May 2023
Books read:
- Civilwarland in Bad Decline by George Saunders
- The Candy House by Jennifer Egan
- Diary of a Man in Despair by Friedrich Reck-Malleczewen
- Paddle Your Own Canoe: One Man’s Fundamentals for Delicious Living by Nick Offerman
- Where the Deer and the Antelope Play: The Pastoral Observations of One Ignorant American Who Loves to Walk Outside by Nick Offerman
Trails walked:
- Ginny Loop at Bobcat Ridge Natural Area near Masonville, CO (May 4th)
- Crosier Mountain near Drake, CO (May 9th)
- Bridal Veil Falls and Dark Mountain trail near Estes Park (May 16th)
- Boyd Lake State Park in Loveland, CO (May 22nd)
Song(s) of the month – Dolly Parton
- Coat of Many Colors
- Jolene
- Here I Am (with Sia)
- Wildflowers, with Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris
- Light of a Clear Blue Morning
- World on Fire
Scientist Spotlight – Chien-Shiung Wu, physicist
May Summary:
Hi everyone, I hope you were all good to your mothers this past month, and to those who have mothered you in other untold ways; it takes a village. I learned a couple of good lessons this month in both the resiliency and fragility of Mother Nature. We had two massive hailstorms that just pelted our home for what seemed an eternity. I kept waiting for windows to shatter, but somehow that didn't happen. I did lose four round, plastic solar decorative lights that were filled with holes the next day. I counted only two dead birds after all this hail; one in our backyard and another on a walk I was on the following day. Think of the force of this hail (some the size of shooter marbles…remember those?), and the fragility of these tiny birds, with few places to shelter during a storm like that! You’d think there would be dead birds everywhere, but no. This incredible video of an Osprey protecting her eggs from the hail is from a camera in the Boulder Country Fairgrounds in Longmont and it's all you need to know about mothers.
I found out a bit more about the resiliency of birds in a separate event that occurred around the time of these storms. We have these decorative metal fish hanging on our front porch. We used to have them on our back porch when we lived in Phoenix, and a hummingbird would set up her nest inside one of them each year. It was always a very cool event watching those tiny hummingbirds hatch and wait for mom to bring their food. Well, I guess all birds think alike because the very first year we had the decorative fish up in Colorado, a pair of house finches (or maybe house sparrows?) used one as a home and have used it each spring since. Well, unfortunately, one day I noticed that mama bird was stuck in the “mouth” of the fish, unable to fly out. She was beating her wings furiously trying to escape but to no avail. I had no idea how long she had been stuck, so I grabbed a pair of gloves and a step stool and commenced trying to extricate her safely. She seemed to know I was there to help and calmed down while I gently held her to find how she was stuck. It wasn’t good. Her foot was totally entangled in some plastic (of course) line that she had used as part of the nest. I couldn’t reach into the fish’s mouth to untangle it, so I tried to gently pull her out. She started chirping, so I know it hurt her. I sat there holding her a while trying to figure out a way without destroying the nest which had eggs in it. Finally, I just told her to hold her breath cuz’ this was gonna hurt…and I yanked hard. She came loose, but her leg was not in great shape. Also, she had lost some of her feathers on her wings and tail while she had been struggling to set herself free. I held her for a bit, but she couldn’t fly. So I set her down under a juniper bush and hoped for the best. Of course, that night we had another big hailstorm. I worried about her but knew that the juniper bush was likely sheltering her. I wasn’t too worried about the eggs because papa was still showing up on a regular basis that day. I was doing some reading the next day by the window where the fish hangs and I saw papa show up and then lo and behold a scraggly looking mamma with half a tail and one bent-up leg flew up next to him! She made it! That is one tough mother. I’m sure her offspring will be equally tough (I base that assumption totally on my mother-in-law whose daughters are every bit as tough as she was).
It was a great month of reading that included a terrific short story collection, a sequel written 12 years after the original, a diary from Nazi Germany not written by Anne Frank, and a couple of memoirs from one of my favorite people in show business. My rambling took me to ridges, mountaintops, waterfalls, and lakes. Enjoy!
Born in China in 1912, Wu was lucky enough to have parents who encouraged her education. She went to university in Nanjing where she graduated first in her class and was advised to complete her graduate studies in America. She left China in 1936, saying goodbye to her parents whom she would never see again. Her plans were to study at Michigan but when she found out that women there couldn’t use the front entrance at the time, she decided to study at the more liberal Cal Berkeley instead where she received her PhD in physics in 1940. She had concentrated on nuclear physics due mainly to the uncertainty in the world at the time and the potential importance of nuclear weapons. After school she taught at Smith College in Massachusetts and then at Princeton where she was the first female physics professor. In 1944 she became part of the Manhattan project, because just about everyone who was excellent in physics eventually became part of that project. Her experimental work on the law of conservation of parity helped scientists Tsung-Dao and Chen Ning Yang win the Nobel Prize in physics. Wu was not included in that prize with the excuse that she was only working on the experimental side of the problem and not the theoretical side. Another woman, Ida Noddack, was previously denied a Nobel because she worked on theoretical side of a problem and not the experimental side. Excuses, excuses. If their work was being done today, they would be on that list of Nobel Prize winners. In her later life she became an advocate for women’s rights in science and also for scientists who were being persecuted and imprisoned in China and Taiwan. When she passed away in 1997 her ashes were buried in Jiangsu province, China, in the courtyard of the Ming De elementary school for girls which her father had founded.
