Saturday, January 20, 2024

The Detritus of Desperation



Right now I’m camping at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It’s  on the border of Arizona and Mexico. From my campsite I have an unobstructed view of Trump’s Wall as it convulses its way along a line created by the 1853 Gadsden Purchase.

This is my third consecutive winter getaway to this cactus wonderland. Being curious by nature, I always take a drive along an eleven-mile stretch of road parallel to the metal eyesore and environmental disaster. (Just ask the native wildlife (Sonoran  pronghorn, mule deer, javalinas, coyotes, mountain lions, bighorn sheep and bobcats) whose range is now confined to one side or the other. No Bueno for them. 

This year my investigation was different and not in a good way. First off the National Park Service didn’t recommend going. When I pressed a timid Ranger on the issue of why? His answer, “The Border Patrol are conducting Homeland Security surveillance out there,”



My answer, “The Border Patrol are always conducting surveillance out there.” In my mind either a road is open or closed. Sort of along the concept of not being a “little pregnant.” 

If you’ve been following the news, there’s been a surge of asylum seekers trying to gain access to  the Promised Land of America.

This human tide was so large, the US powers to be shuttered the Lukeville/Sonoyta Border crossing for about a month. The lockdown caused economic hardships on both sides of the Wall. The border towns of Ajo, Why and Lukeville lost the potential revenue from the steady stream of Gringos en route to Puerto Penasco, Mexico. (Rocky Point in Gringo-speak).  Daily workers from Mexico couldn’t commute to their jobs on the US side. No Bueno II. 



Still the asylum seekers came.

The immigration issue is like climate change. Everybody talks about it, but no one does anything about it. 

Go back in American History to 1844 and the founding of the “Native American” political party. Better known today as the “Know Nothings” whose platform was all about immigration. They particularly had it out for Irish Catholics, many of whom were escaping the Great (Potato) Famine of 1845-1852. The Know Nothings whined and whined, yet those Guinness guzzling Irish Catholics still came. The English speaking newbies became part of the American fabric handing us Saint Paddy’s Day and two US Presidents. JFK and Joe Biden. Stretch the Irish name a bit and maybe O’bama. In the long run the Irish-Americans found a second homeland.



In 1882, the Chinese Exclusion Act was passed. Like the name suggests, those Asians weren’t allowed entry to the US for the simple crime of being born in China. It wasn’t until 1943 when this racist abomination was repealed. By then, China was a WW II Allie of the US. (Probably a political “Sorry about that! was issued to the Chinese government.) Now we thank Chinese-Americans for their industrious ways and providing Jews a place to eat on Christmas Eve and Christmas.



The Immigration Act of 1924, worked on a quota system based on percentages of hyphenated Americans already here. The rules heavily favored western and northern Europeans as well as those from the British Isles. This act was far from all-inclusive. I suppose those White guys in power were concerned about the possibility of the “poisoning the blood of our country.” (No the quote wasn’t from Hitler, but from Trump in New Hampshire on December 17, 2023.) 




Forty-One years later, LBJ under the shadow of the Statue of Liberty signed the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. Therefore negating the quota system. ( good riddance to that.) For a Good Ol’ Boy Texan, Johnson displayed great empathy for the plight of the underdog. During his administration Medicare, Medicaid, SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) Head Start and the Voting Rights Act were passed. PLUS! The Wilderness Act of 1964. 



Ahhh. The Yin/Yang of American politics. In January 2017, the Orange Disruptor in Chief enacted Executive Order 13769. It came with a  catchy title. “Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the United States.” The nickname was better. “Trump’s Muslim Ban.” Essentially the ban included seven predominantly Muslim countries.  Thereby stereotyping 1.8 billion adherents of Islam as international “Bad Guys.” As par with 45’s administration the order created confusion, chaos and a BIGLY amount of lawsuits. Lawyers must love Trump for all the lawsuits he generates.

Notably missing from the list was Saudi Arabia, the country of origin for fifteen of the nineteen 911 hijackers and its mastermind  Osama bin Ladin. The US has business and military interests in SA which might have influenced Trump’s omission. (Just saying’)

For a great read on America’s worldly military presence, check out “How to Hide an Empire.” Who knew!



