It's been about three yrs since my wife and I have gotten away for the weekend sin hijos. Three yrs ago it was Colorado Springs, a great trip except for the uncontrollable shivering and forced oxygen at the top of Pikes Peak but that's a story for another post. This weekend we head to a closer less amazing, but hopefully enjoyable place: St George. I've been searching around for stuff to do. Certainly we will do some hiking at Zion's or maybe just locally at Snow Canyon Park. I'm also scoping out Joshua Tree Road, a 14 mile drive through the Mojave desert with spring flowers a blooming.
Any favorite non-golfing St. George activities? Restaurants? Shops? Anything??!! Please share as I coerced this trip out of my wife and now must make it work, i.e. be able to avoid the old, "So why exactly did we drive 5 hrs in order to see a movie we could have seen 5 minutes from our house?"
Monday, April 09, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
New York!!!
I had planned to blog from
Not expected: an engaging conversation with a cabbie from
Blast from the past: I met up with a good friend from my undergrad days at BYU. We talked and talked, never quite able to catch up on decade plus of history. Still, it was worth the effort. Amazing how connections to people remain intact after years of disconnect--my mind was flooded with 15 year old snippets of conversations, camping trips, and Wayne C. Booth debates.
Most nostalgic: Seeing
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Spring break
I had thought I'd take a blogger break over my spring break, but as I'm watching the first real potential upset of this 2007 NCAA tournament (VCU an 11 seed up 2 over Duke a 6 seed, not to mention they are Duke, with 1:08 left), I got reading Mega's blog where she already has two lists of spring break accomplishments. So, now, I feel compelled to list, a deep seated need to measure out what I've been up to with my time off. But first I much pay attention to the last minute of the Duke game.
...50 seconds left and Duke and VCU tied
...16 seconds Duke down by 2
...10 seconds Duke ties it with a lay-up
...1.8 seconds Duke down two with a VCU 15 footer
whoa, that was some minute of basketball. A timeout. Not sure they will get anything off--no Christian Laetner on this Duke team.
...it's over with a respectable attempt--the first upset
Spring Break 2007 List (or my way of staving off vacation blues)
...50 seconds left and Duke and VCU tied
...16 seconds Duke down by 2
...10 seconds Duke ties it with a lay-up
...1.8 seconds Duke down two with a VCU 15 footer
whoa, that was some minute of basketball. A timeout. Not sure they will get anything off--no Christian Laetner on this Duke team.
...it's over with a respectable attempt--the first upset
Spring Break 2007 List (or my way of staving off vacation blues)
- Completed one physical therapy appointment: ASTYM i.e. the scraping of another's leg meat with cocoa butter and hard plastic tools which is not helping my bursitis
- Filled out NCAA Tournament bracket with family, a more difficult concept to explain to young children than one might expect
- Finished Atonement by Ian McEwan--a good novel but a bit too self-referential and crafty for my tastes (Book club discussion tomorrow!)
- Read much of Wysocki's Writing New Media: I'm going to remember her contention that writing teachers need strategies for “generous reading[s]" of student texts in order to “approach different-looking texts with the assumption not that mistakes were made but that choices were made and are being tried out and on.”
- Completed 2007 taxes, a spring break tradition--$1000 bucks coming our way and real soon thanks to TurboTax
- Watched parts of most NCAA open round Tournament games
- Three bike rides and 40 pages of Indian and the Cupboard with 5-year old son
- Two 25 mile bike rides--much stretching and some pain but at least I'm out and about
- Several on-going productive relationship talks with wife
- Bid through www.priceline.com on a hotel room for a SF family vacation in May; my $50 a night bid didn't get accepted, but I now have a strategy
- Ate lunch at Sill's (the only real restaurant in Layton) with a good friend and past student from Mt High school
- Read NO student work
- Best of all: filed and cleaned up in my office for several hrs
- Will see Breach tonight at the theatre, a rare non-Netflix film for me
Friday, March 09, 2007
Rock Stars
Every few minutes there is yet another knock at the door. I do not get up after the first one; I merely yell “they’re downstairs” and point. Music keeps wafting up through the heating vent: a few drum beats, a riff on the guitar, a mixture of something which approximates music. Somehow I have a bunch of pre-teens rocking out in my basement. I’m not sure how this happened. I mean, I’m just a young 130 lb. male trying to get some work done; there’s no way I am capable of being responsible for 425 lbs of stringy, sweaty, pre-pubescents. Surely I didn’t have anything to do with creating this commotion, right? I mean…it can’t be time yet. All too soon there will be girls, pimples, making-out, driving lessons...