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| Photo by Keystone/Getty Images |
Before getting into why I'm spotlighting Dolly, I wanted to say a few words about the late great Tina Turner, who passed away this month in Switzerland at the age of 83. Coincidentally, she, like Dolly, was also from a small hill town in Tennessee; there must be something in the water there. For many artists, I have to ignore their personal lives and appreciate the art, not the artist. For Tina Turner it was the other way around for me. I appreciated her for who she was as a person, overcoming poverty, overcoming an abusive relationship, and eventually soaring to success on her own. I can't say that I love her music. For me, her covers of rock songs were where she excelled, Credence Clearwater Revival's Proud Mary being her signature piece. She received lots of fame for what I call her 80's anthems like What's Love Got to do With It, Private Dancer, and We Don't Need Another Hero; but those songs didn't appeal to me personally. Tina, as a person, was best exemplified by how her Swiss neighbors remembered her: a kind, caring woman who helped their little community philanthropically and was always friendly to everyone.
What can I write about Dolly Parton that hasn’t already been written? She is an amazing human being, talented songwriter, and powerful singer. Her first album came out 56 years ago and her 65th album(!!) comes out in November of this year. She’s been honored with 18(!!) different Halls of Fame awards, including my favorite, The Happiness Hall of Fame. She’s battled misogynist men for most of her career and has always come out ahead. A couple of years ago my wife and I listened to a terrific NPR podcast titled Dolly Parton’s America. It’s a nine-part podcast which you can probably get on other platforms by now. Here’s the NPR link. Listening to that podcast will tell you everything you need to know about this incredible woman. Her fans include people from all walks of life which is one of the reasons she’s never stated her politics. She once said that she has some pretty strong views but that she wouldn’t reveal them until the time was right. She refused acceptance of the Presidential Medal of Freedom from both Donald Trump and Joe Biden because she didn’t want to be associated with any one party.
She came to my attention again recently when I read about her new album of rock covers and some original songs coming out in November. I listened to her pre-released original song World on Fire and believe it or not, it’s a damn fine rock song. The music is pounding and the lyrics speak to our divided and ever more callous world. The 77-year-old has said she would never run for president, but she’s just what we need. Here are just a few of her many many great songs that I love.
Coat of Many Colors: Many of her best songs are about her upbringing in the hills of Tennessee, one of twelve children raised in abject poverty and unlimited love. Written in 1971 on the back of Porter Wagoner’s dry cleaning receipt, this song portrays all of that beautifully. This one song spawned a made-for-TV film, a children’s book and countless covers from several different artists. I like this live version.
Sample lyrics:
Now I know we had no money
But I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me
Jolene: Written in 1973, this song was inspired by a woman who used to flirt with her husband, Carl Dean. It’s a devastating song about confronting the woman that could take away your man. The White Stripes do a killer version of this song. Sample lyrics:
He talks about you in his sleep
And there's nothing I can do to keep
From crying when he calls your name, Jolene
Here’s a live version from 1988:
Here I Am (with Sia): Written by Dolly in 1971, I love this 2018 version from the coming of age movie Dumplin’. She sings it with Sia and some gospel background vocals which add great texture to this version. The song is a song of hope. Sample lyrics:
Here I am, I'm reaching out to give you love that you're without
I can help you find what you've been searching for
Here I am, come to me, take my hand 'cause I believe
I can give you all the love you need and more
Wildflowers, with Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris: Dolly went back to her roots during the late 80s up through 2005 with several bluegrass releases of her own, along with the great “Trio” albums she did with Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris. This is just one sample of so many great songs during that period. She wrote it in 1987 and tells the story of her leaving home.
Sample lyrics:
The hills were alive with wildflowers
And I was as wild, even wilder than they
For at least I could run, they just died in the sun
And I refused to just wither in place
Here’s a remastered version from 2015
Light of a Clear Blue Morning: I featured Waxahatchee’ s cover of this great song of hope, new beginnings, and the strength to carry on in my April 2022 blog. In the Dolly Parton’s America podcast, the description of her departure from Porter Wagoner’s powerful influence was heart pounding. Wagoner was extremely popular in the 60s and 70s and her decision to leave his show was fraught with the possibility of her losing her footing in the entertainment industry. But he was stifling her creativity and she knew she had to leave. Years of lawsuits between the two followed. She wrote this song in 1977 as she was just starting to see the light of day. It’s great.
