What Kind of Person Are You

Haters.

I understand that things happen. There are mis-communications, arguments, and moments of weakness. But I have always held the belief that, especially if you are friends or in some other way vested in the relationship, a conversation, an apology, and moving on are the best way to handle such things. It turns out I am in a minority. I know people that will hold a grudge for years against people that were once their good friends. I have seen people brought down by pettiness and rumors because someone decided they didn't like them or they didn't deserve a chance. I have witnessed the people in the wrong, the college professor that hits on you, the person that plagiarizes your work, walk around, head high, as though they have done nothing wrong, all the while tanking the very person they crossed.

I used to feel badly about these things. I used to think that there was something that could or should be done to fix things. I used to think that other peoples behavior was some kind of reflection upon myself. Now, I'm glad when toxic or juvenile people choose to remove themselves from my company. I see the value in no longer having to waste time or energy on people who will always find a away to cause conflict or drama. I am grateful that they keep their words and actions to themselves and allow me to spend my time with people that help me to thrive. I take solace in the fact that carrying around hate will be it's own punishment, in illness, loneliness, and bad, bad karma.

What are you holding on to? Who can you forgive today? Whose forgiveness can you let go of receiving?

Photograph Courtesy of :

http://www.northjersey.com/news/204692871_Free_poison_prevention_program_in_Verona.html

Shoes and Strings and Ceiling Wax

Tired.

A presentation of irony:

It is 6:30 in the morning and still dark outside the cabin. There is a stiff, frigid wind bringing in the first snow of the season. It began overnight as a light dusting but has thickened now, and has taken on an icy quality, the flakes stinging as they hit our faces. Inside it is still warm, there is coffee dwindling in cups, and the lights cast a comforting glow out the windows as we finish loading up the truck, drain the water lines, unplug the appliances and put the cabin to bed. At 7:01 we climb in, congratulating ourselves on finally running on time. The moment the truck starts to roll back we know there is something not right, but it takes us the whole length of the drive to figure out that it's a flat. Completely flat. Tire hanging off the rims flat. We sigh, and slowly pull back towards the cabin carefully parking by the outside lights. When we open the door to turn them on though, nothing. Click, nothing. Click click click, nothing. In the five minutes since leaving the power has gone out with the storm. We will do this by flashlight. From behind us we hear the deep voice of our old-man neighbor with whom we share the property. "Welcome to the high desert." He chuckles. "You want me to get the air jack?" 

It was fine. It was fine and easy and quick and dark and very very cold. It was a late start, dirty clothes and stiff fingers. It was fine, and the moment we packed back up to roll out, the power came back on. Welcome to the high desert.

Photograph Courtesy of:

http://www.junk-king.com/locations/coloradosprings/tag/get-rid-of-old-tires/

High and Dry

Bear.

***An Excerpt From Girl Gone Wild***

A dirty little secret of the outdoor world is just how rarely people abide by the rule of hanging their food or even storing it at some distance from their camp. More often than not they store in in coolers, trailers, vehicles, tents, or backpacks. In brown bear country, this is stupid and dangerous. In black bear and cougar country, which is most of everywhere else, it is only slightly less stupid and dangerous. But here’s how it happens. First, you do not see any bear or any other animals for that matter which makes choosing not to hang your food seem reasonable. But the lack of apparent wildlife is probably because humans are big and noisy and smelly even if we are trying not to be, not because they are not there. There is plenty of wildlife watching your progress down a trail that you will never know are there, and unless they are hungry or you manage to stumble into their young, they will probably go out of their way to avoid you. Unless they are hungry. And something is always hungry.

The second thing that happens is that you find yourself in a place with nothing to hang something from, this is a peculiar irony of the tundra areas of Alaska. There are vast u-shaped valleys carved by the slow progression of glaciers over thousands of years that, now exposed thanks to global warming are covered in bright fields of dense, soft tundra. Beautiful, but not a tree in sight. With no place to hang food the best you can hope for is good storage someplace down wind of your camp, you have to let the hanging thing go. Alternately, you can find yourself camped in such large trees that even the lowest branches are far too high to reach with even a weighted line, or you do not have enough line to make the pitch. Again, out of luck, and not entirely ones own fault.

