Garden! Health! Books! Road trip! Working!

I really don’t have writer’s block.  I’ve written countless posts in my head!  They’re just not happening in real life.

So…  small updates:

• 

  They're even prettier in real life. I have some that are downright purple on the outside, but the interior is bright orange. Lovely!

  Garden:  It’s beautiful and flourishing, and it feels fabulous to eat my own hand-raised, organic veggies.  It is truly decreasing my need to buy vegetables from the store.  It has taken a while — more than a year — to really get GOING and productive.  And, I still have lots and lots and lots to learn… it’s one of those areas of learning where you can never know ALL there is to know.  Ever.  Interestingly, though, I don’t mind that.  Normally, I get a little cowed by problems with unending possible solutions;  I like things that I can wrap my head around.  However, I find that gardening is enjoyable even when I will never know everything there is to know.  My most recent discovery:  When the planting schedule says that you shouldn’t plant your green beans until March 15, February 20-something really IS too early, and your seeds really WILL rot in the ground when planted too soon.  Bummer.  A triumph, though:  My hubby is taking my gardening seriously.  I tend to get interested in things, and hit them hard for a few weeks or a few months, spend too much money on them, then my interest and devotion fizzles, which amounts to a lot of time and money wasted.  So, he wasn’t robustly supportive of my garden plans, initially.  Now, he TOTALLY is, probably because I’ve been faithful, instead of just excited.    And he can see the benefit.  Last garden note:  You MUST grow these carrots.  I scrub them and we eat them unpeeled.  They are gorgeous and tasty.

• Fiala’s health:  I wish I could say that she is 100% better, but I can’t.  She does continue to improve, and it is absolutely clear that her major struggle IS with a candida infection.  However, it is taking longer to clear than I had hoped.  And, she is not self-regulating.  She is happy to “steal” a banana or a jar of honey, or even pull a carrot from the garden, whenever the opportunity presents itself.  Then, the yeast in her system feeds on that sugar, and we have a setback that takes a week or two from which to recover.  So, it’s kind of like three steps forward, two-and-a-half steps back.  She still has head-to-toe “eczema” — which really isn’t eczema — and it’s worse in some places than in others.  But, she has no open, oozy wounds, and over all, her skin, disposition, and general health has improved by, oh, about 40%.  She is on oral and topical Nystatin, plus probiotics, colloidal silver, and grapefruit seed extract (in capsules).  Plus a no-sugar diet, minus the 1/3 cup or so daily of blueberries — her lone joy in food.  Actually, it’s funny, because now that we’re aware that SUGAR in food is her main problem, I’ve been letting her sample various sugar- and starch-free foods, and she just doesn’t like most of them.  So, her diet is still very, very simple, very limited.
• My own health:  I have improved SO GREATLY on a low-carb, sugar-free diet.  Not only have I lost about 15 lbs, but instead of getting neck-to-thighs hives every single night, that lasts for HOURS and to be relieved only by a double-dose of Benedryl, I’ll get a patch here, a patch there, about twice a week, and it lasts for 20-30 minutes or so.  So, I’m not 100% healed, either, but I’m getting close.
• Books:  I should really do a whole post on “Books I’m Trying to Read.”  I normally only read one book at a time, but I’m partway through about six books right now, none of which I want to put down, and for none of which I actually have TIME to read right now.  The only one I’ve actually finished has been The Confession by Charles Todd (see next bullet point).  And that took me nearly two weeks of whittling away…  The others have taken — are taking, actually — much longer.
• Road trip!  Two friends and I drove to Prescott a couple of weeks ago.  It was a treasure of an afternoon — such a pleasant drive of wonderful conversation, lunch together, then a really awesome two-hour meet-the-author presentation by Charles Todd, which is actually a mother-and-son team.  They were both present, and were such engaging speakers.  It was interesting from all angles:  as a writer, as someone interested in WWI (the setting for all their books), as a semi-Anglophile, as a fan…  I’ve read all of their books, save one.  My friends and I had lunch was at The Raven Cafe.  I had researched which places had a gluten-free menu, and when we got to Prescott, my friend Kathy said, “After lunch, I hope we have time for the best cup of coffee in Prescott.  It’s at The Raven.”  The Raven was already on my short list of g.f. lunch spots!!  It has such wonderful ambiance, and it stocks GLUTEN FREE BREAD.  With my low-carbiness, I haven’t had bread in a couple of months.  But, I broke with that for an amazing turkey melt sandwich with avocado, muenster cheese, and other good things, with a side of amazing sweet potato fries with garlic aioli.  I was in heaven.  The whole afternoon, I was in heaven.  It was perfect.  Kathy kept saying, “Is this really real?  Is this really happening?  Am I really in Prescott with two of my dear friends???”  Now, I think I need to come up with more reasons to take little drives and spend a good chunk of a day with my friends.  The whole experience is still glowing in my heart, two weeks later.
• Jobby-things:  I know a while back I said I wasn’t going to make any writing-related work, but I had already told my author-friend Marietta I’d give her most recent book my once-over.  So, I’ve been working on that.  I also co-taught a small workshop on prophetic singing, which was a complete and total joy.  I was absolutely shocked when I was handed a check for payment.  It was a little disturbing, actually.  I had to ask my pastor what he thought I should do with the money, and he said, “Keep it.  You’ve invested hours of your time and commitment learning about this, making the teaching notes, investing in the prophetic and singing.  Keep it and enjoy the fruits of your labor.”  So, I am.  Haven’t cashed it yet, though.