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Busy w/ just enough time to watch The Departed in three sittings
Not much time for winter hikes or lengthy posts. I'm pretty much going to work all weekend except for some cards with friends for a couple of hrs tonight and my one little weekend treat, The Departed. I started it last night, will watch again while I do my physical therapy regimen, probably won't finish till Sunday. I'm excited to see if I will like it as much as Mega (i.e that much more than Babel). So far it's pretty solid--it'd certainly has more amazing actors in one film than I've seen in a long time. Too bad that this probably worked against any acting Oscars.
I'd be interested what you all think about the Oscar attention it got, especially considering the view that the attention was more about finally giving an Oscar to Scorsese than about this particular film.
I'd be interested what you all think about the Oscar attention it got, especially considering the view that the attention was more about finally giving an Oscar to Scorsese than about this particular film.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Babel's Grandeur
Since I got a head start on Babel (see my last post), I was able to finish it up last night. The film overwhelmed me with its attention to simple cultural artifact and its bursting grandiose vision of what film can do.
The cultural and geographic displacement of the characters, and more importantly, the American audience is a work of art: the exuberant celebration of Mexican marriage, the throbbing American dance tunes in a Japanese club seen through the eyes of a deaf-mute girl, the Moroccan family fingering their food from the same bowl. As the images of culturally situated joy dispense, the raw human emotion comes on full force: the mighty Brad Pitt, blood drenched, helping the urine soaked Kate Blanchett onto a make-shift bed pan, the Mexican caretaker with torn festive dress and mascara blurred eyes tromping through the desert in high heels, the Moroccan herdsboy bravely proclaiming before armed men his guilt in a plea for his brother's life.
Displaced from cultural and emotional bearing, Babel is beautiful in its attempt at grandeur, making, as Slate critique Dana Stevens concludes, the award winning "Crash, another recent film with converging stories and a multicultural cast, look like an undergraduate term paper on race relations."
The cultural and geographic displacement of the characters, and more importantly, the American audience is a work of art: the exuberant celebration of Mexican marriage, the throbbing American dance tunes in a Japanese club seen through the eyes of a deaf-mute girl, the Moroccan family fingering their food from the same bowl. As the images of culturally situated joy dispense, the raw human emotion comes on full force: the mighty Brad Pitt, blood drenched, helping the urine soaked Kate Blanchett onto a make-shift bed pan, the Mexican caretaker with torn festive dress and mascara blurred eyes tromping through the desert in high heels, the Moroccan herdsboy bravely proclaiming before armed men his guilt in a plea for his brother's life.
Displaced from cultural and emotional bearing, Babel is beautiful in its attempt at grandeur, making, as Slate critique Dana Stevens concludes, the award winning "Crash, another recent film with converging stories and a multicultural cast, look like an undergraduate term paper on race relations."
Friday, February 23, 2007
Why I love to work from home on Fridays
1. I can get a headstart on a Netflix movie over lunch (I started Babel today)
2. I get to be home to greet my kids on their early out day
3. Potential for romantic interlude as kids are all at school (w/ my wife of course!)
4. I can take my son and his friend on a hike in the snow (I did that last week--they thought it was an "adventure" as we hiked over snow covered rocks and then all yelled and screamed from a ridge into an echo inducing canyon).
5. I can feel better that my piss poor pay as a teacher is counter-balanced, in part, with the *idea* that I don't have to work on Fridays.
6. I can spend much of the day (if needed, which is often) finishing the book for bkclub (we meet on one Friday a month) and then work on Saturday
7. I can have a cup of tea while grading papers
8. In the summer I can step out onto our porch and into the sun every hour or so
9. In the summer I can take a break by picking fresh tomaoes and yellow bean
10. Rather than getting stuck in snowstorms on the freeway (two snowstorms today), I can get stuck as I hike in the mountains:
2. I get to be home to greet my kids on their early out day
3. Potential for romantic interlude as kids are all at school (w/ my wife of course!)
4. I can take my son and his friend on a hike in the snow (I did that last week--they thought it was an "adventure" as we hiked over snow covered rocks and then all yelled and screamed from a ridge into an echo inducing canyon).