The last thing that happens, and it is this kind of experience that can cause people to give it up entirely, is that it can take an entire evening to get the food bag hung. Food is heavy and oddly shaped, which means that you need something relatively accessible and sturdy to hang it from. I can spend a good half and hour looking for the right kind of branch an appropriate distance from camp and then another half an hour or more trying to toss a line, often with one end tied around a rock or shoe, over the branch. Have you ever tried to send a pair of shoes over a telephone line? Sometimes you get it in one shot, sometimes it seems impossible.

Photograph:

www.rubygonewild.com

Pecking Order

Seed.

For weeks now I have been at the mercy of an energetic flock of migrating (hopefully) Nuthatches. Nuthatches are beautiful. They are blue-winged and red-breasted with long black streaks of eyeliner highlighting their brows. They are also hoarders. They descend at feeders like a troupe of addicts, hyped up and in constant motion, not eating, but grabbing seed and storing it away in the nooks and crannies of nearby trees for later consumption. They can empty a half-gallon feeder in a little over a day and they are so many and so overwhelming that they have ousted all but the largest of the blue jays. They are pushy, messy and bad at sharing and making extra work for me. I know that they are just birds, and visitors to boot, but I miss the Junkos and Grosbeaks.

Then this morning, a small piece of justice. The squirrels, normally left out of the feeder entirely except for what falls the two stories to the ground, were up early this morning, frantically pulling away at the branches of the firs. Happily reaping the rewards of all the Nuthatch labor. And to all things a balance.

Photo

www.RubyGoneWild.com

Finding the Foresaken Self

Yellow.

Only in hindsight, at the age of 35, am I able to look back on the last ten years of my life and admit how very many of the habits, likes, and affectations I have adopted over the years have been for the sole purpose of pleasing someone else or trying to fit in with those around me. Today, I returned to the music that I had forsaken years ago to please a boyfriend that had very clear ideas on what was and what was not acceptable music. Regardless of the fact that he was right in many respects. I have missed these songs and sounds that defined other, earlier times of my life and am glad to have them back. I contemplate what other vestiges from other times I might turn loose, what things might be reclaimed. 

Listen to your music.

Or, listen to mine. Coldplay. Yellow.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tdVAqxNLXiw

Photograph Courtesy of:

www.RubyGoneWild.Com

And It All Burns Down

Megafire.

If you haven't been paying attention to the bush fires raging in southwestern Australia, you should if for no other reason than to impress upon yourself what it will be like when drought, climate change, and years of fire suppression policy collide in our neck of the woods. These fires are not happening in the middle of nowhere portions of Australia, they are in the most populated portion of the country, where one in three Austalians live. The smoke from these fires is choking the air in major cities and the fires are destroying everything from trains to houses. Two of these fires are set to merge in the coming days producing what is being called a mega-fire. This is another modern natural phenomenon moniker adopted to describe events that occur on magnitudes not previously considered probable enough to leave room for in the naming schema. It is becoming clear that climate change is not a rural or third-world phenomenon. It is also becoming clear that we are woefully ill-prepared to protect our resources and property from these events.

It is important to realize that the nature of the climate change debate needs to change from "Is it real?' to "What are the social consequences of these events?" Climate change and the associated floods, storms, fires, and droughts have become a primary contributing factor to social unrest in the countries most effected. Destruction of farm land, interruption of commerce, loss of housing, these are the new realities. Prevention is no longer the primary objective, survival is.

To read about the relationship between climate change and violence worldwide:

http://www.amazon.com/Tropic-Chaos-Climate-Geography-Violence/dp/1568587295

Photograph:

http://www.virginmedia.com/digital/features/things-you-can-see-from-space.php?ssid=12

Pooh Bear

Honey.

Once a year I drive to an old church in the middle of Oregon farm country to buy my winter pantry in bulk directly from the growers. These events are less like farmers markets with their well-groomed displays and valued-added products than they are traditional farm stands.  Family's sell apples at twenty-five cents a pound out the back of their pickups and tiny old women offer fifty pound hand-milled flour in home-sewn sacks. There are great, long braids of onions and garlic and piles and piles of squash nestled next to buckets of wild rice.  There is also the last of the season's honey. Every year I buy honey, a pint or two, maybe even a well-priced quart, but always, I stand and long for the giant gallon jars. They are beautiful; a whole winter's bounty of honey-sweetened tea, sauces, oatmeal, and muffins in a single jar. Even knowing that I will use it, such an investment has never seemed reasonable. Until, for some reason, this year when I finally toddled down a gravel country road with a fat, golden jar hugged to my belly; the sweets of winter, secured.

Photograph:

www.rubygonewild.com