MoFiN and SooP

Saturday was the 17th anniversary of marriage to my dear, integrous, handsome, and highly talented husband, Martin.  We enjoyed a fabulous day trip to central Arizona, where we enjoyed wine tastings at Javelina Leap Vineyard & Winery and Page Springs Cellars.  Javelina Leap was more instructional and intimate.  Page Springs was more impressive, large, and put-together.  Page Springs had WAY more wines, but I think I enjoyed the experience at Javelina Leap better.

There are other wineries in the area, but we thought we’d better halt it at two. 

We also very much enjoyed an hour or more meandering around the Page Springs Fish Hatchery nature area walking on the close, wooded trails, and watching the birds in and around the ponds.  We saw a Black Phoebe, six or so Great Blue Herons, dozens of American Coots and American Widgeons, many Mallards, several White-Crowned Sparrows, and perhaps hundreds of Ruby-Crowned Kinglets, which were a new add to my life birding list.  We likely would have ID’ed more birds had we given it more time.

We spent the late afternoon and evening in old town Cottonwood, where there was a festival of some sort with a variety of interesting people, booths, music, art, and general funky, small-town atmosphere.  We bought some Peruvian wool yarn for my sister, who was staying with my girls, and had dinner at the Tavern Grille.

It was a great day.

On the drive home, we stopped for Starbuck’s and watched the moon rise over the bare hills of central Arizona.  Perfect.

When we got home, we discovered that my sister nearly died watching my girls.  Not really, but she was in tears.  Of course, she never let on about any of this while we were gone.    She requested that she never watch the girls again without the help of at least two of my boys.  We then sort of laughed over the apparent oxymoron of how it’s easier to care for five children than two.  Plus her own 15 month old daughter.  My sister Robin has a bad back, and she said that she realized that, most of the time she watches my children, she stays on the couch and gives orders to the older children, intervening when necessary.    Much easier than chasing around one-, three-, and five-year-olds, nonstop, for about twelve hours.  She was in pain and a little horrified how Audrey in particular took advantage of Robin’s less-than-availability, instead of sympathizing and helping more, especially in light of how Robin had carted Audrey around to all sorts of special things that day — a birthday party, a paint-your-own-pottery place, the park…

I felt badly for Robin, and badly about raising a daughter who isn’t appreciative of the good things provided for her.  I’m still sorting that out in my mind, and in a couple of conversations with my sister regarding parenting…

This provided a giggle, though:

When my sister was preparing dinner (“soop”), Audrey — who had attended a birthday party earlier that day with her own gluten-free cupcakes in hand — decided to petition Robin for a better dinner.  “Mofin?  Yes!  Soop?  NO!“  It’s a “sparkle muffin” with frosting and sprinkles (a.k.a. a cupcake).  Note the appropriately-placed smiley face and frowny face.

Overall, a good day.

Next time, I’ll definitely have mercy on my sister by leaving behind some helpers for her. 

Would you travel to a foreign land with no preparation? (An allegory of natural birth.)

Picture by Nigel Richardson

Imagine yourself:

• Landing at the airport of a foreign country, to which you’ve never been.
• Your husband is with you, but he’s never been there, either.
• Neither of you speak the language of the country.
• You have a destination that is off the beaten track;  only a very small percentage — maybe 3-4% — of tourists each year visit your chosen destination.  You’ve heard that it’s a beautiful place, well-worth seeing, but a hard journey to get there.
• You have no maps.
• You have no personal guide.
• You’re not familiar with the city at all — you don’t know the streets or even how the transportation system or even where to go for help.
• A vast majority of those around you don’t really care if you reach your destination.
• Worse, many of these strangers seem antagonistic of your efforts and seem to be sabotaging your efforts to reach your destination, and continually try to steer you to a different place.  “I don’t understand why you want to go there.  It’s not really worth it.  Why don’t you go here, instead?”

This is the picture I get in my mind of too many women who want a natural birth.  They have heard that it’s a fabulous destination.  But, they may or may not even know anyone who has reached it.  They just have the desire to go there.

Now… might the above travelers reach their destination?  Yes, they might.  If they stumble upon a kind and helpful stranger, or perhaps if they’re really hard-headed and determined and are able to stand firm in the face intense opposition.

But, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “I wanted to have a natural delivery, but…”  Then, the mother finishes story with a heartbreaking account of unintentionally poor — almost always avoidable — choices which almost always reveal a lack of adequate planning and usually non-existent support.

When you step onto a bus in a foreign land with a desire — yet no other preparation — to reach a particular destination, though you may eventually reach where you desire, it’s much more likely that you’ll end up in some other place, perhaps the exact place that you did not want to go.  You many even end up being poorly treated, leaving you with memories that make you cringe with regret for literally the rest of your life.

Now, it’s also possible that even with a thorough education, perfect planning, supportive and helpful people around you that you still may not reach your desired destination.  But, your chances of reaching that gorgeous glade of ecstatic achievement, rest, beauty, intense emotions, and alert and glorious health are MUCH, MUCH higher with good planning than without.

Though this may sound harsh and perhaps even unbelievable, especially to a first-time mom, simply a desire to birth naturally almost never translates into an actual natural birth…    You can’t just want it.  You have to educate yourself, starting with being aware that what you want is something that 95% of mothers in the United States never do.  Of the 5% or so who do birth naturally, a percentage or two of those were unintentional — usually fast labors, arriving at the hospital too late for an epidural.  In this country’s highly medicalized hospital culture, most women — and even most health professionals — don’t recognize the physical and emotional benefits — for both baby and mom — of natural birth.  It’s messy.  It’s hard.  It’s unpredictable.  It’s intense.  Emotional.  It can be draining for everyone around a naturally laboring woman, not just the mother herself.  It’s just a hard path that most people don’t choose, so a mother choosing to birth naturally MUST realize that she is completely swimming upstream, and has to prepare herself in every way, be convinced of the benefits of natural birth, and commit herself to the process.