Sample lyrics:
It's been a long dark night
And I've been a waitin' for the morning
It's been a long hard fight
But I see a brand new day a dawning
From her album - New Harvest...First Gathering:
World on Fire: This is the one that got me thinking about Dolly this month. It’s from her soon to be released album that comes out in November. It’s a rock album mostly of cover songs but also with some originals like this surprising one. I say surprising because I’ve heard Dolly sing all kinds of music, but not a rock song like this. And she has a lot to say about the shape of things in this world. I can’t wait for the album to come out because she sings “Let it Be” with Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr!! She and half the Beatles! As much as the political left and the right would love to claim her as their own, she belongs to no party and criticizes them both. Sample Lyrics:
Don't get me started on politics
Now how are we to live in a world like this
Greedy politicians, present and past
They wouldn't know the truth if it bit 'em in the ass
Billy got a gun, Joey got a knife
Janey got a sign to carry in the fight
Marching in the streets with sticks and stones
Don't you ever believe words don't break bones
Here’s the official video which has Dolly sitting on a world on fire.
Ginny Loop in Bobcat Ridge Natural Area – Back in March I hiked the 5-mile Valley Loop in this beautiful area. It was my first hike after a long respiratory infection so I couldn’t go further. But today I could. I hiked the 10-mile Ginny Loop which was terrific. It looks like a great mountain bike also but I was the only one here today. All the snow was gone from my March walk, and the weather was ideal, partly cloudy with temps in the 50s and 60s. I saw turkey, deer, and a very large gopher snake(?) today in addition to lots of birds chirping. There are presumably nice views of the snow-capped Rockies from the back end of this trail, but they were pretty socked in with clouds on this day. Still the views were great and there was enough elevation gain to make this a good workout. The highlight is Mahoney Park, about halfway through the loop. It’s a beautiful and huge meadow/bowl surrounded by interesting rock formations. It’s easy to imagine large herds of elk wandering through this area but it was very quiet today.
From the brochure on this area: “David Rice (D.R.) Pulliam and his wife, Virginia (Ginny), were the previous owners of the Bobcat Ridge property. D.R. and Ginny visited the area often, enjoying the peaceful beauty of this land. One year, as a birthday surprise for D.R., Ginny had a narrow dirt road built to Mahoney Park—one of the couple’s favorite spots. D.R. was so pleased with the new route, he immediately named it after his wife. Today, the Ginny and D.R. trails provide access to this beautiful area.”
The presumed gopher snake created a spike in my heartrate as it popped up right in front of me on the trail just as I was gazing out towards the meadow. Once I saw no rattle then the ol’ heartrate calmed a bit. There were thousands of downed trees in the latter half of the hike, likely a result of a beetle infestation. It was like a giant game of pick-up sticks for as far as the eye can see. I imagine this area looked completely different before this occurred. Another beautiful day in Colorado.
Civilwarland in Bad Decline by George Saunders – Saunders has become known as one of the great short story writers of modern times. This was his first published work of short stories and it’s terrific. I’d previously reviewed his story collection, Tenth of December, in my June 2021 blog, and A Swim in a Pond in the Rain in my March 2022 blog. Both were great. Civilwarland consists of six short stories and one novella and was published in 1996. In the The New York Times, Michiko Kakutani said this about Saunders' writing style: "He's a savage satirist with a sentimental streak who delineates, in these pages, the dark underbelly of the American dream: the losses, delusions and terrors suffered by the lonely, the disenfranchised, the downtrodden and the plain unlucky." That’s a pretty apt description. One of the short stories, Isabelle, really impacted me. I had to take a walk after reading it, just to take time to think about it. It’s a great portrayal of the good and evil in all of us and how a small glimmer of hope is sometimes all you have to hang on. You can read that short story here if you like. Even the titles of some of the stories are compelling, like The 400-Pound CEO, and Downtrodden Mary’s Failed Campaign of Terror. Two of the stories received the National Magazine Award for Fiction: "The 400-Pound CEO" in 1994, and "Bounty" in 1996.
Here are some lines:
Is this the life I envisioned for myself? My God no. I wanted to be a high jumper.
The nights when she’d fall asleep with her cheek on my thigh are certainly long past. I lie there awhile watching her make angry faces in her sleep.
Evelyn’s note says: I could never forgive you for putting our sons at risk. Goodbye forever, you passive flake. Don’t try to find us. I’ve told the kids you sent us away in order to marry a floozy.
Possessing perfect knowledge I hover above him as he hacks me to bits. I see his rough childhood. I see his mother doing something horrid to him with a broomstick. I see the hate in his heart and the people he has yet to kill before pneumonia gets him at eighty-three.
Then it was summer and the lagoon scummed over and race riots broke out and tear gas blew over the trees as Leo and I fished for carp.
she comes to and spits in my face and says I couldn’t possibly know the darkness of her heart. Try me, I say.