That was the Reader’s Digest version of US Immigration Policy 101. 

Back to the present. So there I was driving parallel to the Wall that Mexico was supposed to pay for but that was another Trump fib. American taxpayers shelled out the multi-billions of dollars (not pesos) of dinero. (Money in Gringo-speak) Gee! What a surprise! 

Yep, since the surge the borderland has changed since last year. About one mile west of Highway 85 an apparent asylum seeker processing center stood out. The half-acre parcel contained porta-potties, tents and stadium lights. That was new to me and disturbing especially since the land is within a National Monument. But most distressing of all was the debris field adjacent to the road.  A vast multi-mile stretch of discarded clothes items, thousands of pitched plastic water bottles, spent juice cartons, empty soda cans and an improbable container of hair conditioner. But just like that, the trash subsided. The newly arrived litterbugs were crammed near Highway 85. They weren’t trying to evade capture. They were seeking a better life through asylum. 

Sure, I found the trash to be distressing, but more than likely so was the life the migrants left behind. Anyone desperate enough to negotiate the Darien Gap, (sometimes with children) must have had a reason to risk it all. 

As a first generation American, I can relate to the “Push/Pull” concept behind immigration. For Sid and Clara the push was the first fits and starts of the Holocaust. Simply put, their choice was to flee or be murdered. The pull to NYC was simple too. Get to live another day and eventually make me!



Americans have an uncanny knack in believing “tsrus” (troubles) only occur here. WRONG! Immigration (like inflation) is a Worldwide dilemma. 
 
Worldwide inflation: Source World Bank.

Worldwide immigration: Source Springer-link

  Currently, there’s 16 out of the 54 countries in Africa in the midst of a Civil War. In South America unstable governments unfortunately seem to be the rule instead of the exception. 

Source: The Global Economy.com 


These are some of the “pushes” on the worldwide scene. The “pulls” are any country possibly offering folks stability, safety and security. Yes. The US is one of those countries.

Readers, I won’t BS you and say I have the answers to a multi-generational international quandary. 

But I do know humanity is going over the top on Genesis 1:28. That’s the “be fruitful and multiply” notion. (In my lifetime alone, Homo Sapiens expanded from 2.7 billion to over 8 billion). 

Another thing I know, it’s going to take a “village” of cooperating Nations to come up with viable solutions. (Just like dealing with climate change).

Walls aren’t the answer despite what Senator Robert Rice Reynolds said on June 5th, 1941. 

I’m down at the Border,
Jeff

The Detritus of Desperation 

Right now I’m camping at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It’s  on the border of Arizona and Mexico. From my campsite I have an unobstructed view of Trump’s Wall as it convulses its way along a line created by the 1853 Gadsden Purchase.

This is my third consecutive winter getaway to this cactus wonderland. Being curious by nature, I always take a drive along an eleven-mile stretch of road parallel to the metal eyesore and environmental disaster. (Just ask the native wildlife (Sonoran  pronghorn, mule deer, javalinas, coyotes, mountain lions, bighorn sheep and bobcats) whose range is now confined to one side or the other. No Bueno for them. 

This year my investigation was different and not in a good way. First off the National Park Service didn’t recommend going. When I pressed a timid Ranger on the issue of why? His answer, “The Border Patrol are conducting Homeland Security surveillance out there,”

My answer, “The Border Patrol are always conducting surveillance out there.” In my mind either a road is open or closed. Sort of along the concept of not being a “little pregnant.” 

If you’ve been following the news, there’s been a surge of asylum seekers trying to gain access to  the Promised Land of America.

This human tide was so large, the US powers to be shuttered the Lukeville/Sonoyta Border crossing for about a month. The lockdown caused economic hardships on both sides of the Wall. The border towns of Ajo, Why and Lukeville lost the potential revenue from the steady stream of Gringos en route to Puerto Penasco, Mexico. (Rocky Point in Gringo-speak).  Daily workers from Mexico couldn’t commute to their jobs on the US side. No Bueno II. 

Still the asylum seekers came.