5. I can feel better that my piss poor pay as a teacher is counter-balanced, in part, with the *idea* that I don't have to work on Fridays.
6. I can spend much of the day (if needed, which is often) finishing the book for bkclub (we meet on one Friday a month) and then work on Saturday
7. I can have a cup of tea while grading papers
8. In the summer I can step out onto our porch and into the sun every hour or so
9. In the summer I can take a break by picking fresh tomaoes and yellow bean
10. Rather than getting stuck in snowstorms on the freeway (two snowstorms today), I can get stuck as I hike in the mountains:
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Top of Adam's Canyon
I have only a few words, mostly mere compulsion to document the top half of Adam's Canyon. It seems appropriate to return to this canyon as it was here that I received my winter inspiration (see my earlier post ), my raison d'etre during these frigid months. During my earlier hike I didn't quite make it to the top falls; too much time caressing the trees and all. This time I made it and wow, wow, wow...
Huge layers of ice bursting out from the original falls. I even shimmied on my belly to the edge of the built up (several feet off the ground) ice shelf in front of the fall. I just had to get a few close ups of this behemoth:
And that's just about it for the major winter hiking trails in Davis County. I have, admittedly, left out one biggie, Mueller Park, but I didn't get out there during the freeze and there's not much water to speak of--maybe next year. I was feeling kind of sad about the melted ice, but then it snowed again today. Of course the veneer of snow and ice will be gone in a matter of weeks. It's time to move on I suppose.
Next winter I think I will chronicle the small canyons and rivers, maybe even a few without trails. It's been quite winter; I sure hope to remember at least a bit of what I've come to see right here mintues from my home. Still, I know it will be much harder as cycling season is now starting: competition, drive, details...all pulling me away from mere observation and reflection.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Burnt post failure
Because my own words and images (see my previous post) did not elicit much response, I will cite the words of someone else. These words are about teaching:
"I believe that the best teachers are always deeply involved in the making of new knowledge. Here is where teaching and learning are so closely intertwined: the province of knowledge-making is the province of learning. Ultimately, the role of teacher and learner become ontologically less and less distinct."
This reminded me that in order to achieve this kind of teaching we must see ourselves as learners, we must "remember" in our guts and bones what it's like to try something new, to write beyond our skill, to question our abilities. My guess is, even though it causes me some anxiety, we can't be transformative teachers unless we are ourselves continually being transformed intellectually and spiritually.
While my earlier post may seem like merely one of several winter hiking surveys, it was meant to be more than that. The experience with the burnt trees was surprisingly vivid and lingeringly insightful: it demanded the earnest "poetic" tone. I'm unsure I captured any of that now. Worse, and I hate to admit it, after writing the post I kept checking my email hoping for a response, a connection, anything. Simply put it's good for me to more clearly remember how difficult it is to share your writing with peers, something I nonchantly ask students to do on a weekly basis.
"Teaching is an act of discovery, a continual transformation of itself—when it’s good. The worst kind of teaching, the kind I dread, particularly when I find myself doing it, is teaching things doggedly, the same again and again. Teaching is work, but it is not the work of factories."
Teaching things doggedly--doesn't that just about say it all? Pushing through, not responding but reentrenching. Much more difficult to be dogged when humbled. Be warned: I will attempt earnest poetic tone again.
The full teaching philosophy is found here.
"I believe that the best teachers are always deeply involved in the making of new knowledge. Here is where teaching and learning are so closely intertwined: the province of knowledge-making is the province of learning. Ultimately, the role of teacher and learner become ontologically less and less distinct."
This reminded me that in order to achieve this kind of teaching we must see ourselves as learners, we must "remember" in our guts and bones what it's like to try something new, to write beyond our skill, to question our abilities. My guess is, even though it causes me some anxiety, we can't be transformative teachers unless we are ourselves continually being transformed intellectually and spiritually.