The stars are blinking like cat’s eyes and burned blood is pouring out of the slaughterhouse chimney.
I roll out of my car and brush my teeth with my finger. My first day as a killer.
He loved us. On that we’ve always agreed. He threw us over (the wall) to save us from death. He believed in people. He believed in the people on the other side of the wall.
Next morning he wakes us before dawn and marches us out to the Sarcoxie slavemart, a fenced-in mudpatch behind a firebombed Wendy’s.
Which raised a second question, one that I now see as being at the heart of this book: Why is the world so harsh to those who are losing?
“Every happy man should have an unhappy man in his closet,” wrote Chekhov, “to remind him, by his constant tapping, that not everyone is happy, and that, sooner or later, life will show him its claws.”
Crosier Mountain near Drake - Daughter and wonder dog came to visit for a few days so we headed up to this hike off of US 34 near Drake between Loveland and Estes Park. There are three different trailheads available to reach the summit. From one of them, the Garden Gate trailhead, it’s a total 10.3-mile hike with over 3,000 feet of elevation. But we opted for the Rainbow (aka Gravel Pit) trailhead; from here it was a steady 3.8-mile climb (7.6 total) from 7,000 feet to 9,300 feet. I was huffing and puffing through my mouth while daughter was humming and breathing only through her nose. I’ve read that these trails are good training on dry ground in the spring for hiking 14ers later in the summer. I believe it. There were some nice views along the way with a couple of pretty meadows. But the real reward is at the very end, when you climb up on a rock and a 180-degree view of the snow-capped Rockies unfolds before you. A very excellent lunch spot where we took some photos and enjoyed chicken sandwiches. We only saw 4 people on this day, two hiking down and two up on top who were just leaving. No animal sightings today other than a couple of elk on the drive up. At the trailhead there is a warning about: Mountain Lions, Bears, and…wood ticks. We didn’t encounter any of them on the hike, but at dinner later that night a wood tick fell out onto the table! Was it in our hair?! Was it from the restaurant?! We did a body check on us and wonder dog afterwards, but no ticks thank goodness.
The Candy House by Jennifer Egan – If you read last month’s blog you know that I read Egan’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel, A Visit from the Goon Squad. I loved it. Last year she released this latest novel which revisits many of the characters from Goon Squad. As I said last month, you have to work for your reading enjoyment with Egan, but it’s worth it. Annalisa Quinn in an NPR review of the book wrote: “I drew a character map while reading Jennifer Egan's The Candy House, just for the pleasure of charting the swooping, kaleidoscopic intersections of parents and children (and cousins and tennis partners and drug dealers) of a central set of people first introduced in her 2010 novel A Visit from the Goon Squad.”
As in A Visit From the Goon Squad, this latest novel of Egan's had a couple of creative chapters. In one, the story is told completely from an email and messaging chain. Brilliant. Another chapter tells the story in the format of an operating manual for spies. Egan is somehow able to create and tell stories in many different and unique forms.
The goon in the previous novel was the idea of time passing and wondering about your life. In this novel, The Candy House could be a sort of metaphor for memory, or maybe as the NPR review said, “The phrase "the candy house" (as in Hansel and Gretel) refers to the Faustian bargain of convenience and connection for loss of privacy.” The way we’re willing to give social media companies all of our information just so that we can have these cool apps to play with. But don’t worry, Egan doesn’t brood on the philosophical ramifications of social media too much because she’s busy creating this incredible set of characters with fascinating and intersecting lives to keep you entertained…. although a character map maybe would have helped, I just read it and enjoyed every minute of it. Here are some lines:
“Does he have psychological issues?” “I don’t know,” Kristen said wearily. “I think he just likes to scream.”
At home, everyone seemed happy, as I reminded myself daily by checking Trudy’s Facebook—later, her Instagram feed.
The emptiness of the desert felt biblical, as if nothing had ever happened there—as if all of history were yet to come.
we’re all in our fifties—do people even ask what we’re “doing” anymore? Hasn’t that already been decided?
He looked like a man who’d been pummeled, accidentally, into handsomeness.
We loved the messy tragedy of his life, the loose ends and failed children; the enemies and sports cars and outbursts and midnight inspirations;
Nothing is free! Only children expect otherwise, even as myths and fairy tales warn us: Rumpelstiltskin, King Midas, Hansel and Gretel. Never trust a candy house!
Lana broke away in 2025, the year after our mother did. She, too, has joined the eluders—that invisible army of data defiers.
The oldest, Lou Kline, is only thirty-one, but all were born in the 1930s and raised without antibiotics, their military service completed before they went to college. Men of their generation got started on adulthood right away.
Wind and sunlight tear at the fog.
Kiki spent all her time with a Christian youth group; Roxy assumed that, being plain, her sister had no better options. God loves everyone, right?