The immigration issue is like climate change. Everybody talks about it, but no one does anything about it. 

Go back in American History to 1844 and the founding of the “Native American” political party. Better known today as the “Know Nothings” whose platform was all about immigration. They particularly had it out for Irish Catholics, many of whom were escaping the Great (Potato) Famine of 1845-1852. The Know Nothings whined and whined, yet those Guinness drinking Irish Catholics still came. The English speaking newbies became part of the American fabric handing us Saint Paddy’s Day and two US Presidents. JFK and Joe Biden. Stretch the Irish name a bit and maybe O’bama. In the long run the Irish-Americans found a second homeland.

In 1882, the Chinese Exclusion Act was passed. Like the name suggests, those Asians weren’t allowed entry to the US for the simple crime of being born in China. It wasn’t until 1943 when this racist abomination was repealed. By then, China was a WW II Allie of the US. (Probably a political “Sorry about that! was issued to the Chinese government.) Now we thank Chinese-Americans for their industrious ways and providing Jews a place to eat on Christmas Eve and Christmas.

The Immigration Act of 1924, worked on a quota system based on percentages of hyphenated Americans already here. The rules heavily favored western and northern Europeans as well as those from the British Isles. This act was far from all-inclusive. I suppose those White guys in power were concerned about the possibility of the “poisoning the blood of our country.” (No the quote wasn’t from Hitler, but from Trump in New Hampshire on December 17, 2023.) 

Forty-One years later, LBJ under the shadow of the Statue of Liberty signed the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. Therefore negating the quota system. ( good riddance to that.) For a Good Ol’ Boy Texan, Johnson displayed great empathy for the plight of the underdog. During his administration Medicare, Medicaid, SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) Head Start and the Voting Rights Act were passed. PLUS! The Wilderness Act of 1964. 

Ahhh. The Yin/Yang of American politics. In January 2017, the Orange Disruptor in Chief enacted Executive Order 13769. It came with a  catchy title. “Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the United States.” The nickname was better. “Trump’s Muslim Ban.” Essentially the ban included seven predominantly Muslim countries.  Thereby stereotyping 1.8 billion adherents of Islam as international “Bad Guys.” As par with 45’s administration the order created confusion, chaos and a BIGLY amount of lawsuits. Lawyers must love Trump for all the lawsuits he generates.

Notably missing from the list was Saudi Arabia, the country of origin for fifteen of the nineteen 911 hijackers and its mastermind  Osama bin Ladin. The US has business and military interests in SA which might have influenced Trump’s omission. (Just saying’)

For a great read on America’s worldly military presence, check out “How to Hide an Empire.” Who knew!

That was the Reader’s Digest version of US Immigration Policy 101. 

Back to the present. So there I was driving parallel to the Wall that Mexico was supposed to pay for but that was another Trump fib. American taxpayers shelled out the multi-billions of dollars of dinero. (Money in Gringo-speak) Gee! What a surprise! 

Yep, since the surge the borderland has changed since last year. About one mile west of Highway 85 an apparent asylum seeker processing center stood out. The half-acre parcel contained porta-potties, tents and stadium lights. That was new to me and disturbing especially since the land is within a National Monument. But most distressing of all was the debris field adjacent to the road.  A vast multi-mile stretch of discarded clothes items, thousands of pitched plastic water bottles, spent juice cartons, empty soda cans and an improbable container of hair conditioner. But just like that, the trash subsided. The newly arrived litterbugs were crammed near Highway 85. They weren’t trying to evade capture. They were seeking a better life through asylum. 

Sure, I found the trash to be distressing, but more than likely so was the life the migrants left behind. Anyone desperate enough to negotiate the Darien Gap, (sometimes with children) must have had a reason to risk it all. 

As a first generation American, I can relate to the “Push/Pull” concept behind immigration. For Sid and Clara the push was the first fits and starts of the Holocaust. Simply put, their choice was to flee or die. The pull to NYC was simple too. Get to live another day and eventually make me!




Americans have an uncanny knack in believing “tsrus” (troubles) only occur here. WRONG! Immigration (like inflation) is a Worldwide dilemma. 
 