While my earlier post may seem like merely one of several winter hiking surveys, it was meant to be more than that. The experience with the burnt trees was surprisingly vivid and lingeringly insightful: it demanded the earnest "poetic" tone. I'm unsure I captured any of that now. Worse, and I hate to admit it, after writing the post I kept checking my email hoping for a response, a connection, anything. Simply put it's good for me to more clearly remember how difficult it is to share your writing with peers, something I nonchantly ask students to do on a weekly basis.
"Teaching is an act of discovery, a continual transformation of itself—when it’s good. The worst kind of teaching, the kind I dread, particularly when I find myself doing it, is teaching things doggedly, the same again and again. Teaching is work, but it is not the work of factories."
Teaching things doggedly--doesn't that just about say it all? Pushing through, not responding but reentrenching. Much more difficult to be dogged when humbled. Be warned: I will attempt earnest poetic tone again.
The full teaching philosophy is found here.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
In reverence with fire
In August or maybe September the smoke swirls off the mountain ridge, sometimes so much it clogs our view. Fires are curious; we chase and gawk at them as if they were rock stars but then we run, kick and scream in fear of their rage, their utter destructive potential.
It goes for miles, the blackened trees like so many arrows, porcupined earth.
The bark cracked, exposed white flesh, still a leader to the burnt saplings: "We gather here today knowing our fate, but we will hold our ground to the bitter end."
But eventually these once flourishing trees will give up the ghost, torrents of water ravaging the land.
Life just down the hill, it barely escaped, now just out of reach.
"Civilized" life down far below, still visibly thriving from this blackened place.
And even here there's a similitude of what is now gone.
Even with mere similitude, my experience in the blackened woods feels as wild and alive as any forest experience: stark black against white; harsh natural forms. But then, a small trunk too straight and smooth, the mark of man, a desperate stand against the flames.
I'm brought back from my dark reverie; I've sat long enough to see the lack of inhabitants, few traces of animal scat or prints, but our marks on the land are ever-present: we burn back nature from our home, afraid of wildfires, only to burn down a mountain and then fight it with a shovel when it dares to return.
Me and son on the castle trail
Last week youngest son and I escaped the smog and in the process documented one more Davis County hike. This trail starts by the "Castle," a house which, as you might guess, looks like a castle. I'm told it actually only has one or two bedrooms, not your family style type house.
the dark gunk a sharp contrast to the blue sky; it stuck down in the gut of the valley where it hung in our hair, in our lungs, but we had conquered it for now.
It's a strange gothic looking house, gargoyle type creatures strewn throughout the yard. In reality the trail starts out at the Fernwood picnic area but we just call it the Castle trail. There are several trails which start from here. We take the main trail which runs behind the castle up along Kays Creek and then eventually connects with the Great Western Trail.
Here son is eating snow. What a trooper--it was about 20 degrees but I heard nary a complaint. Amazing how little it takes to please a 5-year old. His favorite amusement, as always, was the variety of sticks which he then dragged along in the snow.
The bent over trees maintain moss throughout the winter from the with melting snow. Son had to touch the moss and then we were on our way (three sticks in tow at this point).
Bridges over snow covered rivers and water holes in which to throw rocks and "crash" the ice by stomping, cracking and distorting the ice hole.
Son was hell bent on returning the next day in order to show his brother, sister, and mommy the damage he'd done.
Now on to the south facing muddy slop where we found amazing little patches of green grass; we could hardly believe it.
We climbed up the south face and then turned along the spine of the ridge heading west (off the trail which connects to the GWT) and higher, deeper and deeper snow. We looked back; son couldn't believe it was the same bridge.
Our toes were getting colder in the higher elevation snow...
...but we had indeed escaped the smog; we were free of it all for a moment,
the dark gunk a sharp contrast to the blue sky; it stuck down in the gut of the valley where it hung in our hair, in our lungs, but we had conquered it for now.
The castle in sight we were almost back, a respid for our frozen toes only minutes away.
We'd stomped and tromped in the snow for much longer than I'd thought we would. A stellar little 5-year old as proud as can be, "We were on the moutains, daddy."
