February 3, 2016, Prescott-  A deep freeze has visited us, these past two days.  I took my students in Chino Valley outside, yesterday. Today, it was a bit colder, and my special needs student stayed inside.  It’ll be more like Arizona, tomorrow, and for the next several days.  In fact, we’re expecting 65 on Sunday.

This brings me to the notion that some have, about one’s sixties being the start of the Winter of life.  I had a wintry start to my sixtieth year, and it did end with the passing of my beloved.  Since then, though, and not without her influence, I feel my own Winter is a ways off.  For one thing, I am far from ready to stop working.  For another,  my energy level has not gone down, and no one who really knows me is saying, “Slow down!”

I love helping children find their direction in life, and acquire the skills needed to do that.  I treasure being in nature, and trails abound, both here in Arizona, and increasingly, just about anywhere else.

So, what of the road in winter?  My own expectations, as previously stated, are that it will filled with wonder and constant learning.  I have been warned, by the constantly-hectoring elder generation, to “just wait” until I reach my 80’s and 90’s.  Then, I am told, “You’ll see how the cow chews the cabbage.”  Maybe so,and if it rolls that way, I’ll deal with it.  On the other hand, there are Dick Van Dyke, and Betty White, to show us that the cow not only chews the cabbage, but digests it well and comes back for more.

I wish, for everyone who has embraced their sunset, to have as many days of solid energy as possible, and not to lose sight of a dream.  I’d rather take after one of the two above-mentioned entertainers, or Kirk Douglas, seemingly back from death’s door, at least twice, or the late Bob Hope, who joyfully celebrated his centenary, before heading to a new stage.

Dylan Thomas was onto something.

January 31, 2016, Albuquerque-  One of the places Penny and I liked in the Duke City was Rio Grande Nature Center.  As the name implies, it celebrates the great river that plies Albuquerque’s west side, on its way to becoming the Rio Bravo and a feeder for the Gulf of Mexico.

The last time I was here, it was summer, my wife was alive and well, and our son was about 8.  Now, it’s winter, Penny has been at rest for nearly five years and Aram is pushing 28, doing just fine on his own.

I’m good, though, because of places like this.  These refuges, with their waterfowl and raptors, tangled trees of the bosques and True Believer hikers and bicyclists, work their magic, regardless of how bare the trees are, or how turgid the river tends to be.  The majesty of the place lies in the comfort it gives to the birds, and to those, like me, who can sit and watch their antics, for hours on end.

I didn’t have, nor take, those hours, today.  There was a storm to outpace:  One that the locals here were expecting, but which was still churning from California to western Colorado.  Nonetheless, this visit gave me a bench by the river, a picnic lunch at that bench, and the joy of watching the ducks, Canadian geese and lesser sandhill cranes compete for the silver minnows and other fish that Rio Grande serves up.

Without further ado, here are a few scenes of the Rio, its feeder Silver Minnow Channel and the bosque, in its own state of repose.

Entrance to Visitors’ Center, Rio Grande Nature Center

View of Silver Minnow Channel, from Rio Grande Visitors’ Center

Rio Grande, Albuquerque, NM

Ducks, trying to stay warm, Rio Grande Nature Center, Albuquerque

Sand bar, Rio Grande, Albuquerque.  These spots are good places for insects, and other food sources for the birds, to hunker down and wait out the cold.

Somnolent trees, along Bosque Loop Trail, Rio Grande Nature Center

Rio Grande, Albuquerque

I have seen this river run higher, and have seen it at a trickle.  I have stood on its banks near Brownsville, TX and near its headwaters, in the mountains known as Sangre de Cristo.  Nowhere does the Rio Grande reach out to comfort its patrons more than it does here, at the western edge of a bustling, but heritage-laden metropolis.

February 1, 2016, Prescott-

17. wet sheets, fire, corvids, milk

The above Winter Scavenger Hunt prompts led to this:

Silly Sally, on her way to town, realized she had left wet sheets in the washing machine.  So, she went back home, and hung them on the line.  Then, she headed back out.  About halfway to town, Sally saw a house on fire. Being a civic-minded soul, she pulled a fire box that was across the street.  Several crows, that had been watching the house, from a perch atop a nearby tree, began cawing and flying about, excitedly.  Sally  went over and helped console two small children of the family that had to flee the house.  One of the neighbours brought some milk and Sally mixed it with chocolate syrup.  The kids were thus comforted, somewhat, by the kindness of a stranger.  The crows, perhaps feeling left out, just cawed and flapped their wings more fervently.