Worldwide inflation: Source World Bank.

Worldwide immigration: Source Springer-link

  Currently, there’s 16 out of the 54 countries in Africa in the midst of a Civil War. In South America unstable governments unfortunately seem to be the rule instead of the exception. 

Source: The Global Economy.com 


These are some of the “pushes” on the worldwide scene. The “pulls” are any country possibly offering folks stability, safety and security. Yes. The US is one of those countries.

Readers, I won’t BS you and say I have the answers to a multi-generational international quandary. 

But I do know humanity is going over the top on Genesis 1:28. That’s the “be fruitful and multiply” notion. (In my lifetime alone, Homo Sapiens expanded from 2.7 billion to over 8 billion). 

Another thing I know, it’s going to take a “village” of cooperating Nations to come up with viable solutions. (Just like dealing with climate change).

Walls aren’t the answer despite what Senator Robert Rice Reynolds said on June 5th, 1941. 

For further readings:

I’m down at the Border,
Jeff





For one last look at the humanitarian side of the immigration dilemma.
Please read this great article from the New York Times 

Tuesday, December 26, 2023

“Health is our greatest wealth…

(Warning: This is a post about Aging. Bodily functions are mentioned and described. For these reasons and others this Blog has been banned in Florida and Texas.)

Is a cliche often heard whenever “Alte Kakers” (pleasantly translated from Yiddish to mean Old Timers. Unpleasantly translated to mean  Old S—ters) are gathered. The phrase is self evident. Consider Steve Jobs the founder of Apple Inc, a victim of pancreatic cancer at the age of 56. His net worth of 10.2 billion couldn’t save him from the ashes to ashes, dust to dust route.

 Being and staying healthy is truly what matters.



Up to a few months ago, if asked, I rated my health as above average. (At least the physical aspect). Sure, I have aches, pains and muscle soreness. That’s all easily treatable with massive doses of aspirin, IPAs and some reading/rest time. I lead a consistently consistent lifestyle centered around hiking, outdoor time (in warm places), eating a mostly plant based diet, drinking plenty of fluids, (the trifecta of coffee, a gallon plus of water and IPAs.) . At bedtime, I hope for a decent night’s rest minus the nightmares.

Health wise I was rolling along until July 3rd. That’s when the glitches began. I was hustling up a steep trail near Durango while schvitzing (sweating) profusely. The forecast was for heat followed by more heat. I was having no issues on the ascent. Not so much on the downhill return. Three miles from the trailhead, I felt my heartbeat go into tachycardia (too many thump! thump! thumps/minute). Mayday! Mayday! Sambini One is going down! In other words I was about to faint. I voluntarily hit the deck and propped my legs above my head. I drank water and nibbled on a Clif Bar. Eventually I stood up and stumbled down to my Subaru. All while doing my best to stave off a strong desire to pass out.



The above scenario occurred two more times within three months. I ended up seeing a just- graduated from Med School cardiologist. Jeffy! How recently did the Doctor graduate from Med School? Let’s put it this way, when I accidentally brushed by his medical diploma, I smudged the ink. Needless to say, the thought of him performing open heart surgery on me was off the operating table.



Here was my  ❤️ solution. After Googling aging, dehydration, heat, fainting and tachycardia. I chose to drink more water and  ignore the former almost horizontal episodes while hoping it won’t happen again.



I began guzzling more water which of course led to an increase of potty breaks. However the overall liquid output seemed to be a Great Lake more than the input. Plus the frequency became similar to my breaths per minute. Things were getting out of hand. Once again, I went to the source of all knowledge. Google.



Here’s what I found. As we age our noses and ears continue to grow. (As if my nose isn’t large enough to begin with.)  For senior men, our prostates continue to grow as well. Which impacts men’s  bladder function and retention in a bad way.



During my research I learned about some outpatient procedures that might alleviate my fluid condition. I called the Mayo Clinic in Phoenix and miraculously scored an appointment for an evaluation at their urology department.

There I was met by a stunningly beautiful (think Miss Universe minus the sash) Nurse Practitioner. This being the Mayo Clinic she quickly got down to business in a professional no nonsense manner. She asked many private questions concerning my “privates.” I assured her that “ALL MY PARTS WORK FINE.” She made a note of that. 