It IS possible.  I’ve done it five times.  My own dear friend Nicole just birthed a baby yesterday evening in a hospital with even more abysmal statistics than most:  98% of laboring women (minus the planned c-sections) birth with an epidural.  However, she not only desired a natural birth;  she was determined, and planned to make it happen.  She read books.  She watched videos.  She talked to everyone she knew who had had a natural birth, gleaning insight and tucking advice away into her heart.  She hired a well-recommended doula, who was great.  Her husband was 100% on board.  She chose an OB whom she knew (through the recommendation of another naturally laboring mother) was very supportive of natural birth, and discussed her plans with him beforehand, and re-discussed them, and re-discussed them, making certain that he wasn’t going to pull a “bait and switch” — talking reassuringly, but then not supporting her efforts.  In other words, she not only had sight of the goal, she knew what she was up against, and she prepared accordingly.  And just a few hours after she arrived at the hospital, her 7 lb 11 oz son was born, 100% naturally — not induced, no meds, no interventions.  She DID IT.  Even though she ended up with a nurse who was not really supportive — which can really be an obstacle — she and those around her were prepared, and the nurse didn’t become a deterrent to the process.

So can you, anyone who is reading this.  You REALLY CAN.  You just have to prepare.  Know WHY you want to go there.  Know the lay of the land you’ll be visiting.  Read the visitor guides beforehand.  Practice at least a few key phrases.  Discuss your travel plans with those who have been there before, taking their instruction and suggestions to heart.  Consider hiring a guide.  Know the way:  know which roads to take, and which to avoid.  Limit the access you give, in your mind, and in your physical presence, to naysayers.

And then when you DO arrive, bask in it, knowing you’ve done a hard job well.

Galty Mountains, County Tipperary, photo by TJ Tierney

 

The best-kept secret of the Grand Canyon

I’m torn.

Have you ever visited somewhere so amazing, so wonderful that you want to share it with others, so they can experience your joy?  Then, you think, “But if I tell anyone, it’ll become overrun.”

Well, friends, I’m running that risk of beautiful-site-overpopulation and the risk of you thinking I’ve crossed the line into hyperbole to tell you about a place that is beauteous in the micro and in the macro.  I mean, things up close to wonder at and turn over in one’s hand, and sights to see that stretch beyond the horizon, where you feel like you are a part of eternity.

Part of why I find myself so willing to share is because my camera really isn’t that great, so you’ll probably look at the pics and think, “Hmm… looks nice,” but since the majestic splendor of the place is not quite captured in pixels, you just can’t understand how much you MUST visit here. 

First, you enter through a little drive we called The Enchanted Forest, where the aspens and firs are dense, close to the road, and hang overhead, creating a tunnel:

The Enchanted Forest

Then, you park your truck under a huge tree:

Ethan with Grandma Detta

At the edge of the field, where the trees are, evidence of campers abound…  GOOD campers.  Campers who are appropriately in awe, and don’t wreck the place.  Campers who have not — bless God — come out to this lonely and beautiful spot to swill beer and break their glass bottles on the rocks, but campers who make a fire ring out of boulders, leave firewood for the next family who comes along, and pack out every scrap of trash.  I guess this would be due to the fact that if you come out here, it’s not to fish.  It’s not really to hike, even (though hikers tend to be tidier campers than beer-swilling fishermen).  It’s just to be gather in the sights grander than one’s eye can behold, breathing deep the breath of God.  And possibly to collect fossils.  (More on that in a bit.)

We haven’t camped there.  I must admit, I’m partial to water.  I mean, a water spigot from which one can get the essential liquid for washing dishes and dirty hands.  I’m OK with pit toilets, and I can do without a shower, but I really need water.  We’ve never camped anywhere without water, but we’re sure considering it, now.

After the truck is parked, you race to the edge of the pebble-strewn, high-altitude Indian Paintbrush colored field, and look out.  The Grand Canyon is grand.  It’s close by to this spot, and it is beyond beautiful.  But no where else did the breath catch in my throat and tears spring to my eyes.  It’s just that beautiful.

To the north, miles away and far below you, you see the Vermilion Cliffs National Monument and the Paria Canyon Wilderness.

The day was a little misty, sprinkled with showers, which made it a bit hazy (and made us appreciate our jackets).  In real life, though, the cliffs are a striking shade of deep orange-red.

To the northeast, divided from the Vermilion Cliffs by the Colorado River and Marble Canyon, lie the Echo Cliffs, almost matching the Vermilions in splendor.  Due east is actually the Grand Canyon, which makes a jog to the north, turning from the East Rim up through Marble Canyon.  Below this point — which, by the way, is called Marble Viewpoint — between you and the canyon, lies House Rock Valley and House Rock Wildlife Area.  It’s cut by only a very few dirt tracks…  Most of the scenery appears pristine clean, remote, gorgeous.

Grant is there, in the middle, dwarfed by the grandeur

That is the Grand Canyon in the background... where it's (comparatively) smaller. Martin and Audrey kneel on the right.

It’s difficult to explain Marble Viewpoint.  It just out to the north, a narrow finger of land, perhaps a couple of hundred yards wide and an eighth mile?  quarter mile? long.  Along the edges are dropoffs of a couple thousand feet, leading down from the Kaibab Plateau.

