I’m a Stumpy.

I know what you’re thinking. “Well, Jeff you are excessively short and somewhat stocky. Tell us something we don’t know!” 

Guilty as charged.

Sure I’m that, but I’m referring to being a graduate of the College of Environmental Sciences and Forestry at Syracuse University. Our NY State University Forestry School occupied a tiny niche on the massive Syracuse University campus. Those rich kids at SU referred to us as “Stumpies.” We couldn’t do much about the name calling since there were too many of them and not many of us. 

The Forestry School was a mish-mash of styles, personalities  and educational opportunities. Students could earn a degree to Forest Engineering, Forest Zoology, Landscape Architecture, Paper Science and Resources Management. I received a BS in Resources Management which was the generic Forestry degree for those who would rather drink beer, cut classes and go to concerts than spend time studying. (I’m smarter now than I was then.) However, this doesn’t mean I don’t care about Environmental Sciences and Forestry. I do! I’m a self proclaimed tree hugger. In fact, I went so far as to have a mural of a deciduous tree painted on my dormitory wall. (BTW. The last name of the artist was Forrester. We are still friends on Facebook.)

Fast forward past graduation and my first haircut in four years. In 1978 that degree in Forestry was my one-way ticket out West. The reason? I found employment with the US Forest Service. 

OK, by now you’re getting my point. I love trees and the places they grow and not grow. In other words open Public Spaces! 

In December of 2019, the San Juan Mountain Association newsletter contained a blurb concerning the local US Forest Service District’s program for “gifting” seedlings. Interested parties (like me) could buy a potentially fully grown tree at $2/seedling. Gretchen the Forester would then send the lucky recipients a certificate stating so many seedlings would be planted in their honor. I sort of went wild and gifted seedlings for a green future to my nephew’s children and a multitude of my friends birthdays. I even bought seedlings for an avid birder. I told her, the trees would provide future flocks with a place to roost. 

BUT! This touchy feel good moment wasn’t done yet. Gretchen informed me, I could volunteer to plant them in April 2020. Then along came Covid and like everything else the event was cancelled. That’s the bad news. The good news was the planting event was rescheduled in commemoration of Earth Day 2021. I signed on right away.

It was a chilly, dreary morning when dozens of forester wannabes ascended to the Hermosa Creek campground. Our goal was to stick 900 Ponderosa Pine and Douglas Fir seedlings into the ground. The site chosen was at the infamous 416 Fire of 2018. I used the term infamous because most likely a Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge train ignited the 54,000 acre flaming mess with an errant coal spark. The D&SNG denied culpability. The US Forest Service thought otherwise. The Feds are seeking 25 million in damages.The lawsuit is still moseying through the courts. 

Enough fire history, back to planting. 

Event Coordinator Amanda from Mountain Studies Institute thanked us all for being there. She made introductions and laid out the very reasonable ground rules. Gretchen the Forester was on hand for a quick teach in planting seedlings. It involved a menacing looking tool called a hoedad. 

With little fanfare we grabbed a satchel of seedlings and a heavy hoedad. Up the trail we went fanning out over the burnt out matchstick forest. I chose to work alone. I wanted to spend some quiet quality time with my green children before abandoning them to the elements. With each planting I made the sign of the Star of David over the little one. Then for good measure I added “Live Long and Prosper.” 

With each hole I dug, I thought about the people I bought these seedlings for.

I also thought how my final remains (placed on Handies Peak) will have scattered in all cardinal directions before this seedling achieved cordwood size. I’m OK with that. 

After all 900 seedlings were in their new homes, the volunteers and staff scattered too.

A few hours later Amanda reached out to all.

“Thanks for all your hard work and for braving the weather! We really got lucky that it didn’t snow on us very much and there was practically no wind! The storm really dumped almost immediately after we got out of there, watering all of our little trees! 

Sincerely thank you for being a part of this truly awesome community event!”

Plant a tree. It’s good for your soul.

Cheers!

Jeff

It’s time for....

Covid Confessions!

I’ve blogged about the Pandemic Crisis since it’s inception. I never called it the Chinese Virus, or pretend it just wasn’t there. As usual I was excessively honest. There weren’t many Polly Anna posts.

Collectively I’ve named these musings my Covid Chronicles. I’d like to think a few were poignant, some sad and one or two were funny. I went out of my way to tell it like it is. When I wrote about my feelings of isolation, loneliness and spasms of depression, some concerned readers asked me, “Are you OK?” My answer was the same, “I’m hanging in there. I’m just writing what so many others are thinking. This sucks.” 

Recently, the New York Times reached out to its readers for their accounts of this universal malaise. The one’s  I read were also poignant, sad and funny. For instance: the young man who stared at a wall for over an hour before blinking himself back to the here and now. 

The New York Times provided me with an idea. Why not ask folks what’s on their post-pandemic bucket list? In other words, what’s one of the first things you will do when the Scientist Eggheads tell the World it’s safe to come outside and play? (Without a mask!)

I’ll start this off with a couple of my planned events:

A) To be sitting inside a bar while taking in a MLB post season game. I’d be jawing with strangers whom the only commonality we share is our mutual love of America’s Pastime. There will be a lot of story-telling and good natured ribbing. 