Monday, January 29, 2007
Community Speak-Out on War
Finally, I got the gumption, after years of war and tens of thousands of deaths, to take some small "action" against the war: My wife and I attended an event at the SLC library this past Saturday put on by the "We the people for peace and justice." While I don't feel any more hopeful about the war situation or my long-term potential as an activitst, I'm still glad we went.
There were several speakers. The first was Kyle Wulle, from the United Steelworkers union, who was, as a friend remarked, quite angry: "unwrap the flag from around our heads." Still, he did the good ole union thang.
Dee Rowland, a social/economic activist (or at least that's what it says on the flyer), read a Catholic statment against the war; one line called out Bush for his lack of diplomacy: "we need a surge of diplomacy not an escalation of troops." In trying to find the exact speeech, it seems my Google results tell me many people have used this line. Unfortunately it doesn't seem Bush could pair together "surge" and "diplomacy."
Theresa Martinez, U of U sociology professor, spoke about her brothers who served in Vietnam and niece and nephew serving in Iraq. Her speech was surprisingly emotional as she read from a letter she wrote to her nephew whose unit was going to Iraq.
Kim Spangrude, of Utah Military Families Speak Out, spoke of her anger that Bush would even dare to speak of the "sacrifice" we must make; how can he speak of sacrifice, she repeated, when he knows nothing about it. In a letter to Bush she wrote: "our sons are not your sacrificial lambs and you are no King David." And that's, IMHO, for damn sure.
Rick Miller, Veterans of Peace, a Vietnam Vet, said, "I pulled the trigger and that separates me from most of you." He then retold how he took the wallet from the first man he killed; he still apologizes to it, to him, every single day. His comments made me wonder how my father feels about the men, probably boys, he killed in Vietnam. I'd sure like that part of my father back, the part he lost or covered up after the war.
Two Iraq veterans spoke. One had been a military reporter and was quite articulate as he compared Bush's use of the military to someone who uses a multipurpose tool in all situations rather than considering other kinds of tools; the other veteran was not so articulate but recounted a harrowing story. During the attack on (I'm forgetting the city's name) he was placed on a roof top. He described how at first they debated, they peered, they tried their best to decifer if the runner was an enemy or civilian. But eventually, as they realized some combatants were getting away and/or to a better defensed position, they began to fire indescriminantly. This innocent young man's face blarred regret and hurt: "I have to live with that decision. I don't want anyone else to have to face it."
The main event, one may say, was still to come: Terry Tempest Williams and a film. We were unable to stay and that's ok. I left with the young soldier's words and image in my mind rather than the well-practiced observer and activist TTW.
Equally important, I left with an image of all the different kinds individuals who are against this war, older men and women, young teens with nose piercings, conservatively dressed 30 somethings, head covered Muslims, women, as in this image, who remind me of my grandmother. That's heartening.
There were several speakers. The first was Kyle Wulle, from the United Steelworkers union, who was, as a friend remarked, quite angry: "unwrap the flag from around our heads." Still, he did the good ole union thang.
Dee Rowland, a social/economic activist (or at least that's what it says on the flyer), read a Catholic statment against the war; one line called out Bush for his lack of diplomacy: "we need a surge of diplomacy not an escalation of troops." In trying to find the exact speeech, it seems my Google results tell me many people have used this line. Unfortunately it doesn't seem Bush could pair together "surge" and "diplomacy."
Theresa Martinez, U of U sociology professor, spoke about her brothers who served in Vietnam and niece and nephew serving in Iraq. Her speech was surprisingly emotional as she read from a letter she wrote to her nephew whose unit was going to Iraq.
Kim Spangrude, of Utah Military Families Speak Out, spoke of her anger that Bush would even dare to speak of the "sacrifice" we must make; how can he speak of sacrifice, she repeated, when he knows nothing about it. In a letter to Bush she wrote: "our sons are not your sacrificial lambs and you are no King David." And that's, IMHO, for damn sure.
Rick Miller, Veterans of Peace, a Vietnam Vet, said, "I pulled the trigger and that separates me from most of you." He then retold how he took the wallet from the first man he killed; he still apologizes to it, to him, every single day. His comments made me wonder how my father feels about the men, probably boys, he killed in Vietnam. I'd sure like that part of my father back, the part he lost or covered up after the war.