To get the scale of it, somewhat, that’s my 9-year-old son, Wesley, one arm raised, in the middle of this picture:

Here, my 11-year-old and mother-in-law venture out with an umbrella (which was quickly abandoned):

The view due east:

Of all the places we roamed in our camping trip, Marble Overlook was by far the favorite of our dog, Tally.  She ran and ran and ran, joy in her step and excitement in her eyes.

Grandma Detta, Ethan, and Tally

Run, Tally, run!

I was delighting in the flowers — penstemon and Indian paintbrush of unknown varieties…

Penstemon

Indian paintbrush and some sort of scrubby grass and all variety of small plants carpet the floor of the overlook.

When I looked down and exclaimed, “Hey!  That’s a fossil!”  Suddenly, we were all hunched over or on our knees, or sitting and sifting through pebbles.  Fossils were EVERYWHERE!

And… since were in the Kaibab National Forest, and not within the boundaries of the Grand Canyon National Park, I already knew the rules:  One may take specimens home — including minerals — for one’s own enjoyment, but may not sell them.  So, we took samples.    And you may not buy any from me.

Me 'n' my mountain man

We capped off the trip with a photo of everyone in the waning light.

If you go, enjoy it.  Keep it clean.    And take lots of pictures for me.

To find Marble Overlook:  Take Arizona 67 south from Jacob Lake.  Just south of the Kaibab Lodge and General Store, take forest road 610 east.  Continue on 610, following the signs for Marble Viewpoint.  Travel for… ten miles or so until you reach the turnoff for forest road 219, which will be on your left, leading north.  The number of the road is signed, but there is no additional sign that tells you that this is the way to Marble Viewpoint.  Continue on 219 about four miles.  Towards the end, there will be an area on the left/west that even has a sign proclaiming “Marble Viewpoint”.  DO NOT BE FOOLED.  This is not the true viewpoint.  To reach the viewpoint, continue to travel north about 1/4 mile to the north (through the above-pictured “Enchanted Forest”) until the road ends at the true Marble Viewpoint.

(By the way, for long-time readers, if this sounds familiar, I blogged about a similar adventure in June 2007, when I visited the viewpoint with my mom and children.  Unfortunately, I was swayed by the sign, and we stayed almost the entire time at the not-really-a-viewpoint, and didn’t see the actual viewpoint until it was almost dark.)

Fire Point (including my fave pic of all the vacation)

In our ten days in the vicinity of the Grand Canyon, we spent less than half the time on the grounds of the National Park, proper.  The rest of the time, we toodled around on the roads north of the park, often right up to the rim, but actually in the Kaibab National Forest.  I learned a couple of things:

• It is really helpful to have a resident with you.  Since my mother-in-law works at the Kaibab Lodge, she had a resident pass.  No $25 fee to enter the GCNP!
• Surprisingly, the National Forest system maintains its dirt roads a LOT — I mean a LOT!! — better than the National Park system.  The paved roads in the GCNP (like to the lodge itself, and the paved roads out to Cape Royal and Point Imperial, etc.) were fine.  But, the minute your vehicle’s tires touch dirt that is part of the park, it’ll be a bumpy ride.  The dirt roads of the National Forest are regularly graded, graveled, cleared of debris, etc.  I found the contrast interesting.  Seems like the National Forest and the National Park systems could come up with some sort of agreement to maintain roads together.

On Saturday, July 2nd, our last viewpoint for the day was called Fire Point.  We took the forest road 223 west, and about a half mile from the end, one actually enters the property of the Grand Canyon National Park.  So, we went from smooth sailing to a pot-holed, ill-maintained ride.  It was worth it, though.  Fire Point is supposed to be one of the best places to see a sunset.  Unlike some of the other viewpoints, Fire Point isn’t actually a peninsula jutting out like a thumb of land into the Canyon.  It’s just a west-facing point that looks out over where the Colorado River takes a curve so that it’s going from north to south.  Because the orientation of the land, it’s a great place to see the sun set as it drops over the Canyon.  Since the day was cloudless, the sunset wasn’t spectacular, but it was still very worth seeing…  It’s just that on subsequent partially cloudy evenings, when the sky was lit up in pinks, purples, and golds, I kept thinking, “This would be amazing out at Fire Point.”  Makes me wanna go back. 

 

Going...

Going...

Going...

Gone!

My fave pic. Audrey and Wesley. I love the love and comradery in this pic, with the setting sun adding a soft glow... Wes and Audrey watch the sunset together, sitting on a little ledge/outcrop by themselves. I rather had vision of all of the fam watching the sun go down, together, but the two of them were so enjoying each other's company that I couldn't call them over to where the rest of us were.

 

 

Camping at the North Rim (and NOT California)

I have so much to post about, I feel a wee bit overwhelmed.  I’m the sort who likes to do it right or not do it at all, and that, frankly, is not an entirely helpful outlook on life, because too many times, I assess a situation, big or small, and predetermine that I won’t be able to do it right or well, or excel in it, so I don’t even start.  How this affects blogging is that I know that, in the past, I’ve posted part one of what is supposed to be a fabulous series, and then it ends with part one;  I just never get back to the rest of it.  So, here I’m faced with a mass amount of information and pictures I want to share, knowing I can’t do it all in one sitting, but unsure of my ability/availability to do a proper series.

~sigh~

Thus ends the Therapy and Disclaimers Section of this blog post.

On to the real thing, which is hopefully part one of several.