Silly Sally eventually got to town, so we have the popular tale, which Xanga, unlike Word Press, will not allow to be displayed.  :(

February 1, 2016, Prescott-

The Winter Scavenger Hunt prompt says “artist”, not “poet”, but a poet IS an artist.

Today begins the month “officially” set aside as Black History Month.  African-Americans certainly are not limited to any given point along a year, in terms of their impact on our nation’s history.  Yet, why quibble?  We do well to reach as far back as possible, in comprehending the spirit and drive that gives each individual, regardless of ethnicity or melanin level, the capacity for great achievement.

The first published African-American poet, Phillis Wheatley, was brought to Boston at the age of 8, from either Gambia or Senegal.  She was given the name Phillis by her captor, Peter Gwinn, and sold as a slave to a tailor named John Wheatley.  The Wheatley family taught Phillis to read and write, encouraging her to study the Classics.

Phillis began to write her own poetry at the age of 14.  She drew the favourable attention of both British and American leaders of both politics and thought, having audiences with the Lord Mayor of London and George Washington.  Thomas Paine published her work in the Pennsylvania Gazette, and she drew favourable commentary from Voltaire.

Things went sour for Phillis, after her master died.  Though she was freed, under the terms of his will, and married a Free African-American grocer, John Peters, the prevailing view of society was not favourable towards African-Americans.  The Peters’ struggled financially, John was imprisoned, in 1784 and Phillis, along with their infant son, died shortly thereafter, she being only 31.

Here is a sample of her poetry, which drew on both Christian and animist influences, as well as ancient Greek and European Enlightenment thought.

“On Virtue”

O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height t’ explore, or fathom thy profound.
But, O my soul, sink not into despair,
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand
Would now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head.
Fain would the heav’n-born soul with her converse,
Then seek, then court her for her promis’d bliss.

Auspicious queen, thine heav’nly pinions spread,
And lead celestial Chastity along;
Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,
Array’d in glory from the orbs above.
Attend me, Virtue, thro’ my youthful years!
O leave me not to the false joys of time!
But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.
Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee,
To give me an higher appellation still,
Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,
O thou, enthron’d with Cherubs in the realms of day.[9]

Phillis had conflicting feelings about slavery, recognizing, on one level that it was the cruelest of institutions, while simultaneously expressing the view that captivity had served her well, by bringing her to Christianity.

In any event, I see Phillis Wheatley as the first great African-American woman, in public life.

This is the first of three posts I will make tonight.  Please read at your leisure.

Prescott, on the First of February, 2016

When the Essential Oils Winter Summit concluded, on Saturday evening, I made the choice to drive twenty miles northward, to visit my 90-year-old paternal uncle.  As Nature would have it, snow began falling as soon as I drove north, out of Longmont, where he lived until the middle of last year.

I found  the vicinity of his new residence, in the pleasantly-named city of Loveland, and gave ring.  His response was predictable:  “Gary, I appreciate your coming up here, but it’s dark and snowy, and it’s hard enough to find my building during the day.  Come back in summer, and please head as far south as you can, out of this snow.”

I listened to my father more often than either he or Mom ever thought I did, and now Uncle George is the closest I have to a father, so I was on my way south along I-25, in short order.

When we in the Mountain West are faced with dark, snowy roads, we stick together.  My fellow travelers and I made it out of the whiteness around the middle of Denver.  I didn’t stop for a bite to eat until I had reached the north side of Castle Rock, midway between the Mile-High City and Colorado Springs.  A meatball sub at Mama Lisa’s got me back on an even keel, and I enjoyed the banter between the four or five workers and a Douglas County Sheriff’s Deputy, who is apparently one of the regulars.

Three hours later, I called it a night, in Trinidad, near the New Mexico state line.  The Tower Motel is unique, and has large, affordable rooms.  That last part is getting repetitive, which is exquisitely comforting.  The road in winter does not lend itself to comfortable camping, after all.  I enjoyed four nights of such accommodations, and would go back to any one of these establishments again.

Tower uses a “European” system of card entry.  As in France and Belgium, I placed the card against a magnetic pad on the door, and was buzzed in. It was nearly midnight, so before long, I was fast asleep.

Morning came quickly, with gray sky overhead, but no snow.  I got packed on the double, and was down the mountain, and in metro Albuquerque, in three hours’ time.  The day in Duke City was gorgeous.  It was time for a respite at one of my favourite spots there.

Next up:  Rio Grande Nature Center, and how I dodged the storm.