Friday, May 13, 2022

I Never Sired Any…

I Never Sired Any…

Children. At least none that I know of. 

Yet, I take a “Long Game” approach to Conservation and Preservation of Wild Places. I dream of a future where vast acreage of  Public Lands will still be available to Keith and Justin Sambur (the best nephews in the World). 




Decades ago when those impressionable young adults visited me in Colorado I tried to instill in them the idea of the intrinsic value of open spaces.. The concept that some places are best used by being unused. Simply put, “Take nothing but photos, leave nothing but footprints.” (Unless cryptobiotic solis are underfoot. Don’t step on that.) The outdoorsy lessons must have taken hold. They both left the East Coast and moved to Colorado.

(My footprint and a Bobcat) 




With these thoughts and many others in mind, it was time to explore Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument. A Monument we almost lost when it was barely out of its womb.

Here’s some background info from the Grand Canyon Trust:



When President Obama designated Bears Ears National Monument in December 2016, protection for the region was long overdue. Monument protection for southeast Utah had been considered since the 1930s, but it took the coordination, persistence, and sovereign status of five Native nations (the Hopi Tribe, Navajo Nation, Ute Mountain Ute Tribe, Zuni Tribe, and Ute Indian Tribe) for the Bears Ears Inter-Tribal Coalition to ultimately gain protections for 1.35 million acres of their ancestral homelands. Less than a year later, President Trump ignored overwhelming public support for Bears Ears and slashed the monument by 85 percent.



As if I needed another reason to loathe Trump the Shallow Racist Sociopathic Liar. He succeeded in pissing me off again by messing with my second retirement homes. 

But it was far worse for the Inter-Tribal Coalition. Once again, Native Americans (as in original Americans) got screwed by some far away White Guy making bad decisions concerning their ancestral lands. I’m sure it was a flashback moment to all those broken treaties, going back to the Cherokee Nation’s “Trail of Tears” Days. It figures Andrew Jackson was the one  President 45 admired. 



Of course, the evisceration of Bears Ears and Grand Staircase/Escalante National Monuments got hamstrung (that’s kosher ham though) in court. Nothing miserable happened on these sacred lands. Thank you Conservation loving lawyers.



With a change of regimes (according to democracy and the Electoral College) Joe Biden reinstated Bears Ears plus 1200 extra acres to boot. Take that Trump! 



However, I’m not feeling warm and fuzzy about Bears Ears long game prospects. We’re living in a time where lies supplants truth. When too many Americans desire a Govment so small it could be placed into a bathtub and drowned. A concept based upon the Fake News that humans will do the right thing. Bullshit! If so the Cuyahoga River wouldn’t have caught on fire numerous times. There wouldn’t be a need of a Clean Air Act (1970 Nixon), the EPA (1970 Nixon) or Superfund sites mitigating the environmental disasters left behind by companies more concerned about the bottom line than being mindful stewards of our planet.



In other words, there’s a need for Government regulation, Preservation and Conservation. Some higher organization has to be the Enforcer on short sighted individuals and companies.

Enough venting! 


Back to Bears Ears NM and those peaceful playground days. To sum it up, it was wonderful. It’s a vast, wild place featuring plunging canyons, Mesa tops, 100 mile views, solitude, plenty of mind meandering and heaps of pre-White Folks archeological sites. It’s a stand alone massive chunk of Federal Property best left for the gentle admiration of future generations. 



I’ll finish this lengthily post on a lighter note. 

“The Tale of the Q’Anon Ancient Ones Conspiracy Theorist.”



Me and Sanctuary Too were camping with a view. It was almost time for my two minute solar shower pre-Happy Hour ritual. It was then, a camo painted ATV roared into my up-to-that point quiet camp. A true breach of dispersed camping etiquette. The driver was a massive, tattooed and muscular young man who made the ATV he was straddling appear to be a Tonka Toy. Yes, I was nervous. I waved hesitantly in a friendly manner. He stepped off the vehicle, removed his helmet and goggles and displayed a disarming smile. Whew! Jaden and I made small talk about the weather, hikes we’ve taken and general stuff. Then he stared a mile down at me and asked.



“Ever wonder why the Ancient Ones placed their dwellings in high alcoves that were somewhat inaccessible?”

“The archeologists think there might have been new aggressive tribes moving into the area. They built up high for defensive reasons.”



“Nope! They were afraid of Giants.” 

“Giants? Like you?”

“No! I’m talking 24 foot tall humans. They ate the Ancient Ones who were small like you.”
(I wish he hadn’t said that.)