We just got back from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, where we camped at the De Motte Campground on USFS land, just north of the North Rim, for nine nights.  That wasn’t quite our initial plan;  we were going to go to Limekiln State Park in the Big Sur area of California’s Central Coast, as well.  But, we had truck trouble.  It turned out to be REALLY minor, but at the time, we weren’t sure what was going on with our vehicle, and didn’t want to risk driving across the Mojave Desert with an unreliable vehicle.

On Saturday, July 2nd, we took the beautiful but arduous drive to Point Sublime — an 18 mile trip that took a full two hours to drive, due to the really rough roads.  It was gorgeous.  But, on the way back, the truck kept losing power…  With a lot of help from a Samaritan camper named Don from Kamloops, British Columbia, and a number of the employees of the Kaibab Lodge, my husband Martin narrowed the problem down to the catalytic converter.  The frustrating part with that was that we had JUST gotten that part replaced before our trip.  All the advisers suggested that Martin beat the bejeebers out of the catalytic converter with a rubber mallet in order to break up the honeycomb material inside, so that the exhaust would pass through unhindered — essentially rendering it useless as a filtering system but theoretically enabling us to drive.  Well, as he pounded, Martin heard a “ting! ting! ting!” and it turned out that a little plug, which had been spot-welded in place, had come loose.  This plug took the place of where a second sensor would be, if we had a larger vehicle.  In other words, it was a completely vestigial part of the truck.  But, because it was loose, the engine wouldn’t work.  Martin borrowed an Allen wrench (metric!  Since when are domestic vehicles using metric sizing??) and tightened up the plug.  Because of Sunday (when small towns are shut down) and Monday (the 4th of July), we had to wait until Tuesday to drive into Kanab, Utah, which was a 67-mile jaunt to the closest reliable vehicle repair shop.  They ran a diagnostic, discovered that our catalytic converter was working admirably (despite the beating it had undergone), but that, indeed, the plug needed attention.  They spent about two minutes welding it back into place, and sent us on our merry way.

Thus ends the Car Trouble Section of this post.

We plan on going to Limekiln next summer, and staying longer, to make up for my disappointment.  I’m mostly OK with the deferment, but trying to explain “next summer” to a 5 year-old girl doesn’t work;  you may as well tell her she’s going to have to wait until she’s 70.  Still, everyone handled the hiccup in our plans mostly with grace.

My mother-in-law works at the Kaibab Lodge, which is in the Kaibab National Forest, directly adjacent to the De Motte Campground, so we got to spend LOTS of time with her, which was wonderful.  Plus, the kids got to stay overnight in her RV many nights, instead of our tent, which was enjoyed by grandma and grandkids alike.

Most of the places we went were off of back roads.  The North Rim, due to its remote access, has only 1/10 of the number of people who visit the South Rim.  Due to our hermit-like natures (Not really.  Well, not entirely.), we decided to hit all the dirt roads and byways…  Most spots we visited had only one or two other vehicles present, if any.  Armed with a stupid-expensive Kaibab Forest map and 4WD, in one day, we visited Parissawampitts Point, Crazy Jug Point, North Timp Point, Timp Point, Locust Point, and ended the day with a sunset over Fire Point.  All that, and we didn’t feel rushed, and didn’t feel that we had had quite enough of the Canyon.  It’s so majestic, so splendid, so… grand… that each new view affords something dynamic and beautiful in a unique way.  Each spot, except for Fire Point, requires a wee bit of hiking — from a couple of hundred feet, to a quarter mile or so.

My faves were Crazy Jug and Fire Point.

In each pic, even if it appears that my children are about to topple off of the edge, and you’re questioning my motherhood responsibility, please know that all (or almost all) of the point overlooks have multiple “layers”, so if anyone would have dropped over the edge, they would have fallen only three feet, or perhaps five.  I didn’t let anyone get too close to anything that would have led to their death.    Still, these backroads views are WAY better than the ones available off of the paved roads, with possible exception of Point Imperial.

Still, my favorite part of the whole trip was not actually at the Grand Canyon proper.  More on that later.  I hope.

Audrey, delighting in the abundance of Sego Lilies. And, since we were in the Kaibab Forest here, and not actually in Grand Canyon National Park, it was not illegal to pick them. So there. Pick away, Audrey!! Our picnic table was continually graced with Sego Lilies, Indian Paintbrush, various daisy-type flowers on unknown variety, lupines... Lovely.

 

Ethan, contemplating the vast view from Crazy Jug viewpoint.

 

Ethan, Grandma Detta, Audrey, and Grant at Crazy Jug

Fiala and me at Crazy Jug Point.

My handsome hubby and his mom, at Crazy Jug.

The view from... either Timp Point or North Timp Point. When you're there, you think you're never forget where *this* view was taken... but when one is faced with 430 pics from a camping trip, the certainty is reduced to pretty much nothing.

Sweet Fi at Timp Point

Audrey, at Locust Point (I think). You may be wishing for more scenic pics and fewer of my children. But, a) I think my kids are darling, and b) my camera isn't of such magnificent quality to catch the depth, beauty, and color of the Canyon, and c) the days were just a tad hazy, so all the long view shots are a bit disappointing.

Ethan, contemplative again, at Locust Point. It's the hat. His hat led to a lot of rear-view "Contemplative Young Man" shots.

Many of the trails at the various points were similar to this: Brushy and flower-strewn, which then opened up to a grand view. There's such a variety of flora at the North Rim -- It's high in elevation (around 8,000 feet), with a fair bit of rain, so much of it is alpine -- with aspens and fir, but some of the points are so windy and exposed, and the soil is so poor, the landscape and plants are more desert-like. Quite amazing.

This shot was Ethan's idea. Again with the hat. In shadow.