She went on to explain the tests required to fully assess which medical course of action to take. With each vivid description of what each test would entail, I instinctively crossed my  legs and squeezed down harder. My face contorted into a look somewhere between revulsion and nausea. 

After she was done she asked, “Any questions?” 

“Yeah! Can’t you just toss me into an MRI to figure this out?”

“Sorry. No!”

“Well in that case, I think you left out “water boarding” as the final test.”

She gave me a few pamphlets which described the torture regime. I thanked her for her time and patience. When I returned to my Snobsdale rental, I pitched the offending publications into a corner of a closet, never to be looked at again. 



My solution: Drink less fluids, but not to the extent of causing possible dehydration leading to fainting spells. I’m now taking saw palmetto and lycopene supplements in an attempt to reduce the size of my prostate naturally. Once again, I’m avoiding and ignoring the underlying problems.

But the aging hits kept right on coming. While shlepping two water containers to my condo, I rolled my knee. Of course it was the arthritic already damaged one. Instant swelling and dull pain. I began making  phones calls to the billions of orthopedic dudes in Snobsdale. Purpose? To secure a shot of my favorite steroid AKA cortisone.



Cortisone and me. I estimate I’ve been jabbed with that magic elixir more times than most professional baseball players. You can say I’m a cortisone connoisseur. I know instantly when the Doc nails it. Like the time I was stuck in my lower back and an hour later was off on a 70 mile bicycle ride. Or when I was jabbed in my knee and two days later backpacked into the Grand Canyon. Yeah, the stuff is that good.  I reckon getting steroid injections is the price I pay for trying to be an athlete with a body that was bred to be a merchant or accountant.

I scored an appointment for the needle. The Doc missed the sweet spot. I believe it was wide right. I had a bad feeling about his aim when he refused to drain my swollen knee prior to the poke. At the time of my appointment my knee was so bloated it required it’s very own bar stool. 
That’s BIGLY!



But the really awful news was the X Ray displaying an almost bone on bone knee joint. Then the Doc (who missed the field goal) mentioned the two words I never wanted to hear. Knee Replacement.

The inability to be mobile is not something I can ignore or avoid. Hiking makes me happy! As a wise Catalan woman once told me on my first Camino de Santiago, “The secret to life is the motion.”



Which brings me to the point of this long post. By now you’re picking up my “look the other way” approach to personal health care. 

Why is that Jeffy?

Because aging is hard enough. Going it alone is far worse. 

The New York Times recently ran an article about solo seniors who blew off medical exams and procedures. The reason? They have no one they can count on to take them to the hospital if need be. Let alone someone who will help them through the convalescent and rehabilitation stages. This is something I can sadly relate to.  (My brother Mike and sister-in-law Robin stepped up to babysit me in case I need a knee surgery). 

But this is not how I envisioned my life to be. I figured by now, I’d have a girlfriend/wife in a loving quid pro quo relationship. As in “Hi Bubalah, could you please keep an eye on me as I heal ASAP and I’ll do the same for you if the need arises?” (Since I’m a Jewish Mother in a man’s body, it would be a  good deal for this mystery woman. Coffee in bed included.)  

Like so many other Alte Kakers I live in a perpetual state of medical denial. I fear slipping on that figurative and literal patch of black ice in which there might be no one nearby to pick me up. So we disregard the glitches and do our best to avoid the ice. 

This is why health is our greatest wealth.

For a poignant New York Times look at loneliness through the ages:


I wish all my readers a happy and healthy New Year. 
Cheers/L’Chaim
Jeff





















Wednesday, October 11, 2023

“I know that a man ain’t supposed to cry…”



Lyrics from “I Heard it Through the Grapevine” by Whitfield and Strong

My last verklempt moment occurred at a Sambur family gathering in Boulder, CO. We were hovering around the kitchen counter pre-Happy Hour time when my nephew Keith innocently asked, “So UJ (Uncle Jeff) how’s it going in Durango?.” 