At this point, what I really wanted to do was quote Sid Sambur. “You’re talking CRAZY!” BUT Jaden was BIGLY and now sort of creepy. 



“OK! Well, we’re in Utah! Let me give you a beer for the road. I was about to take a Solar Shower, so unless you want to see an old man naked, it might be time to go.” 

“Yeah, my camp is miles away. Thanks for the beer and info. Good night!”

I was quite happy to hear he was miles away from me. I had met Bears Ears one and only
Q’Anon Ancient One Conspiracy Theorist. One’s enough.



Last photo: I hope centuries from now the corn cob and husk are still in place. 




Preserve and conserve these lands for all who came before us. Preserve and conserve these lands for all to come. Including Giants.

Tread lightly,
Cheers and you can Happy Hour in Utah too,

Jeff

Extra reading assignments 


Tuesday, May 3, 2022

A Mother’s Smile.

A Mother’s Smile.

My diminutive Mom (a towering 4’11”) possessed a subtle Shaquille O’Neal sized smile. Clara Sambur wore it often and in most social situations. Race, creed, religion or color of a person’s skin, it didn’t matter. She gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. She smiled at them. The response from others was usually positive. 

Then again only a total Barbarian wouldn’t love this harmless expression of friendliness emanating from such a tiny woman. 

Fortunately for me, I inherited this physical attribute. I’m not sure if the handoff mechanism was nurture, nature or both. Whatever the it was,  I’m pleased that her beguiling grin was passed onto me.

I’m certain her smile might have hidden an on and off again sadness. She never spoke about the Holocaust, yet I’m sure her Great Escape from being murdered lingered in her memories. Like most Holocaust survivors, she mentally distanced herself from the horrors. She moved on with her life.

When WW II concluded, Sid and Clara were a confirmed “item”. In 1946, they married. By 1947, my brother Alan was born. Followed by Mike in 1950. Four years later, this “Loose Cannon” of a son came into the world. Mom’s love for us was boundless. We scored endless rounds of hugs. Nurturing, affection and attention was always on the kosher menu. 

So once again, I look back at our family photos as your special day approaches. Once again, I get verklempt about losing you when I was just seventeen. In a short time, you made a positive impression on me. Now I try to follow in your small steps when it comes to being generous, showing kindness and of course smiling.














I’m a pretty good hugger too.

Miss you Mom.

Cheers to all the Great Moms, past,  present and in the future.
Jeff





Tuesday, April 19, 2022

A Hike Through Time.

It’s said that a downhill step in the Grand Canyon is equivalent to eons of time. (Unless you believe in a literal interpretation of the Book of Genesis. In that case it’s a zeptosecond.) 

On my latest Grandview to Tanner Trail Grand Canyon hike, I too was on a journey through time. My time. It was 25 years ago in 1997 that I along with five fellow firefighters completed this amble and scrabble. A quarter of century later I traversed it accompanied by buddy Brad and his son Max. This time the hike was an introspective mental and physical workout. I pondered about personal and global events in that insignificant geological time span. 

Our futures hold uncertainties. I’m not a Jewish Nostradamus. That 42 year old version of myself would have never predicted the zips, zags and reversals of my next 25 years. While backpacking I thought about my own time line.



In 1997, I was eleven years from calling it quicks as a firefighter. I wasn’t burned out from the 911 calls. It was more disillusionment over bosses more concerned about career advancement than the welfare of their crews. There was a new generation of firefighters who possessed a “Lord of the Flies” mob mentality. It was all fun and games until the mob turned on you.

On December 1, 2008, I walked out of Fire Station 14 for the last time. I never looked back. 



January 2009: I packed up my belongings and moved to Tucson, AZ. I sold my wonderful 1902 Fort Collins Old Town home in an attempt to escape Colorado’s dark and cold seasons. For a restless guy like me a house is a storage unit. A residence became a home only when I had a loved one to return to. 

Yet, Tucson was far from ideal. I called those four years my winters of discontent. In retrospect, moving to the “Old Pueblo” was a poor decision.

In October of 2010, while riding my bike in Tucson I was struck by a sedan. The insult to injury was the unwarranted surgery the Class Clown of Orthopedic Docs performed on me. In its aftermath, I had to relearn to walk.



On July 11th, 2011 the real game changer happened. Once again, I was struck on my bicycle. This time in a much more viscous manner. After coming to in a ditch, three doctors informed me I should be dead.. Life and death are full of surprises. Miraculously i healed in about nine months if you don’t count the scarring. 



On July 11th, 2012 while on an extended road trip with Barley the Van, my Lawyer informed me the settlement from my near death experience had been deposited into my checking account. Yes, I made my money the old fashioned way. I sued for it. 



