Annie Lighthart at Poem Bouquet

You'll recall that the internet developed as a means of sharing information/knowledge with a number of people, at the time mostly researchers and scholars.

Without further ado let me refer you to: Annie Lighthart at Poem Bouquet.

Four poems by Ms. Lighthart.

Interview (2012)

Image "lifted" from

Ms. Lighthart's website.

An interview with Ms. Lighthart.

North of St George

Michelle's Sourdough

From deep in the bowels of Phoebe's library I heard the long-overdue birthday present shout, "The Minersville (Utah) post office parking lot is empty!" 

I made a u-ee and screeched in.   

No one was in line behind me so when Michelle, the Postmaster, asked where I was from I blamed Nurnberg and tacked on the bits about an early childhood in Japan & some formative years in Germany.  

By way of excusing my lack of accent (and lend cachet to my Chicago twang), I 'splained my first language was English, 2nd was Japanese and that it wasn't until age 7, late in life, that I began learning German.

Suddenly bidding me stay where I was she said, "I have something for you."

This has, at least on one occasion, prefaced my being on the wrong end of a pistol. But my fears were unfounded as, turning quickly, she took two steps away and returned with a beautiful loaf of home-made bread.

Ardent sentimentalist that I am, I immediately began to tear up. And then, whilst wrangling the emotional storm of gratitude, I did my best to pay attention as she told how it was sourdough, her favorite.

Michelles are AMAZING! 

And it only barely survived through the night!

'satiable Curtiosity

Milford, Utah is down the street from Great Basin National Park. After several days in the wilds I HAD to go see. Not that I really WANTED or NEEDED anything, but my cat-like nature has to have its way.

Inside, a man in his eighties who was restocking the shelves inquired about my condition. I allowed as how it was moderately fine...and thus we commenced.

I missed the turn indicator, but his segue into his move to California came with an aphorism from his dad: They could cut off Disneyland, Knotts Berry Farm and Sea World and let the rest of California go off into the ocean.

I rejoined with the joke: First prize in the lottery is a week in Disneyland. Second prize is TWO WEEKS in Disneyland!

He laughed.

He said he'd taken the job and moved there, to California, but couldn't make enough money to leave. I was afraid to ask how he'd found his way to Milford.

He seemed proud that Milford has the nation's largest pig farm. "It's Smithfield," he said. The smell wafts o'er the entire town. (Sunshine Market is at the far end.) 

At one time I'd entertained the idea of pig farming. As a child, we heard that horses are smarter than dogs and pigs are smarter than horses. Thus, Lassie had to be a pig in a dog suit. 

Later, when I read sows are capable of innumerable orgasms I decided I didn't have the heart to spoil their fun. I still wonder why they only studied female pigs. I surmise the male researchers (there were only men doing research in those days) preferred to remain ignorant. 

The aisles were wide, like the streets. I suspect it's a Mormon town. But it was entertaining for a few minutes...and I found a rib-eye -- only slightly green -- marked down to $5.00. Aged beef ist Sehr Gut! Yah!

https://sunshinemarketmilford.com/   

When In Southeast Colorado, USA

Ms. Cook and I are planning a jaunt to Salida, Colorado next month. A friend who's into things paranormal and extraterrestrial mentioned this place. And it's on the way!

All things UFO-related PLUS a watchtower. 

On highway 17 west of Great Sand Dunes National Monument. $2.00 admission or $5.00/car. $15.00 to camp.

http://www.ufowatchtower.com/

Read all about it in this Fox News article.

Transradial Catheterization

With the indescribable splendor of Nevada's late-summer wilds at my doorstep negating my attempts at written elocution, the moment seemed ripe to bemoan the crick in my wrist that's developed from the transradial catheterization I had two Marches ago.

When I went into the emergency room at St. Mary's in Tucson, they offered to do a traditional catheterization through my femoral artery. Never one to leap at an offer, I checked the internet and soon learned this antiquated technique was supplanted years ago by the development of ever-smaller micro instruments. Transradial catheterization (as it's known) -- going in through the radial artery at the wrist -- is now the more popular means of implanting stents and doing other things such as diagnosing.

Aside from the cost of just under $100,000.00 for the hospital and another $20,000.00 for the various "techs"  including the anesthesiologist, nurses and, of course, the surgeon, I hadn't any post-operative complaints.