Martin, holding Audrey, looking off into the hazy beauty. We found out later that the wisp of smoke we saw to the left of us (the east) in this picture developed into a full-blown fire. Last I heard, it was "only" 12 acres... Hope they got that under control...

And that’s it, for now.  Out of time.  Hope you enjoyed.    Next up:  Sunset at Fire Point.

 

Housework! Summer soup! Beef jerky! Computer viruses!

• Fourteen upper cabinets.  Twelve lowers.  Fifteen drawers.  All cleaned, inside and out, sorted and re-organized.  Plus, as they don’t go all the way to the kitchen ceiling, the tops are cleaned off, as well as all the decorative items that reside up there.  ~sigh~  That is a sigh of exhaustion.  And relief.  In our nearly six years of living here, I have never done all of the kitchen cabinets in one fell swoop.  It had been nagging at the back of my brain daily, each time I took something out of a cabinet and saw an accumulation of crumbs, dust, and/or greasy grime.  Note:  Gel Gloss looks fabulous for about ten minutes, but then that gleaming shine washes off super-easily with soap and water!  Not great for quartz countertops in a kitchen that gets regular abuse use.  Bummer.  Anyone have a favorite stone countertop product they love??
• Have you ever tried my Thai Chicken Noodle Soup?  I just updated the recipe.  I can’t believe it’s been almost four years since I originally posted the recipe.   The soup –  more of a meal-in-a-bowl than an actual soup — is a staple in our home, even in summer.  Lots of fresh veggies, tasty and fun.  Mmmm…
• I turned seven pounds of London Broil into beef jerky the other day.  Smoky-garlic and soy-garlic.  It’s in preparation for our vacation.  Jerky comes in handy for snacks and meals-while-driving, as well as made into various recipes (which I learned from this fabulous cookbook for hikers/campers — it’s a shame it’s out of print!  One review says “Invaluable!  Wore out library copy — had to buy my own.”  That is exactly what I did!!)…  Anyway.  What wasn’t fit for jerky got put into a pot of what was supposed to be red chile stew.  Which it was, sort of.  But, I got enticed by a Really Big package of dried chile de arbol at the grocery store last week, and thought, “Oooh, those are the chiles in Cholula [my fave hot sauce],” and I bought it, really knowing nothing about them.  Well, it turns out they are REALLY HOT.  I removed the stems, seeds, and… pith (or whatever it’s called), and my hands burned for hours, even though I think I only used five chiles.  Also, the broth was SO HOT that I had to scoop out all the beef chunks and — sadly — drain the broth, which seemed like such a waste, but I knew if I kept it as it was, it would be inedible for my kids.  I added water to cover the remaining beef (to which some crushed chile still clung), added a chopped onion, sea salt, and about eight cloves of chopped garlic.  After it had simmered for nearly three hours, I thickened the cooked-down broth with some corn starch, and served it with some Spanish rice (which I had made earlier in the week) and some refried beans (from Trader Joe’s — my favorite).  It was good.  Still, lesson learned:  very judicious use of chile de arbol in the future.
• My computer contracted a nasty virus, somehow, a few weeks ago.  It died.  Actually, it would power up, but Windows wouldn’t start.  The virus was called Windows Repair Module, which — obviously — was a fake.  How insidious.  I kept getting warnings from Windows, and it turns out that each time I clicked the “OK” button, I was unknowingly activating the .exe file associated with various aspects of the virus.  A friend of my husband’s took my hard drive home with him and worked on it every night for four nights.  He was able to pull most of my documents and pictures (THANK GOD!  I cried when I thought they were unretrievable), and save them to an external hard drive.  Then, he reformatted my hard drive.  Now, I just have to load a bunch of software that got wiped out… but that’s OK.  I then thanked my oldest son, Ethan, who will be 14 later this week.  Why?  Because “…with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”  Ethan worked a hot and hard day at the home of a friend, laying tile and cleaning…  and with that measure of service and giving, it was returned to us, in the form of a repaired computer.
• If you’re still reading… today is my birthday.  I am 38.    The only thing I really love about growing older is the history, the perspective that it brings to my life.  I freak out less, because I can say, “Look.  We had that really rough patch five years ago, and God brought us through.”  When I was younger, everything was new and untested, and every challenge threatened to topple me.  Now, I’ve had years of tasting God’s goodness, and seeing His faithfulness first-hand.  To me, that’s a really, really valuable birthday present.

Wistful: Children’s books vs. Reality

Sometimes, I wonder what God has in mind for me, since He gave me a heart to love the things I do, which are in mighty short supply in the desert:  water, flora, and fauna.

There is life here in the Sonoran Desert.  There are animals, a few.  And there are plants, hardy and prickly though they may be.  But there sure isn’t much water.

I’ve always longed for greener pastures, literally.

But, God gave me a husband who is a native of this hot, dry, brown Valley of the Sun, and I’ve adjusted my expectations of what might be lying just around the corner, waiting for me.

Acadia National Park is not.  Nor the Oregon coast.  Not even the Mississippi bluff area of western Illinois, where my maternal grandparents had their farm, and — which I recently heard with a yelp of joy — which my Uncle Allyn is farming a bit of, again, with his recovering health.

There are days as I look out at the landscape of 100+ days of 100°+  when I am tempted to despair, and my heart just longs for cooler, greener climes.

So, I pull out a picture book and read to one of my little girls.

Today, my oldest nephew’s girlfriend and I were having a mostly-joking Facebook conversation about her moving (or the two of us taking a road trip) to Maine.  She was up for just about anywhere on the upper reaches of the northeastern United States, but I steered her to Maine.