On April 1st, 2013  in my final winter of discontent, I sold, donated and gave away all my stuff. Then I performed my favorite Tucson activity. I left it. This was the official start of my Homeless by Choice lifestyle. I had no idea of how long it would last or how it would play out. I knew it was time for a change after side stepping the Grim Reaper. 

Everything I owned now fit in Barley the Van.


It didn’t take me long to realize there’s a stigma attached to  living in a Van down by the river. Despite my friendly waves and smiles, people began to shun me. I decided to save them the trouble. I became a sociable hermit. (Yes there’s a blog to this phenomenon.)




Black Tuesday. AKA Election Day 2016. With the Q’Anon Disrupter calling the shots, America the Beautiful becomes America the Badass. (From the Oxford dictionary: tough, uncompromising or an intimidating person). I’m an old Hippy at heart.  I burrowed deeper within myself. 

By the fall of 2018, loneliness and my self imposed isolation were getting to me. The wandering lifestyle was losing its shiny coat. I began to develop an exit strategy. It was time to trade my license plate in for a real mailing address. 

It came down between returning to the familiar, Fort Collins or unfamiliar Durango. 



I chose Durango for it’s amazing location plus it’s liberal, Blue values. I began renting in August 2019.


By the Fall, I felt like I was making headway on the social scene. I joined non-profit organizations, began volunteering, attended numerous events and got my face and smile out there. I actually was meeting people! 



March 16th, 2020. Covid Colorado goes into lockdown until Mid-May. The virus was awful (and still is) for all. I believe it was far worse for single folks. The social connections  I made evaporated like the receding snow. 

March 2021. I get vaccinated and yearn to return to “normal.” Not so fast, Sambini. Not all were boarding the vaccination train. 


Summer 2021. I sensed the local lingering effects of a Covid hangover.  I continued to  social distance as I slept in Sanctuary Too (my camper and truck) more than my Durango home.




As I hiked through the Grand Canyon’s heat and geologic history, I came to this conclusion. I have to stretch my vocal cords and get back in the game. It’s time for me to put myself out there once again. My greatest fear isn’t getting lost, injured or sick. My worse case scenario is growing old alone. 

If you read my personal time line, you’d think I’d gone from one calamity to the next. So untrue. In those 25 years, I traveled extensively, saw incredibly beautiful places and wrote lots of blogs (some lame, some poignant and a few whimsical). 

I experienced being in love too.



Enough about me. Onto the Global scene.

Back in 1997, the state of the world seemed to be hovering between fat, dumb and happy/unhappy. Sure there were crisis’. That’s a given. But there was a general feeling that this too shall pass. 

Could anyone have ever predicted this relentless cycle of Perfect Storms?
Accelerated Climate Change, a three year plus pandemic and a resurgence of chest thumping Nationalism. All at a period of human history where the villains don’t respect borders or carry a Passport.  (Not even a Border with a Wall.) 



In other words, we’re in a fine mess. 

During the past quarter century I guesstimate I’ve read between 1250 to 1500 non-fiction books. I’m a history buff. Mostly pre-Civil War to the present miasma. I’m no Nationalist. I read world history too. 

This is what’s shockingly Day-Glo clear to me. Since America has entered into the Age of Trump, we’re emulating Nazi Germany of the 1920’s-1930’s.  The picture is complete with a major political party’s adherence to Joseph Goebbels’ propaganda playbook. Bombard the masses with the “Big Lie” ad nauseam until it becomes Gospel. Of course, I’m referring to the myth of the“Stolen Election.” 

My fellow Americans, Democracy is now at risk. The January 6th, 2021 attempted coup was equivalent to Hitler’s “Beer Hall Putsch.” A mere warm up.





In 2024 the violence will be broader in scope, bloodier and better organized. 

I fear America is heading towards a dictatorial anarchy. That is unless the moderate Republicans (the few who are left)  https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2022/01/07/republicans-big-lie-trump/ 
derail this future political train wreck. Sorry to say, I consider this option an obese possibility. 


The only other exit I see is a take from history. 



Tyrannies end when the tyrants succumb to the Great Inevitable. IE: Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini and Franco. 

I know, sobering stuff. I wish the world could reset back to 1997 where when we were fat, dumb and vacillating between happy and unhappy.

Until then, I’ll squeeze as much socializing, sightseeing, hiking, camping and reading in as I can. They’ll be time for Happy Hours and blogging too.
Jeff

Last photo: a trowel makes a great spoon when the original gets left behind.