Like a shaken, not stirred IPA my thoughts and emotions gushed out. “Well, it’s been over four years since I settled there. I really like the town. It’s progressive with a liberal vibe. There’s always community minded events going on. Most of them have been a lot of fun to attend. 



I’m still in awe of the interesting and beautiful places within the Four Corners region. It’s really superseded all my  wild lands expectations. It’s the most incredible  area I’ve ever seen or lived in. I love the campouts, hikes and my exploratory trips. Best of all, Durango is at the epicenter.” 



I sighed and continued with the glum part, “Socially it’s been a bust! Sure, I know a few dozen “Hi, how’s it going? Nice day if it don’t rain” acquaintances, but no real consistent Happy Hour/Dinner or hiking buddies. I spend most of my time alone and feeling lonely. I’m not happy about this. In fact I get depressed!” 



With that, I started to weep. Apparently, I looked so pathetic my nephew’s  daughters lined up to give me reassuring hugs.



On my long drive back home to Durango, I relived that sad moment. It was time for me to go introspective. 

“Face it Jeff! In Durango I’m an outlier. A harmless misfit. 



I’m one of the handful of residents without a dog/fur baby. (Or as I say, Durango is a  city of 19,582 people with 23,174 canines) Below is my dog Fido.



I hike instead of mountain bike. (Less chance of injury)



I’m  a small man with BIGLY opinions which I’m not shy about expressing. I ask a lot of questions too. Do you know what you get in a room of ten Jews? Eleven opinions. 

 In a laid back mountain town like Durango, where I’ve overheard, “I don’t give a shit about anything!” (Said while they were vaping from a product purchased at one of the over dozen dispensaries) I could come across as being a bit of a pushy New York Jew.. 



I’m  not a joiner or follower  in a “the more the merrier” type of town. I have a tendency to slide to the side, the bigger the crowd gets. 

I don’t possess a Polly-Anna or Pauly-Andy personality.. Unfortunately I’m too aware that bad things can happen for no apparent reasons or at anytime. Although I’m also aware that the same can be said about good things.



Throughout all this somehow I maintain a steady smile though.”



For whatever the reasons are, despite my volunteering gigs, helping to organize neighborhood get togethers (Like Durango’s first Kwanhanumas party) and holiday food drives,  being seen at festivals, fundraisers, concerts, movies, brewpubs, local hiking trails and coffee houses, I’m not meeting potential buddies or significant others. 

This was getting to me in a bad way. I felt depressed about my social situation. 

Sure, I’ve read the studies about senior loneliness. That spending this much time alone is poison  for my physical health (I just had a heart monitor glued to my chest for two weeks) and well being. But this much I know. Being depressed/unhappy about it is far worse.



I knew about the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I had been unhappy about the my social scene for awhile. It’s  time for me to move on.

So I took a deep Zen-like breath, and I decided to accept my fate. I’ll cease stressing about my lack of Durango human interaction. I’ll stop forcing the issue of trying to meet people and allow situations to develop  organically. All the while continuing to pursue scenery in the Four Corners region while utilizing Durango as a basecamp. 



I’ll run this chapter of my life as long as my Mojo, muscles and innate wanderlust allows me to. 

Then who knows? Maybe by then, I’ll meet a few people to hang with. If not I’ll move to Boulder where there’s heaps of Outliers and weird people. 

All the photos were taken within a long days drive of Durango. 

See why I live here? 

Cheers,
Jeff

For extra credit readings on senior aging, please check out:








Sunday, September 24, 2023

My Too Extreme Four Corners Labor Day

 Motorcycle Rally Escape.

When I moved to Durango in August 2019, I chose to hunker down for the long Labor Day Weekend. The same weekend as the Four Corners Motorcycle Rally. After all how bad could it be?

 It was bad. Over three days of excessive noise, excessive machismo/testosterone and too many red MAGA hats on Main Avenue. I made a silent Sambini vow. “Never Again!”

In 2020, I drove across the state of Utah and settled down in Nevada’s Great Basin National Park.


In 2021, I won an online auction item for a ticket to the “Yampa Valley Crane Festival.” 