In this Caldecott Honor book, three- or four-year-old Sal picks blueberries with her mother and gets "all mixed up" with a mother bear and cub eating blueberries of their own.

In my possession, since before any of my children could read, have been three hardcovers, each of which I have loved since my own childhood.  Blueberries for Sal, One Morning in Maine, and Time of Wonder, each written and illustrated by Robert McCloskey.  I freely admit that I can never refuse a sturdy two-year-old toddling with binky inserted, trailing her blankie, barely grasping a picture book, half her size, who pipes up with the hopeful query, “Mowneen i’ Maine??”

For those of you unfamiliar, please check out the books from your local library, or buy them.  Now.  Please.

Also a Caldecott Honor. In which 6yo Sal wishes upon a feather (instead of her first lost tooth, which fell into the muddy pebbles, digging clams with her father) and travels to quaint Buck's Harbor for groceries and the wish-fulfilling cone with her 2yo sister, Jane, and their father.

The books show the progression of the author’s family in the 1950s (when they were written) which spent summers in Maine.  They have beautiful illustrations and apt prose, which shows exactly how adept McCloskey was at thinking with a child’s mind, and seeing with a child’s eyes.

After the Facebook conversation, I read Time of Wonder to Fiala, before her nap.  Looked at the pictures, more than actually read, as Time of Wonder, the Caldecott Medal winner for 1957,  is told in second person, and has a more “grown up” prose than the first two books about Sal and Jane.  It shows both girls, aged about 12 and 8, “manning” their own rowboat and small sailboat (sans life jackets), jumping from rocks along the cove with a bevvy of other children, and weathering a hurricane with their parents, partly by sing-shouting The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

The book mentions several specific place names, which — as I have done on several other occasions — I Googled, to find their location on a map, and pictures as lovely as the illustrations in the book.  And — yet again — I longed for a visit to Acadia National Park, which is in the same exact area as the setting for the trio of McCloskey books.  This time, I found myself especially taken with the sites at Duck Harbor Campground on the minuscule Isle au Hait, described as rugged, remote, inaccessible to automobiles, primitive…  combined with 18 miles of hiking trails, it seems like my kind of place, exactly.  McCloskey’s, too. 

Out of curiosity, as I read

…through the fog you hear Harry Smith over at Blastow’s Cove start the engine of his lobster boat and go out to pull his traps.

I wondered if Harry Smith was a real man.  He was.  I found myself sad to read that one Harry Smith, of Little Deer Island, Maine, was buried in the Blastow’s Cove Cemetery in 1957.  It must have been not long after Time of Wonder was published.

Otter Cliff, Acadia NP

I found myself also remembering the incomparable Calico Bush, whose author, Rachel Field, often wrote poetry, apparent in her Newbery Honor prose.  Calico Bush is set off of the coast of Mount Desert Island, which is home to most of Acadia National Park.

Wait.

Suddenly, this sounds very familiar.

[I do a little search on my own blog and come up with THIS POST from February of 2010.]

Sigh.

My memory is short, but at least I’m consistent, eh?

Dorr Mountain Trail, Acadia NP

I guess my point of this point — similar to the last one on the very same subject — is how I just don’t know how to sort all of these thoughts.  I mean, I know that allowing myself to indulge in discontentment is dangerous.  Letting it sit and percolate in my mind is unwise;  I can easily become really unhappy about just about anything, any situation, and anyone in my life if I allow myself to go there.  So, I don’t.  I don’t live in Maine, and can’t conceive of anything that would lead us to Maine, and I think it would 100% be a fruitless and frustrating endeavor to try to figure out how we could or why we don’t have a summer house on a private island in Maine, like McCloskey’s family did.

Precipice Trail, Acadia NP

But, on the other hand… my Father God created me with a love for that particular kind of beauty, and a wistful longing for that sort of slowed-down, simple life, living in community, surrounded with an achingly beautiful piece of His creation.  Did He do that for nothing?  I mean, did He make my heart to love that so, for no purpose, or just to teach me the Godly discipline of not allowing myself to become frustrated and discontented?  Possibly, but I don’t think so.  I hope not.

Last year about this time, I was dreaming of taking a trip there, someday soon, paid for by the thousands of dollars I’d make, writing.  I have made some, but, golly!  In order to MAKE money writing, you have to have the TIME to devote to it, and fit into someone else’s agenda.  That part was less successful.  I’ve had a few other offers for employment in writing, but it’s just not fair to any perspective client to hire me, then to have me perpetually be unavailable, even if that makes any Maine trip tarry.

My hubby works with a guy, though, who has a house in Maine…  Hmm…  Maybe I should find out where, exactly, that house is…  Thinking, thinking…  I don’t think my hubby would consider that appropriate.  I’m sure he’s right.

One way, though, or another…  but it has to be the right way, in the right time.  I *KNOW* that;  it’s just hard to adjust my thoughts on the matter, especially as these visions dance in my head.

Sigh.

Things I thought I’d be able to do while my husband was in Northern Ireland for a week

Things I thought I’d be able to do while my husband was in Northern Ireland for a week*:

1. Read a lot:  Finish the book I’m working on, plus read the next one in the series.
2. Blog more.  Maybe every day!
3. Color my hair.
4. Clean the whole house.
5. Take my kids out for the day to the river.

