“Hey Colorado it was not that long ago...

I left your mountain to try life on the road

Now I'm finished with that race it was much too fast a pace
And I think I know my place Colorado I wanna come home.”

Lyrics by the Flying Burrito Brothers

A few weeks ago, I moved all my worldly possessions (which happened to fit in my van with room to spare) to a townhouse in Durango, CO. For the first few days, I wandered around all this living space while making adjustments to the furnishings and framed artworks. I’d take down a painting that didn’t mean anything to me, and replace it with an old black and white family photo. I moved excess clutter and gizmos to one of the many empty closets I now have. I filled my cupboards and refrigerator with food items which would provide me with tasty and healthy meals. My personal comfort foods. I’m doing a deep cleaning of kitchen and bathroom counters, carpets and tiled floors. On my outside patio, I hung two bird feeders to attract feathered friends. I’m now buddies with a flock of hummingbirds, a squadron of rough-looking English sparrows and one peaceful mourning dove. 

I’m making the place feel like my home and sanctuary. 

As far as my new community goes, I’m making an effort to become more involved with the locals.

I’ve introduced myself to a few of my neighbors. All are young, pleasant, polite and friendly. I like that. 

I’ve joined the only Jewish Temple in the Southwest of Colorado. This doesn’t mean I’ll be attending services, (lightning would strike the synagogue) but I’ll keep my eye open for non-Jewish guilt events presented there.

I’ve become a member of the “Friends of the Library” where I might volunteer to help in their used book store. All proceeds go back to the Public Library. 

I joined the San Juan Mountains Association. I’ll attend a meeting soon to hear more about events and volunteer gigs which might suit me.

I’ve became a dues paying member of Great Old Broads for Wilderness organization. No, this doesn’t mean I detoured to Trinidad, CO for a sex change operation; it’s a national grassroots institution dedicated to fighting the good fight for our public lands and waters. Women are more diplomatic about conveying ideas than men are. (Especially me!)

I’m now known by name (and IPA fan) to a few of the brewpub beer-tenders In Durango. 

Last night, I attended a concert in which the proceeds went to the local NPR station. The crowd was a stew of young families, older folks and tattooed, pierced and dreadlocked youth. There were even a few Hispanic and Black folks in attendance. Everyone seemed to play nice together. I liked that too. 

It’s a brave new world for me. I’m thinking this is a positive start. I’m feeling content about things. So far, so good.

All the photos have been taken in and around my new expanded backyard.  The final photo is located in the nearby San Juan Mountains. X marks the spot where my final remains will one day be placed. (Hopefully, a long time from now!). Yes. This move has always been about location, location, location. 

Chillin’ in Durango on a Sunday afternoon,

Cheers!

Jeff

Young Men and Firearms...

For years people have been asking me if I were afraid to hike alone in wild places. 

I had a quick, honest and made for TV response. “Not all at. When I walk away from the parking lot,  I leave most of the fear inducing life forms behind. People.”

Unfortunately, more people are venturing into wild places. For me, the scary ones are now carrying sidearms. 

A few days ago, i was returning from a delightful hike to the base of the iconic Lizard Head Mountain (13,114’). I was at peace with myself and the world when I noticed an upcoming Perfect Storm of potential people problems. 

In a lush field barely off the trail, I saw an adolescent Siberian/Attitude mix dog unleashed and chasing any and all things that moved. Nearby was a White Guy carrying no gear except a very prominent sidearm. (FYI. I’ve only seen multitudes of Caucasians civilians carrying. Never a person of color, unless they are Law Enforcement Officers).

Since I was moving, the cur bounded toward me. The four-legged assailant blocked my path.  It was growling between barks. I stopped. I looked at the owner and politely asked. “Sir? Could you please call your dog?” (Mind you, I was the senior citizen in this encounter.)

“Ahh! Don’t worry. He won’t bother you.” 

Well, that was Fake News. I detoured way off the trail with the sociopathic canine woofing and snarling at my behind. Yes. I was scared. A perfect hike, a perfect day ruined. All because a 9 mm toting White Guy had the upper handgun on me. I couldn’t raise a fuss. I couldn’t tell him the US Forest Service rules: “Domestic pets are allowed in wilderness areas. Pets should either be leashed or under direct voice control.”

 

I had to take the abuse because the White Guy was armed and maybe dangerous. 

Which leads me to this point. When I’m feeling brave, I’ll occasionally ask a Second Amendment supporter, “Why are you armed out here? What is there to be afraid of?” They usual answer is, “I’m carrying in case I’m attacked by wildlife.” 