In 2022, I made a repeat performance at Great Basin NP.


This year with gas prices hovering over $4 plus/gallon, I decided a getaway closer to home was economically speaking the correct escape plan. 




That’s why I signed on for a volunteer trail maintenance gig on a nearby over 14,000 foot mountain. (Depending on the source, there’s between 53 to 58 of these stoney behemoths in Colorado). In this post, I’ll leave the mountain and the non-profit organization unnamed.

About a week before the gig, I received an email from the non-profit on where we’d meet followed by a rudimentary game plan for the Labor Day weekend. The message turned out to be classic hooey/Fake News. The note was a far cry from the reality of what transpired on that long weekend.



Me being me, I arrived 1.5 hours before the starting time. I figured this would be a great way to meet my fellow volunteers and organizers as they drifted in. Here’s what happened:

Two volunteers were surly, the rest were friendly and all were incredibly younger than me. (Fourteen years separated me from the next “light senior.”) The three crew members representing the non-profit were half an hour late. 



A bad omen.

We gathered around the late arrivals, who dispensed little information except for “Wear lots of sunscreen!” 

I glanced at my watch and realized we were getting dangerously close to Happy Hour. It’s then when I blurted out, “Are we camping here or camping to our work site?” 

“Find a place to camp nearby and meet here at 6am tomorrow” was the reply.




I popped my camper up while popping a can of IPA. All volunteers and crew members retreated to neutral corners. So much for the social aspect of this campout. (I even packed extra beers and boxes of cookies for sharing.) I this point I began to have serious misgivings over my choice of volunteer gigs. 

It was a crappy nights sleep between the night owl ATVers and the 14er hikers slamming vehicle doors at 3:5O am. There were more sleepless nights to follow. That first morning  I became conscious, somewhat oriented and alert around at 5 am.I figured the crew was late for the meetup so a 6 am start was a Jewish 6ish. OY! Was I wrong. At 6:03 we were told to “load ‘‘em up, and move ‘em out.” This was quite shocking to me.



At the worksite trailhead, we met the crew leader for the first time. (You didn’t need to be a management consultant or play one on Facebook to realize there was dissension in the ranks). 

We were told to grab some tools and amble up the trail. Which we did. Eventually we got to work. The gig was both Herculean and Sisyphean at the same time. Let’s just say we moved a lot of rock (including an estimated 640 pound hernia inducer. ) On the first day in the first hour, I made a vow to myself. “Self! Don’t get hurt! Self! See this gig through and don’t EVER think of volunteering for these guys again.” 




And that’s how I spent my Too Extreme Four Corners Labor Day Weekend Escape. Good thing I had a hefty supply of aspirins and IPAs. 

All in all we created three steps, and one nice retaining wall. My advice. Read the fine print before you volunteer. 

All in all I’d rather be a Forest Ambassador or a Trail Angel.

Cheers,
Jeff 
























Tuesday, September 5, 2023

My Midsummer Stonerfest Retreat…



OK, so the name isn’t the Carbondale Stonerfest, it’s the Carbondale 52nd Mountain Fair. 

Stonerfest is my nickname for the yearly celebration of old Hippies, aspiring new ones and everyday people. There’s even families. Plus! All varieties of music. (From Grudge to Gospel). It’s the closest thing I’ve seen to an all-inclusive event.

The price of entry? Free. Nada. Zilch. 

The Stonerfest happens on the last weekend of July. By this time, I’m in need of a three day hiking break. My legs are worn, scabbed over and feel like anchors. The long weekend is 72 hours of under indulgence of exercise combined with an overindulgence of unhealthy food choices, an OD of IPAs, lots of people watching and a few chewable gummies for good measure. 



It’s also my time to mingle with Carbondale’s Endless Honeymooners Martha and Jim Jim. A twosome I’ve known for over a quarter of a century. They are gregarious “more the merrier” types. An unstated goal of theirs is to meet and greet every human on our planet. I believe they’re half way there. (In other words, they are just like me only different.) 