Things I actually got done:

1. Color my hair.
2. Take my kids (plus one friend) out for the day to the river.

I don’t know why I thought I would have so much free time on my hands.  It totally didn’t work out like that.  Most nights found me collapsing somewhere at 9:30 or 10, too tired to even think enough to read.  But, I couldn’t sleep.  Most nights, I was up until 1 or 2 a.m., just tossing restlessly, or trying to read.  The whole week my husband was gone, I read a grand total of about 20 pages in my current book.  I blogged once.  I barely got the house straightened up for him, and didn’t deep clean anything.  We were doing school the whole time, and I still had other responsibilities — like leading worship in small group on Thursday night and in SuperChurch on Sunday morning — and we did spend an entire day at the river, so it wasn’t like I was sitting around doing nothing.  But, still.  Looking back, I’m not sure where I expected to find the time to do all the stuff that I thought I could do.

The whole time that he was gone, I wasn’t really tired, even though I was existing on 5-6 hours of sleep per night.  He’s been home two nights, and I’ve gotten 7-8 hours of sleep each night and am now EXHAUSTED.  I’m so tired.  I think it was that when he was gone, mentally, I just knew that the buck stopped with me, since my hubby was out of the country, and I had to be on my game.  Now that he’s home, I think I’m breathing such an internal sigh of relief that my body just wants to go hibernate.

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*He was leading worship for several meetings/seminars/church services/etc.  He rocked.

Braces, blogging about teen children, writing, reading, worship, and the Arizona “beach”

• My oldest, Ethan, just had a lunch that consisted of refried beans with cheese melted on them, and a glass of milk.  What the rest of us were eating (which included, among other things, baby carrots) didn’t work.  Duh.  I’ll have to get used to considering the Sore Mouth Factor when figuring out meals for him/us.  He got bands placed between his molars this morning, in preparation for the first of his braces, which will be put on in about two weeks.
• Speaking of Ethan…  A few years ago, I was wondering why I wasn’t getting more great parenting stories, ideas, and tips from those of my bloggy friends who have children a few years older than mine.  “Why isn’t anyone writing about those tumultuous teen years??“  Well, I figured it out.  At nearly 14, my son is now a… sentient being.  The smaller a child is, the more freely you can talk about personal issues:  An 18 month old isn’t going to get her feelings hurt that you divulged mothering struggles to your friends.  (Or strangers, as the case may be, in a blog.)  Your 13 year old?  Definitely.  So, I’ve learned that I can say virtually nothing about my son online, because I want to honor his privacy.  He’s wonderful, but you’ll just have to take my word for it. 
• And, where have I been the last month or so?  Working hard on ghostwriting.  More info on that, coming soon. 
• In my head, I keep composing a post on how vastly different I look with makeup vs. without it, and various thoughts on painting the barn when it needs painting.  Maybe I’ll get around to it some day…
• I’ve been reading a lot!  Lately, I’ve been working through Laurie R. King’s Mary Russell series, which is a curious mixture of historical fiction, literary mystery, Biblical scholarship, and feminism.  Very interesting.  When reading any series, I simply must go chronologically, so I’m on the 5th book in the series currently, O Jerusalem.
• I have a job!  I mean, I’m re-employed!  Or, something…  I’m happy that, this week, I start leading small group worship again.  There was some shifting in small groups, and I was out of a “job” for about six or seven weeks.  It felt like a long time, but it was good to go to a small group and “just” be a participant.
• Homeschooling 101:  You can take trips on a school day to just about anywhere and call it a field trip.    I took my kids last Friday to the Santa Maria River.  My mother-in-law came with, which was great;  she’s a perfect road-trip partner.  The kids did so well for the eight hours we were gone, other than the first three miles of the trip.  After listening to about five minutes of continuous bickering, I risked my MIL’s esteem by pulling over to the side of the road to chew everyone out.  Chewing out the kids, that is.  Not her.  On the way out*, we took a scenic route, partially by (well-maintained) dirt road, which is probably my favorite or second-favorite Arizona drive**.  On the way back, we took all blacktops, which took two hours and saved us 30 minutes, even though, mileage-wise, it was slightly longer.  The river is NW of Wickenburg, and when there’s adequate water, it’s about as close as we get to the beach, here in Arizona.  The water does not run all the time, so I get USGS alerts for when the water is 10 cubic feet per second or greater.  The pics below were when the water was at about 60 cfps.  We played in an area just where the AZ 96 (my fave road in all of AZ) crosses the river, about 15 miles SE of Bagdad.  The temps were in the high 70s, with a strong sun and cool breezes.  It was perfect.

I have some better pics, too, but everything I post here needs to be 100% modest and fully-clad, so those are a no-go for the blogosphere. 

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*The route we took OUT was Carefree Hwy (AZ 74) west to US 60.  US 60 northwest for only six miles to the point where it meets up with the US 93.  US 93 NW to AZ 89.  AZ 89 north-ish to Date Creek Road, which is 20+ miles of scenic and hilly dirt road.  Then, AZ 96 west to the point where it crosses the Santa Maria.  The route we took BACK was AZ 96 about 10 miles further west (bypassing, incidentally, my beloved Santa Maria River road, another extremely scenic dirt drive, because I was outvoted by my children).  Then, traveled SW sixteen miles on two-lane hilly, beautiful, remote blacktop of the AZ 97.  Then, SE on the US 93, which meets back up with the US 60, then back home.

**My all-time favorite Arizona drive is likely the long, ∩-shaped drive to get to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, which follows the high desert and Navajo Reservation along the US 89 and US 89A (at the point north of where it intersects with the US 160), along the stunning Echo Cliffs and Vermilion Cliffs, then climbs rapidly up to the Kaibab Plateau and the AZ 69, which goes south along verdant, alpine meadow lush with wildlife (deer and bison).  Unparalleled, and remote enough to be sparsely populated, which is just how I like it.