Heroin is her great love, her life’s work, and she has given up everything for it, through renunciation or sheer neglect.
Abuela met him at the door of her gray-green house and folded him into a fragile embrace mentholated by the cigarettes she still smoked at eighty-six,
Human beings are fiercely, primordially resilient.
We reassure ourselves by summoning, in our dreams, those we love and miss.
I’m not sure what it says about my life that the only person who will appreciate the day I’ve just had is the one I divorced almost thirty years ago.
Technology, wealth, fame—to Gregory, these were features of a world where the things that mattered to him, namely books and writing, counted for nothing.
One horror of motherhood lies in the moments when she can see both the exquisiteness of her child and his utter inconsequence to others.
It’s 1991, and a lot of things that are about to happen haven’t happened yet. The screens that everyone will hold twenty years from now haven’t been invented, and their bulky, sluggish predecessors have yet to break the surface of ordinary life. No one in this crowd has ever seen a portable phone, which gives to this moment the quality of a pause. All these parents gathered in the fading light, and not a single face underlit by a bluish glow!
Bridal Veil Falls and Dark Mountain Trail near Estes Park – With all the snow we’ve had this winter and all the rain we’ve had in early May, I thought that it was time to ignore TLC and go chasing some waterfalls. I had previously hiked along the southern edge of Lumpy Ridge along the Black Canyon and Gem Lake trails, but I hadn’t been on the northern side before. The Cow Creek trailhead begins at the McGraw Ranch Research Center which opened in 2003 after a 4-year, $2 million renovation of buildings previously used as a dude ranch up until the 1970s. The research center houses scientists studying various aspects of Rocky Mountain National Park such as plant and animal studies, fire research, and glacier research. It’s a beautiful setting along Cow Creek with green valleys stretching east and west. Cow Creek begins near Bighorn Mountain and empties into West Creek, then the North Fork of the Big Thompson River and then into the Big Thompson River near Drake. Although this hike is entirely within Rocky Mountain National Park, there is no entry booth collecting entry fees. There are several other hiking options available in this area, including the Northern Boundary trail which eventually takes you to the northern boundary of the park. Today I hiked to Bridal Veil Falls which is around 3.2 miles and 1,000 feet in elevation from the trailhead. I knew it was going to be raging because Cow Creek was raging the entire way up and included a few smaller waterfalls along the way. The hike is an easy and steady uphill until the last quarter mile or so which becomes fairly steep and rocky. The falls were gushing and there were only two other people up there enjoying it. Some descriptions I had read indicated that you should cross the creek here and climb up the left side of the waterfall to the top, but on this day, that would likely result in serious injury without a rope and a few more people, because there were no exposed rocks to cross the raging creek below the falls…maybe later in the summer. After hanging out a bit I headed back down to the Dark Mountain junction and took that trail about a mile and a half and another 1,000 feet up in elevation. The topo map showed that I might get some nice views from up here near the junction with the Black Canyon trail and it was true; there were nice views of Longs Peak from up here. I rested a bit from the climb and then headed back to the trailhead, stopping at the two backcountry campsites to scout them out for future reference. I saw lots of deer and a couple of elk on this beautiful 55 degree partly cloudy day.
Diary of a Man in Despair by Friedrich Reck-Malleczewen – This hidden gem is a fascinating look into Nazi Germany from 1936-1944. It’s also a warning about Nationalism and how the lies of a few powerful men can turn a country of previously reasonable people into a chanting, hating, rally-attending, rabble. It’s a diary of sorts by a previously little-known German writer named Friedrich Reck-Malleczewen. He was previously a medical doctor but eventually followed his calling to write. Although the author wasn’t that well known in Germany, he had many connections and had previously met Adolph Hitler and Heinrich Himmler, one of Hitler’s henchmen and developer of “the final solution” to rid the world of Jews. In his diary he described these men in the harshest of terms. He was a politically conservative writer who was able to see through the lies being spread by the Nazis and their impacts on the people. His diary entries are prescient and full of his anger at how his beloved country had turned into this killing and hating machine where children were turning in their parents for their lack of patriotism. His descriptions of the bombing raids are grisly. He compares his country’s current situation to the Munster Rebellion back in the 1500s when the Anabaptists tried to install a theocracy by appealing to the masses via disinformation in pamphlets. He was well aware of the danger he was putting himself in by writing these things, which is why he buried his diary each night in a different part of his property so it wouldn’t be discovered. The Nazi party had already banned some of his previous books, so they already had their “eyes” on him. He was arrested in October of 1944 for avoiding the latest draft where they were asking men in their 60s to fend off what was becoming a hopeless situation. He was eventually released thanks to an SS officer who knew him. Because of this we were able to read his last diary entries which described his time in jail for this offense. His freedom didn’t last long as he was arrested on New Year’s Eve of 1944 as the Nazi party was becoming desperate. He eventually died of typhus in Dachau Prison in February of 1945 just a few months before the end of the war.