But then, starting a few months ago, I began noticing a sharp pain at the insertion site. It'd happen when opening bottles, jars or any movement that required gripping with the fingers combined with lateral motion at the wrist. I've switched to my left hand.

Somehow I surmise this is not litigable. And besides, no amount of cash is gonna relieve the pain. So I thought I'd post this tidbit as a reminder the next time I'm thinking of having surgery. Although I  COULD look at it as a minor inconvenience relative to the need for a stent, as it's gone on I've begun to worry about the long-term impact on my onanistic activity...a major dimension in my quality of life esp at this stage: when one is olde & phat and lacking in funds to hire help.

Ruby Lake

You could almost mistake it for Minnesota, but the Las Vegas smog gives it away. As at Grand Canyon, visibility is down to a mile or two rather than the tens of miles in days of yore. Ah, well.

Innumerable springs or seeps emanate from the base of the eastern slope. Deeper hued, these "tendrils" frequently terminate in ponds.

One can only imagine the billions of birds that must've soared at one time. Now, just a few feathers seen in the parking lot, dropped, no doubt, from the body of an unfortunate whilst being transferred from the bagging bag to the truck.

The signs say "HUNTING OF WATERFOWL ONLY." You look around and see the beautiful reed-edged ponds with their reflections of the gray, white-out, and no hint of ripple other than from the breeze, and wonder, "What waterfowl?"

Big Truk

Traversing the wilds of Nevada...

Thank god it's not carnivorous.

As Laurie Anderson asked,

"Que es mas macho?"

A truck? Or a hole in the ground? 

Nevada Northern Railway Museum

And there's a CAT!!

The last time I was here the regular guide was ill and the executive director, Mark Bennet, led the tour. This time I was equally lucky. John, from St. Petersburg, Florida, followed his son here and was doing carpentry on the wooden cars. He showed me through one of the better coaches that had stained glass windows and a special section for the smoking men. 

John said Kennecott closed the place in 1983. It went full-time, twenty-four-hours-a-day, around the turn of the century. When it closed, they left everything, including the engines, cars, tools, everything, where it was.

Press in the blacksmith shop

  

Angels Nest Cemetery

It wasn't until after the fact I realized there're a couple of ways in. Perusing the Garmin for a campspot, I chose the road that cut accrost from the highway. Passing the "gated community," the veterinary clinic, and finally, the cemetery, one begins to grasp the extent of the huge land-holding of Best Friends Society.

I HAD to admire the vision that must've recognized what a money-maker selling plots might be. The personal touches make it special.

 

Kanab Creek

It's the height of summer and the green against the red is spectacular! 

There's a narrow road -- mostly used by ATVs -- that goes down to the creek.

Cyrus Mejir - Best Friends Co-founder

I've been gifted with knowing a few of the world's great people. But it's always a delightful surprise when they turn up unannounced.

The lights of Raven's Heart Gallery beckoned.

Cyrus Mejir, one of the co-founders of Best Friends Animal Society, was there. 

Behind Cyrus: Ballodel Cavalo by Willamarie Hulxkamp 

He told how they started with 25 people in 1984 and now there are over 800. And, as you probably know, their reputation is world-wide.

It was Best Friends that initiated the "no-kill" shelter. Even Albuquerque, with more Walmarts per capita than any other city, has a no-kill policy and has implemented foster programs and other means of helping animals find homes.

Read the organization's history here.  

Petrified Wood & Dino Bone

Despite having been acrosst 89A innumerable times, I've only recently begun exploring the side roads. It was a lovely night and having rested all day I had some energy. But I admit, even *I* have trouble in the dark. But the temperature was perfect and the spirit of adventure was in the stars.

Using the Garmin map for choosing where to go, I discovered the first side-road was occupied. I came over the hill and saw the tent and then the vehicle. So much for that road.

The 2nd, designated as 4wd, wasn't to be found. 

After that came one I'd made note of in June when passing through. My comment was: "Looks  interesting."

It was 9:30 with no moon. When I pulled onto the shoulder at the GPS coordinates I had to get out with a headlamp to make sure there WAS a road; it was that faint. Walking it, I came to a gate which,  beyond, looked kinda rough. I made camp outside the gate, too close to the highway but, hey, it must be near 9:30... "LATE!"

