mind; it was originally just a fun idea. Of course nothing came up of any value and I was stuck with a quarter acre of turned red dirt. FYI, water is a major component of any successful garden.
Years later, here in big sky country, a couple of Morman boys appeared at my door. They were spending their mission here in town. I invited them in, with the caveat that I was not going to convert, however I thought they could use something to drink, and possibly dinner. I have a soft spot for Mormans, especially while they are on their mission(s). We had a lovely conversation and at the end of it, before they left, one of them asked if they could sing for me. Sing. Sure I replied. I sat on my sofa and they began to sing to me, in my living room. Just as they were finishing their song, Jeff arrives home to find two strange boys singing to me. The look on his face was priceless.
One of the great gifts of my VISTA experience was learning to accept others and appreciating what they could bring into my life. I have the utmost respect for the Morman community and a soft spot in my heart for gardens because of them. I'm sure my landlady would be very proud of me this year.
Thanks for reading!
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