B) Attending an outdoor Brew Fest or concert where I’d settle in on the outskirts of the action. This is my preferred position of comfort for someone like me who isn’t into crowds, yet loves to People Watch.

C) The long awaited hugs from friends and acquaintances whom I haven’t touched in over a year. 

All the above are my wishful thinking dreams. The US and the World still have a long way to go before achieving Herd Immunity. As of this posting, 21% of America’s population are fully inoculated. 34% have one jab onboard. 

Yet, there is a looming wall of vaccine hesitancy (a pleasant way of saying anti-vaxxers)  on our horizon. Of course, the division lines run along political and racial issues. (Doesn’t everything these days?). A significant percentage of Republicans state they will not get the vaccine. The numbers range from 40%-50%  based on the polls. Many Blacks and Latinos aren’t  excited about boarding the vaccine train either. Their issues might be based on mistrust of White Folks. (Who can blame them?)

Personally, I believe it’s an established fact germs and viruses cause a world of hurt for humanity. Vaccines and antibiotics provide a tool to combat these ills. However, I’m aware the US is now a country of contrarians. Therefore I won’t bother to change anyone’s minds. Only time and Darwinism will prove who is right and who is wrong.

BTW. I received my second dose of Moderna on March 30th. I feel fine and relieved. I now stand a better chance of not transmitting or contracting the nasty

So back to the audience participation part of this post! Please write to the most unholy Rabbi Sambini what your post pandemic desires are. I’ll collect them and create another blog with your thoughts. All participants will remain anonymous. If you’d like, include a photo. There’s no need for the pix to be a selfie either. 

For those folks who really know me, text your thoughts.

For others, post a comment at the end of this blog.

Finally if all else fails, contact me at: 

Jeffsambur@gmail.com

(I promise not to try to make you an Amway distributor) 

You’ve been hearing from me for a long time. I’d like to hear from you.

Stay safe, sane and healthy,

I’m so looking forward to a few hugs.

Cheers,

Jeff

FYI. Here was my most popular Covid post. Probably because so many folks could relate to what I was saying.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/12/whats-your-covid-number.html

The Coldest Campout in the World!

Would be the way I’d describe my latest four night trip to Canyonlands National Park. I’m aware my lead in for this blog might be a wee bit kosher Blarney (but just a bisel). 

The reason I know its Fake News is because I’ve read about the coldest, most miserable, hardcore campout in the world. Ever. The memoir was appropriately named “The Worst Journey in the World.” It was written in 1922 by Apsley Cherry-Garrard. (I wish I had a pen name like that.) His journey was a side note to Robert Falcon Scott’s ill-fated race to the South Pole. (BTW Scott and four others lost the race and their lives.)

 Mr. C-G’s adventure classic is his account of an Antarctic icy cross country trek to rip-off  Emperor Penguin eggs The omelette theft was all done in the name of science. I’m sure they didn’t call it stealing for that reason. Maybe you are thinking, well that’s not so bad. Tourists pay big bucks to see Emperor Penguins in the wild. Here’s the kicker. Apsley and company performed the frigid mosey during an Antarctic winter. Nothing but dark, Mach 3 winds and nearly absolute Kelvin cold. (-459 F). This strikes me as both suicidal and insane. They somehow survived. Barely. 

OK. So my recent attitude adjustment wasn’t that extreme, but it WAS cold in Canyonlands! The Arctic north winds hardly abated. On my hikes I wore fleece on top of fleece topped by down. Plus a wool beanie, leg warmers and gloves. My clothes alone doubled my body weight. I ran the furnace in Sanctuary Too all night long when I discovered it was 34 degrees inside the camper. Taking an outside Solar Shower? Fahgettaboudit! I settled for inside sponge baths with the furnace blasting away. 

I finally realized my 5800’ campsite was too high and exposed. I decided upon an altitude adjustment. I descended towards the Green River at 4100’. Ahh! That made all the difference, plus the sun coming out of hiding and the wind taking a TV timeout. On that lovely afternoon/evening, I read outside and partook of Happy Hour. Now that’s my kind of camping! 

Jeff. If it were that chilly, why didn’t you just drive the 3.5 hours back to your Durango townhouse with its fireplace and unlimited hot water? Why? Because I’d rather hang out in Canyonlands National Park with its dry mud-free trails, it’s multicolored rock formations and scenic vistas while awaiting vaccine number two. That’s why.

Besides, I’m into the exploring mode with my new Macho Truck for a Macho Guy like me, who happens to keep a clean house, cooks, smiles at babies and takes photos of pretty flowers. Yep! I’m macho, alright. Gggggrrrrr!

Canyonlands, the Grand Canyon, Great Sand Dunes, Death Valley, the Eastern Sierra and the San Juan Mountains are a few of my happy places. I’ll endure some hardships for experiencing  their beauty. Especially when I have access to a furnace, cold IPAs and books to read. 

I had it heaps easier than Apsley Cherry-Garrard did on his worst journey in the World.

Enjoy your journey no matter where it takes you. 

Gentle reminder. Please get your Covid vaccinations.

Cheers

Jeff

Last Photo. I was joking about cooking. That’s a kosher for Passover Asian Fusion