Typically I arrive early Friday afternoon. Since I have an “in” with the JJ Mart RV Park owners I set up in their driveway. It’s definitely a five star urban campground. Free WIFI, an electrical plug in, free bicycle rental, hot showers and kitchen privileges. The campsite fee? 1.5 cases of IPAs which Jim Jim and Martha say isn’t necessary, but I insist upon because it’s the right thing to do. (Never take advantage of peoples generosity. It’s very un-mensch like).



The Stonerfest launches at 4ish Friday afternoon. (Give or take multiple minutes), with a Native American blessing. Brevity wasn’t part of this benediction and somehow my mind drifted. (Could have been the IPA and half a gummy). 

Then my favorite part of the Stonerfest. The very primal citizens drum circle! This hour long sweaty performance reminds me of that old Todd Rundgren song. “I don’t wanna work, I just want to bang on the drum all day.” Personally, as far the music scene goes, the rest of the weekend seems anticlimactic. After a greasy slice of pizza and a few more IPAs, my performance came to an abrupt curtain call.



I woke predawn on Saturday drank lots of coffee, had a BIGLY veggie and egg omelette to prep for my volunteer Peace Patrol gig. It’s a dirty job but someone has to imitate Barney Fife at Woodstock. Might as well be me. (And others). The orientation meeting informed us of the few  attendee constraints. Most of it was common sense rules. No glass, (protect those barefooted Hippies), no dogs, (so those barefooted Hippies don’t step in dog poop), no outside alcohol and no weapons.



A newbie Peace Patrol volunteer needed clarification on the weapons ban. “What if someone arrives with a 9mm and a AR-15 and claims they are “Service armaments”? You know there’s Americans who feel naked without a weapon.” 

The volunteer coordinator thought this over for a minute. “If they can show “Service armament” paperwork from their Gun Shop or the NRA, I guess we’ll make exceptions. Just be sure to say “Have a Happy Mountain Fair!” 

This is sort of the vibe of Stonerfest. Don’t ruffle any feathers.

I assumed by position at a main gate playing Walmart greeter with a Barbie themed pink  Peace Patrol T-shirt. It’s an easy gig. The only incident I encountered were the two pierced, tattooed women attempting to sneak a “service cat” in.
 
What’s next? Service gerbils?



By 11:30 my replacement Peace Patrol officers came by. I gave them a report and passed the baton of peace patrol authority to them. Whew! I needed a break. This past July was the hottest worldwide month in recorded history. (Source NASA).I returned to the JJ Mart RV Park for some shade, a shower and some reading time.

Before sunset (after a few IPAs and half a gummy) I was ready to Mountain Fair once again. 
For me, the Festival isn’t about the music (although every now and then I’ll tap my toes) it’s about the people watching. I’ll hang on the outskirts like a voyeur looking through a window of humanity. True entertainment. When the crowd fills the outskirts, it’s time for me to fly. (It’s not fun being 5’4” and feeling lost in the sauce.)

By Sunday am, I was back to my early shift Peace Patrol gig. With the wails of Gospel singers in the background, I said “Good Morning!” to many families. The partiers would arrive later. By 11:30 I was done. 



Martha then went on duty at another gate. I removed my pink Peace Patrol shirt, donned a loose tank top and joined her. It was a total undercover assignment in case she needed muscle and backup. Martha knew EVERYONE coming through so we chatted in between her acquaintances.

By 1:00ish, it was time for me to do a heat retreat. I headed back and prepared Sanctuary One for my reentry back to Sambini’s Summer of Hiking and Camping. 

Later on I made a half hearted return to the festival after a few IPAs. (sans gummies though). 
Just as I was about to call it, I received a Martha text. “We’re at Beerworks! Come join us for dinner!”

My reply. “On my way!”

By this time our conversations degenerated into a Cheech and Chong skit. It was that kind of weekend. After hugs, those Honeymooners headed to the festival. I returned to their quiet neighborhood.

By 6ish on Monday I was gone. Here’s where I went.



As always, the Stonerfest never disappoints. Yet, I’m always ready to get back to the wild places of Colorado.

I’m already booked into the JJ Mart RV Park for 2024.

Thx Martha and Jim Jim for being such great hosts. It’s always a pleasure.

Cheers
Jeff