Here are some of many great lines in his diary which was dug up by his widow and provided to a family friend who had it published in 1947:
About Hitler: The man has certainly lied, and not only in politics. He has lied regularly and often to enhance his own personal reputation.
About Hitler’s ego: If a German government had built a gigantic studio, subsidised the newspapers to declare him the greatest artist of all time, and managed to satisfy his limitless vanity that way, I believe he would have turned to completely harmless pursuits and would never have gotten the idea of setting fire to the world.
September 1932, the streets were already quite unsafe, I had a loaded revolver with me. In the almost deserted restaurant, I could easily have shot him. If I had had an inkling of the role this piece of filth was to play, and of the years of suffering he was to make us endure, I would have done it without a second thought. But I took him for a character out of a comic strip, and did not shoot.
Another image: A little Jewish boy, condemned to death under martial law for aiding the enemy, is being led to execution and does not understand. He is handed an order on which the verdict is written, glances at it uncomprehendingly and asks: ‘Please . . . for what is the little paper?’
Germany has been sinking deeper and deeper into unreality ever since. . . . It is now completely drugged on its own lies. The cure will be more awful than anything ever seen before in history.
It is typical of the spiritual state of the German people that when his children were told of the death of their father, the reaction of one was: ‘He (Hitler) had father shot, but still, he is our Führer.’
What price a forest if the ‘national’ interest calls for a cellulose factory? Or a German cathedral that stands in the way of an autobahn? What is the value of a tiny remnant of the German soul when aggression is in the works and an entire nation is being systematically turned into cavemen
And the rattle of the machine guns, and the dead lying on the much-trodden ground, so tiny and flat against it that they seemed already part of the earth.
The harpooner, a red-bearded Irishman, kept putting harpoons into the whale. The intestines were hanging out of the mangled body of the huge animal, and nevertheless it continued to swim back and forth in the water made red by its blood, trying with its shattered body to shield (her baby) whale. Since then, and the sight of that harpooner’s freckled face as he laughed derisively, and of that poor creature, faithful to the end, I have believed in the existence of Satan as I believe in the existence of God.
Nationalism: a state of mind in which you do not love your own country as much as you hate somebody else’s.
Really, this people, only yesterday so intelligent and discriminating, seems to have been overcome by a disease of the mind. They now believe everything they are told, provided it is done with sufficient aplomb.
Ah, have you ever looked about you at the possessions of a man on his deathbed, knowing that all of it would soon be scattered to the four winds?
she extolled this ‘Führer’ of ours because ‘in his goodness, he has prepared a gentle and easy death by gas for the German people in case the war ends badly.’ Oh, I am not writing fiction. This lovely lady is no creature of my imagination. I saw her with my own eyes: a golden-tanned forty-year-old with the insane eyes of all this type
I lay down sadly. I have been born too early on this planet. I will not survive this insanity.
Boyd Lake State Park in Loveland – In my quest to visit lots of state parks this year I headed north to Loveland which is half an hour from home. Loveland could have been named Lakeland for all the lakes in this city. I hiked the Boyd Lake Trail which is part of the city’s 21-mile Recreation Loop Trail that circumnavigates Loveland. I saw lots of cyclists of all shapes and sizes today, all of them very courteous. My city of Longmont has plans for a city-wide connected bike path like this, but it seems we’re far away from that reality at this point. Kuddos to Loveland for getting it done.
Like most state parks, this one has something for everyone. Hiking, fishing, hunting, boating, biking, picnic areas, swimming, paddle boarding, and camping. The trail took me along the western shore of the entire length of the lake. I passed several day use areas and camping spots along with some very quiet and scenic locations. Around the halfway point water was gushing into Boyd lake from Horseshoe Lake to the west. There were several people fishing here because it looked more like a river than a lake. A few of them were even having a bit of luck. There are many benches and picnic tables along the way to relax and take in the views of the lake. Most days you would also have terrific views of the Front Range to the west, but this week we’ve been caught in a “smoke bomb” with wildfire smoke from both Canada and Mexico swirling in the air making visibility really bad. As a matter of fact on one day (May 19th), Denver had the third worst air quality index in the world (after Kuwait City and Dehli). Yikes. Expect more occurrences of this as wildfires get bigger everywhere thanks to climate change.
Today’s highlight was watching a large squadron of pelicans hanging out at the shore on the northern part of the lake where there are fewer people. Other names for a group of pelicans include, a pod, a pouch, a brief, or even a flock…but squadron is the coolest name for a group of these prehistoric looking birds because that’s what they look like when they’re in flying formation. There were several young ones huddled together, perhaps protecting themselves from eagles. It was a nice day in one of Colorado’s many state parks. More to come this year!