Two Iraq veterans spoke. One had been a military reporter and was quite articulate as he compared Bush's use of the military to someone who uses a multipurpose tool in all situations rather than considering other kinds of tools; the other veteran was not so articulate but recounted a harrowing story. During the attack on (I'm forgetting the city's name) he was placed on a roof top. He described how at first they debated, they peered, they tried their best to decifer if the runner was an enemy or civilian. But eventually, as they realized some combatants were getting away and/or to a better defensed position, they began to fire indescriminantly. This innocent young man's face blarred regret and hurt: "I have to live with that decision. I don't want anyone else to have to face it."
The main event, one may say, was still to come: Terry Tempest Williams and a film. We were unable to stay and that's ok. I left with the young soldier's words and image in my mind rather than the well-practiced observer and activist TTW.
Equally important, I left with an image of all the different kinds individuals who are against this war, older men and women, young teens with nose piercings, conservatively dressed 30 somethings, head covered Muslims, women, as in this image, who remind me of my grandmother. That's heartening.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Frozen Waterfall
I’ve been meaning to blog for a few days; I have at least four posts I’ve written in my head, but now reality has set in (Sunday night) and I better just get something down rather than waiting till I have time (never) to sculpt four posts.
Continuing with my goal of cataloguing all Davis County hikes this winter, I traversed a trail which starts just as the paved road ends up Farmington canyon. Like all the trails in DC I've been up this one several times but it took me several years of running before I discovered it and I still don't even know its name. I do know that the trail eventually turns to the North and heads up to Sunset Campground. Last weekend I learned that it's beatiful in the winter.
There are a few strangely rickety (Eagle Scout projects?) railings, both ill-placed as there is no big danger here and literally duct tapped together. All the same, nicely quaint.
An unexpected bonus on this hike are the several old cars which have presumably rolled down from the steep switchbacked Farmington road. These cars are great distractions for tired little hikers. Reminds me of the time when I was running down the Farmington Canyon road in the winter (it's kept plowed year round as they have to maintain the radar towers--big white balls above Lagoon) only to find an old station wagon half way off the road. Maybe that's how it happened with this poor car.
Saving the best for last, the hike takes you to an enormous waterfall. Not higher than Adam's Canyon, which is to the north, a waterfall I still need to photograph this winter, but much more water volume.
Here's my first shot taken through the trees which gives some perspective on its bigness. The bluish tint is the completely frozen waterfall.
In order to get a better look, I descended this fairly treacherous descent--the photo doesn't do it justice.
And finally my shot supremo of the 60 foot fall:
Continuing with my goal of cataloguing all Davis County hikes this winter, I traversed a trail which starts just as the paved road ends up Farmington canyon. Like all the trails in DC I've been up this one several times but it took me several years of running before I discovered it and I still don't even know its name. I do know that the trail eventually turns to the North and heads up to Sunset Campground. Last weekend I learned that it's beatiful in the winter.
There are a few strangely rickety (Eagle Scout projects?) railings, both ill-placed as there is no big danger here and literally duct tapped together. All the same, nicely quaint.
Here's a prominent rock formation about half way up and the view looking toward the Great Salt Lake.
An unexpected bonus on this hike are the several old cars which have presumably rolled down from the steep switchbacked Farmington road. These cars are great distractions for tired little hikers. Reminds me of the time when I was running down the Farmington Canyon road in the winter (it's kept plowed year round as they have to maintain the radar towers--big white balls above Lagoon) only to find an old station wagon half way off the road. Maybe that's how it happened with this poor car.
Saving the best for last, the hike takes you to an enormous waterfall. Not higher than Adam's Canyon, which is to the north, a waterfall I still need to photograph this winter, but much more water volume.
Here's my first shot taken through the trees which gives some perspective on its bigness. The bluish tint is the completely frozen waterfall.
In order to get a better look, I descended this fairly treacherous descent--the photo doesn't do it justice.