That’s total bull-dinky. Marmots, pikas, deer, prairie dogs, wild turkeys and chipmunks aren’t biped eaters. As far as black bears go, they are rarely seen and not heard. My last Ursus Meetup was in 2015. All I saw was it’s big black furry butt trotting away from me. The chance of spying a mountain lion is even less. I got the drop on one over a decade ago. I slow blinked and it was gone. 

These folks carry because they fear the unknown equation of strangers. They don’t trust me. So...why should I trust them? The answer is. I don’t. 

Post script: When I returned my rattled self back to the parking lot, I noticed a manly red diesel truck displaying an AR-15 decal. Of course, there was an NRA bumper sticker too. I didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to guess whom the truck belonged to. 

I tossed my backpack in Barley the Van and fled. BTW. Below is a photo of my most aggressive bumper sticker. I know, very intimidating.

On a final note: I predicted an increase in gun induced Mass Murders/Mayhem and Hate Crimes in two post-Election Day 2016 blogs.

“There will be no new "reasonable" gun control legislation. The few constraints on procuring firearms will be shot down. Purchasing a weapon of mini-mass death and destruction will be as easy as "Coffee, Tea or Glock?" There will be an uptick in the number of mass murder incidents.” 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/07/freedom-is-not-free.html

“There will be an increase in Hate Crimes. No need to elaborate on this. It'll happen. Candidate Demagogue unleashed the hate mongers. (Hitler never directly murdered anyone, but his rants were responsible for 11 million victims perishing in Germany's concentration camps.)”

Sadly, in America we harbor Home Grown White Guy Terrorists. A Wall won’t stop them. 

Last photos: A band of ISIS.

A band of Second Amendment supporters at a rally in Olympia, WA.

Personally, I’m not seeing many differences between the two photos.

We live in strange times...

 

“In America, if you don’t have an address...

you’re not a real person.”

Notable quote from Jessica Bruder’s “Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century” 

It was fitting that I read Nomadland before terminating six years and five months of a “Homeless by Choice” lifestyle. The book is a well-written account of the fringe members of American society who consider themselves to be “Houseless” although not homeless. Their domiciles are mobile. Ms. Bruder’s real life characters reside in vans, sedans, pick-up trucks and RVs. The author pens a not-so-glowing version of the stigma of the single man in the white van. Her description rates a Grand Slam. I know, I blogged about this one month prior to her book’s publication.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/04/the-stigma-of-single-man.html

The houseless subjects in Nomadland, had all fallen off the main grid of normal society. Their lifestyle choice was forced upon them. They had no other options. Simply put, they had zilch money for a mortgage or rent. (One interviewee had her $40 life savings in her pocket.) The reasons for their economic plight were many: divorce, job loss, the Great Recession or drug/alcohol abuse. Many had just made bad choices. They “zigged” when they should have “zagged.” Somehow they survived by taking seasonal gigs at Amazon warehouses, sugar beet factories and being campground hosts. I wasn’t envying them.

The 100 Watt bulb glaring difference between me and them is this. I have money. I can afford to pay rent or a mortgage. I don’t have to eat a steady diet of hotdogs on Wonder Bread. As I’ve said to many people, “I’m not destitute. I just look and act like I am!” Most of my fellow Americans didn’t believe me. I became adept at ignoring the incoming hairy eyeball looks.

It was in the Southwest Spring of 2018, when my lifestyle choice began to, I’ll say it, piss me off. It was a colder, windier and rainier/snowier spring than normal. Veteran NPS Rangers at Death Valley National Park said the temperatures were running 10-15 degrees lower than usual. In the campgrounds my neighbors RV heaters were humming throughout the night. I huddled under four blankets. 

My season of discontent moment came at Panamint Springs, CA. I had just returned from a pleasant amble to a few old mining sites. I was barely in Barley the Van’s sliding door when another cold front sprinted in. Wind,  rain then hail slammed into the Van. I made a Lipton’s Cup a Soup to alleviate the sudden chill. Outside conditions hadn’t improved by the time I finished slurping the chemical concoction. “Maybe I should just go home”, I thought  Oh yeah, I don’t have a home. Then I shouted into my 66 square feet of living space. “This sucks!”  Soon thereafter, I began to weep.

It was then, I knew,  I was ready for my own address. I wanted to be a “real person” once again. 

I warned you this day was coming!

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/05/seeking-contentment-in-land-of.html

Last photo: Proof of my entry into adulthood. House and van keys. A Durango Library card and a set of hearing aids. If I like you, I’ll stick them in.

Next post! A Jackie Kennedy look at the Town House.

Cheers from Durango, CO,

Jeff