Paddle Your Own Canoe by Nick Offerman – I’ve been a fan of Offerman’s since his stint as the ultra-Libertarian boss, Ron Swanson, in the excellent TV series Parks and Recreation which launched the careers of Offerman, Chris Pratt, Aubrey Plaza, and Adam Scott. I became even more of a fan when I saw some of his comedy specials, including one with his wife, Megan Mullally titled “Summer of 69: No Apostrophe.” Ezra Klein interviewed him on his show in an episode titled: “Lessons on Living Well, From Nick Offerman.” And more recently he played the role of a survivalist in one very memorable episode of the HBO series, The Last of Us. He’s multitalented and has a pragmatic and refreshing view of life.
This was a mostly entertaining book describing the author’s upbringing, college life, theater work in Chicago, starving actor in Los Angeles, marriage to Megan Mullally of Will and Grace fame, up until his casting as Ron Swanson on Parks and Recreation. I say mostly, because it did get bogged down a bit as he described his Chicago theater days, but other than that, it was a fun read. Along the way he provides his various lessons on life, initially learned from his parents growing up on a farm, and then honed as he’s lived his life, which has seen its share of ups and downs. And of course, he spends a fair bit of time talking about his woodworking passion. His musical tastes align well with my own and he references Tom Waits, Patty Griffin, and John Prine as some of his favorites. I could probably be buddies with this guy. Here are some lines (note: I edited the colorful part of his vocabulary in the lines below mainly so I don’t get booted off of Blogger):
They have yet to make a man I like better or respect more than my dad. And he’ll be the first to tell you that my mom is even better.
I have no intention of ever ceasing to enjoy red meat. However, I firmly believe that we can choose how and where our meat is raised, and I’m all for a grass-fed, happy steer finding its way to my grill long before a factory-farmed, filthy, corn-fed lab creation.
I think the Bible is largely an amazing and beautiful book of fictional stories from which we can glean the most wholesome lessons about how to treat one another decently...It’s a book of stories that should be treated as suggestions. It is not a book of rules for the citizens of the United States of America.
Choose your favorite spade and dig a small, deep hole, located deep in the forest or a desolate area of the desert or tundra. Bury your cell phone and then find a hobby.
The people making stuff are generally less wealthy but much happier overall. Less bored, less bitter, more satisfied.
My generation certainly had the mind-set that in order to get a “good job,” one had to attend college, but what I’ve learned since is that many of these so-called good jobs are just a sentencing to a sort of cubicle soul-death with a paycheck attached.
I can happily tell you from experience that watching Patty Griffin weave the spell of her songs in person spins an enchantment entirely superior to hearing her records, already amazing in their own right.
(My dad) and my mom have made their lives nothing if not a graceful demonstration of their love for their four kids.
My mom and dad are much more than parents and grandparents. They are, between them, gardener, tailor, woodworker, cook, baker, labor and delivery nurse, schoolteacher, and much more.
Ennui got you down? Build a god$mn canoe, and trust me, you will be happy as a clam at high tide. Most of the work is done with hand tools, which means you get to crank your tunes for hours of pleasure. Check out any Tom Waits or Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sell Out.
our new digs. (I call it “the house that Will & Grace built,” because at the time, Megan was in charge of things like the mortgage, and I was in charge of expenses like supplying the household with toilet paper. I also believe the purchase of beer fell into my bailiwick. So, we were both contributing.)
One of the main reasons I think (our marriage is) succeeding has to do with our propensity to stay home and be boring.
check out this sweet-ass John Lennon quote: “When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy.’ They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.”
Every time I have the opportunity to eat some food that has fallen on the ground, especially in an airport bathroom, I jump to it, in the firm knowledge that I am solidly fortifying my immune system. The “cleaner” we keep our children, the weaker they will become. One man’s opinion. Also, most bugs are pretty tasty.
When I spent some beautiful days in the mountains of Japan, I was quite taken with the philosophy of the Shinto discipline. In short, it is a form of spirituality that links the indigenous people to their past generations as well as nature.