And finally my shot supremo of the 60 foot fall:
I considered crossing the white abyss in front of the fall (a full-flowing river in the summer) but decide against it. Somehow falling through ice and being trapped underneath ice and snow didn't seem appealing. In fact the image haunted me all the way down the mountain.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Bair Canyon
In the spirit of cataloguing other wonder winterlands in Davis County, here are some photos from Bair Canyon. BC is just above Fruit Heights, trailhead starting out by a big water tank. Trail eventually takes you to the Radar towers (aka Paul Bunyon's golf balls if in polite company, seen from I-15 and Lagoon). Trail is where the famous Bair Gutsman gutbuster race (14 miles of punishing uphill and pounding downhill) is held each August.
Last Saturday I hiked up to the 2nd river crossing with my wife; on Monday we all (three kids and one friend) hiked to the first bridge. I was hell bent on getting the kids out over the long weekend so we finally, after much debate, went for it even though it was about 20 degrees or so.
Last Saturday I hiked up to the 2nd river crossing with my wife; on Monday we all (three kids and one friend) hiked to the first bridge. I was hell bent on getting the kids out over the long weekend so we finally, after much debate, went for it even though it was about 20 degrees or so.
We made it to the first bridge with kids in tow and then had chilli and chips in a bag.
The ice never ceased to amaze me:
And I was able to convince my five year old son that it was pretty nifty:
But my 11 year old son going on 16 was not persuaded, "This has got to be the stupidest thing we've ever done." Strange that oldest son was cold only clothed in a light jacket, no gloves, no hat. Seems I can't persuade him of anything much at all lately. But if freezing his ass off is his most dangerous move towards independence, I'm all for it.
Enjoy the snow and ice without the cost and complexities of ski resorts and gear--it's my motto this year.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Racing with camera
The Adam's Canyon trail contains many memories reaching back to the summer of 1995 when we moved to Layton, long before the connecting Bonnevile Shoreline Trails were built. I’ve literally spent hours stretching right here amongst the rocks up the trail on the left; more significant these rocks mark the top of a long set of sandy, hot (in the summer) switchbacks, my finishing spot for punishing 4-5 minute hill repeats. At the end of the trail, several miles behind the hill in the background, is a wonderfully high waterfall—24 minutes is my fastest ascent. On this day though I’m not checking my watch, in fact I don’t even have one on; I’m gauging success by slower means.As you can tell, I took a camera with me, something I’ve never done in the 100 or so times I’ve been up this trail. So many ascents but often they are hurried, they have had “purpose.” Instead, today I begin by noticing the ice.
Ice is quite amazing, the crystal patterns, the dark shapes darting just under the surface, the rippled textures--seemingly manufacture yet too natural to have come from our hands.
Next, I hit one of my favorite parts of the trail. For a few hundred yards the trail skirts through a clump of evergreen trees before the first bridge. I’ve always looked forward to passing this particular grand conifer.
It's a magnificent tree which always briings me some comfort, brief shade in the summer, assurance and firmness in every season. Speeding up the trail, hoping for a new record, I’ve rarely stopped here; generally just a quick glance out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes, if not going for a record, the hike only a detour on a longer day of training, I may stop for a minute or so, stretching my hip or achilles; I might pat the tree as if it were a dog. It’s been a long love affair between me and this coniferous fellow. Several times I’ve brought my children to the upper falls; when passing the tree I’ve encouraged them to touch it, look up in its branches.
Often I’ve wanted to climb it, sure if I could just pull myself up on the first branch, I could climb forever. Even on a new-experience day like today, it’s a bit out of my reach, a bit too dangerous.
But I do risk something, I do take the road less travelled even while on familiar terrain. I wrap my arms around the hulking tree, and lean and feel, sensing its essence, realizing and not caring how silly I might look. A tree-hugger. Until this moment I’d never thought about the term literally. Today, I think about it. I wonder about the original usage of tree-hugger, having recently finished The Professor and the Madman about a man in an asylum who turned in over 10,000 citations for the first edition of the OED. It tells me its "depreciative" as in the first usage: "1965 Appleton (Wisconsin) Post Crescent 10 Sept. 1/4 The battle was between the *tree huggers and the city. The city won, 100-0" or "literal" as in a person who hugs a tree in order to save it from being felled.
Neither of these quite work for my situation. Clearly I don't see my tree hugging as a negative thing, yet I'm not making any political statement. I fashion myself more a tree-hugger in the sense of Salamanca Tree Hiddle in Walk Two Moons who offers, "Have you ever been overcome with a desire to hug a tree?" Now that's about right.