This morning I ambled about and found the hills covered with petrified wood. Here and there were fragments of fossilized bone.

Vermillion Cliffs National Monument

The road needs 4wd, but it's doable. Coordinates and details in NOTES.

Flagstaff

It'd rained most of the day and tired as I was from driving I'd stayed inside and read A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle, (for the 2nd or 3rd time; senility has its advantages.). But after checking the forecast, something I RARELY do, and seeing it was supposed to continue for the next two days, I decided to move. 

Even though the word "late" hasn't any meaning in this lifestyle, by the time I got put together it was 2:30. 

Location Shot

I had a long to-do list that included extra stamps for an especially hefty birthday card, groceries, fender washers for the license plate, maybe laundry, but "late" as it was, we decided most could wait. After the post office & Safeway, we headed north. By then it was 4:30.

Coyote Killing

 

Wildlife "management."

Lethal Control

2,017 views as of 2:20 pm 9.Aug.21

I support Western Watersheds Project and Advocates for the West. Both organizations work to remove livestock from public lands in an effort to restore habitat and reestablish a vestige of the ecosystem that was here prior to the Euro incursion.

Western Watersheds Project is partnering with Predator Defense to increase awareness. 

My own experience with wolves was in the Yukon in 2010. Camped on a bluff above the Takhini  River (link is to a Youtube video) a few miles from Mendenhall Landing, for three nights running I was visited by a small pack. It was July and at that latitude the sun is only down from 2 a.m. to 4 a.m. 

The first night, right at 2:00 a.m. I heard the very different -- from coyotes -- howling. I was in a tent so couldn't see them, but they sounded close. The hair on the back of my neck came up and I experienced a primal (irrational) sense of fear. After a few minutes they apparently left as it once again was quiet.

The second night, at exactly the same time, they chorused again. This time I was intrigued. I'd thought about the previous night and was excited they'd returned. As before, they howled for a few minutes, then, once again, all was quiet.  

I found it hard to sleep while it was light and on the THIRD night was just drifting off when they burst into song. Although flattered to be the recipient of what now appeared as premeditated attention, I WANTED TO SLEEP, DAMNIT!

They never came again.

Perhaps I'm anthropomorphising, but it felt as if they were enjoying a prank. No growls, no attack, just howling. And BEAUTIFUL howling at that. Having had their fun, especially the first night, I surmised they grew bored.

From reading I gather wolves are as individual as people. Thus, I wouldn't expect ALL wolves to be as benign. But given that the folks here for thousands of years before we -- us whites -- got here were able to cohabitate at least SOMEWHAT peaceably, it seems as if the least we can do is get a vasectomy (thereby assuring space) and get the livestock off the places where there's a chance of having a large-scale zoo.

Back In the Saddle Again

 Fully restored and running like the Vintage Japanese Hummer she is.

And I? I'm still here. Together we made it into a forest a few miles east of Gallup.

Last supper with Michelle at Siam Cafe

I'm tired. But Michelle thot it a good portrait.

Camp that evening near Ft. Wingate, twelve miles east of Gallup.

Cars of Truth or Consequences

 Cruising the town I came across a restoration shop. The sign says it's a private collection.

Mayflower

It wasn't uncommon for truckers to stop, but rarely did the ride last more than a few hours. After a couple of days he offered me a job. I wasn't really interested in working, but was intrigued by learning how to pack.

As I was to discover, it wasn't something that could be taught; I absorbed it.

He was a good driver and navigated the tiny streets of Arcata, California with finesse. Over the course of two weeks I only remember loading, never unloading.

At one point he suggested he'd teach me to drive and set me up with my own truck. I didn't respond; it wasn't something I aspired to.

Used to sleeping on the ground, I'd roll out my bag next to the truck, usually on pavement. He never made an offer, not even obliquely. I appreciated that.

I was getting bored when the truck broke down. It was in a remote place and there was nothing but the shop and the nearby highway. After the second day I decided to move on. 

He'd told of how an Indian, his word, had, one night on a distant highway, stepped in front with his arms outstretched. He rolled him up under the trailer, he said. I didn't know what to say. I was only sixteen.

Now, 53 years later, this afternoon, it came to me. The Indian picked him because he knew he'd care. 

I wish I could see him again to let him know: its a skill I use every day.