***
I don’t regret the full tilt, air-gasping sprints up this trail. They were impressive and fun, gawking hikers incredulous that I was running through this steepness in 95 degree weather; several upward battles with my old running buddy Jim. But today I travel as if on a new trail, full of wonders I’d noted, witnessed but never fully engaged. Maybe its my age (I just turned 38), maybe it’s the humility brought on by the bulging disk in my back or my NSAID eaten stomach. Whatever it is I’ve finally committed to a love affair held until now at arm's length.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Ramen Noodle XI
I was just reading a chapter out of Charlotte's Web to my 5 year old son. We got started on it after we went to the movie over the Christmas break. It's been fun because looking for the book and then starting it has opened up a whole new world of reading books for my son--we grabbed up Paulsen's Hatchet, a Roald Dahl, and The Indian in the Cupboard. Reading a book to my son is the epitome of what fatherhood is all about for me. Tonight I got an extra laugh as we finished up chapter X. At first I wasn't sure what he was saying,
"What Ramen noodle is that?"
"Well, Templeton just ate a noodle out of Wilbur's slops."
"No, which Ramen noodle is that?" as he pointed at the next chapter.
"Ah, Roman numeral you mean?"
Doesn't get any better than that.
"What Ramen noodle is that?"
"Well, Templeton just ate a noodle out of Wilbur's slops."
"No, which Ramen noodle is that?" as he pointed at the next chapter.
"Ah, Roman numeral you mean?"
Doesn't get any better than that.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Tutoring in the air
A student who is clearly in a hurry keeps popping into the writing center with questions about his writing. He’s working on his paper in the English computer lab just down the hall:
“Do you indent each paragraph in an executive summary for accounting?”
5 minutes later:
“Would it be ‘which were’ or ‘which was’?”
2 minutes later:
“How many ‘ands’ can you have in a sentence?”
Is this some kind of Alice in Wonderland dream? Could this really be happening? I mean how does one respond to "how many 'ands' can you have in a sentence?" After three one minute visits to the writing center, I ask the student if he might want to print out his paper and let me take a look at it to which he replies, “I’m kind of in a hurry, but I’m working just down the hall if you want to come down.”
“Do you indent each paragraph in an executive summary for accounting?”
5 minutes later:
“Would it be ‘which were’ or ‘which was’?”
2 minutes later:
“How many ‘ands’ can you have in a sentence?”
Is this some kind of Alice in Wonderland dream? Could this really be happening? I mean how does one respond to "how many 'ands' can you have in a sentence?" After three one minute visits to the writing center, I ask the student if he might want to print out his paper and let me take a look at it to which he replies, “I’m kind of in a hurry, but I’m working just down the hall if you want to come down.”
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Partaking of Gloria
I caught a few scenes of Gloria (1980) while flipping through the channels. I kept flipping back (I was also reading and watching some college football) to the film because of a two performances: Gloria, the bad ass mama ex-gangster girlfriend, played by Gena Rowlands and Phil Dawn, a young kid who loses his p
arents to the mob, by John Adames. Rowlands, whom I remembered from The Mighty, is wonderful, a rare tough female role who isn’t merely a femme fatal nor a wacko—just tough. In only a few scenes the young (6 or 7?) kid blew me away: “I’m the man . . . you ain’t the man . . . I love you to death” he says with a high pitched voice to the bad ass mama. It was terrible acting but it cracked me up. Later, while traveling alone to Pittsburg after Gloria’s leaves him to settle the score with the mob, several hundred dollar bills rolled up in his sock, he approaches a ticket window: “Pictsburg” he says. Sadly, with Holden Caulfield like mourning for the ducks, it seems little John never acted again.
My wife will never understand why I enjoy checking in to a film already in progress, watching a few minutes here and there, maybe catching the closing scene. She does have a legitimate point. I still don't fully understand the plot of Gloria but I got the essence of it I think--a tough love kind of relationship between an older woman whose had a hard life and young kid who now has something to believe it. For me it’s like tasting different foods; now I’ve partook of Gloria and it was good, not good enough to slide it onto my Netflix Queue but a nice little bedtime snack, something I wouldn’t have experienced without a bit of flipping.
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