Where the Deer and the Antelope Play by Nick Offerman - As I mentioned in the above review, I like Nick Offerman and he and I would probably be good hiking buddies. He's sort of an enigma in today's political world. His Ron Swanson character on Parks and Recreation screams Libertarian/Republican, as do the facts that he (Offerman) was raised in a small farming town in the Midwest, loves woodworking and loves eating red meat. But in this book, mostly written during the pandemic and after four years of chaos in the Trump White House, he decided to really portray how he feels politically about the way the Republican party has departed not only from their original views, but also the views held by Jesus in the Bible. I thought he went a bit overboard in slamming Trump followers however. We're not going to change anything in this country by hating on people. Blaming and finger pointing have never been successful at changing someone's viewpoint. So, with that out of the way, I did enjoy this three-part read. In part one he visits Glacier National Park with Jeff Tweedy of Wilco and with George Saunders, a terrific writer whom I've written about several times, including this month. I would have loved going hiking with those guys...I could have acted as their guide instead of them having to hire one! His stories of their exploits are hilarious. He diverges into his viewpoints on national parks and the good and bad they portray. The good being the protection of the flora and fauna and the trail systems built to allow folks to explore. The bad being the brutal way we acquired most of the parks' lands from indigenous tribes. In part two he focusses on a sheep farm in England run by James Rebanks, author of The Shepherd's Life and English Pastoral. Rebanks' practices regenerative agriculture on his fatm as opposed to the factory farming that has taken over much of the world. Although Offerman isn't a "seasoned" writer, he does portray the joy he feels while working hard on a farm and being out in nature. So he's a kindred spirit in that way. Part three tells the story of he and his wife, Megan Mullally traveling across the country in November of 2020, in the heat of the pandemic, to visit their families in Oklahoma and Illinois for Thanksgiving. A really nice road trip with stories about their exploits in Cottonwood, Sedona, Taos, Oklahoma, Illinois, and Texas. His section on Sedona was kinda cute; he starts out by mentioning how social media has ruined some really nice places that become overrun with all the attention. So he goes on to tell you how "terrible" and "ugly" Sedona is so that more people don't go there. In my opinion it's too late for Sedona. It is beautiful but it is a mass of people and traffic these days, even during the week. I've hiked many of its surrounding trails but in my last few years in Arizona it was difficult to find trail parking on a Wednesday. This is the section of the book where Offerman gets more political (especially has he sees many RVs flying their Trump and confederate flags). Although I agree with most of his politics, I don't agree with disparaging those who vote differently from me. This negates any possibility of positive future conversations which is what we really need now in order to end this awful division in our country. Here are some lines:
She came to my attention again recently when I read about her new album of rock covers and some original songs coming out in November. I listened to her pre-released original song World on Fire and believe it or not, it’s a damn fine rock song. The music is pounding and the lyrics speak to our divided and ever more callous world. The 77-year-old has said she would never run for president, but she’s just what we need. Here are just a few of her many many great songs that I love.
Coat of Many Colors: Many of her best songs are about her upbringing in the hills of Tennessee, one of twelve children raised in abject poverty and unlimited love. Written in 1971 on the back of Porter Wagoner’s dry cleaning receipt, this song portrays all of that beautifully. This one song spawned a made-for-TV film, a children’s book and countless covers from several different artists. I like this live version.
Sample lyrics:
Now I know we had no money
But I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me
Jolene: Written in 1973, this song was inspired by a woman who used to flirt with her husband, Carl Dean. It’s a devastating song about confronting the woman that could take away your man. The White Stripes do a killer version of this song. Sample lyrics:
He talks about you in his sleep
And there's nothing I can do to keep
From crying when he calls your name, Jolene
Here’s a live version from 1988:
Here I Am (with Sia): Written by Dolly in 1971, I love this 2018 version from the coming of age movie Dumplin’. She sings it with Sia and some gospel background vocals which add great texture to this version. The song is a song of hope. Sample lyrics:
Here I am, I'm reaching out to give you love that you're without
I can help you find what you've been searching for
Here I am, come to me, take my hand 'cause I believe
I can give you all the love you need and more
Wildflowers, with Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris: Dolly went back to her roots during the late 80s up through 2005 with several bluegrass releases of her own, along with the great “Trio” albums she did with Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris. This is just one sample of so many great songs during that period. She wrote it in 1987 and tells the story of her leaving home.
Sample lyrics:
The hills were alive with wildflowers
And I was as wild, even wilder than they
For at least I could run, they just died in the sun
And I refused to just wither in place
Here’s a remastered version from 2015
Light of a Clear Blue Morning: I featured Waxahatchee’ s cover of this great song of hope, new beginnings, and the strength to carry on in my April 2022 blog. In the Dolly Parton’s America podcast, the description of her departure from Porter Wagoner’s powerful influence was heart pounding. Wagoner was extremely popular in the 60s and 70s and her decision to leave his show was fraught with the possibility of her losing her footing in the entertainment industry. But he was stifling her creativity and she knew she had to leave. Years of lawsuits between the two followed. She wrote this song in 1977 as she was just starting to see the light of day. It’s great.
Sample lyrics:
It's been a long dark night
And I've been a waitin' for the morning
It's been a long hard fight
But I see a brand new day a dawning
From her album - New Harvest...First Gathering:
World on Fire: This is the one that got me thinking about Dolly this month. It’s from her soon to be released album that comes out in November. It’s a rock album mostly of cover songs but also with some originals like this surprising one. I say surprising because I’ve heard Dolly sing all kinds of music, but not a rock song like this. And she has a lot to say about the shape of things in this world. I can’t wait for the album to come out because she sings “Let it Be” with Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr!! She and half the Beatles! As much as the political left and the right would love to claim her as their own, she belongs to no party and criticizes them both. Sample Lyrics:
Don't get me started on politics
Now how are we to live in a world like this
Greedy politicians, present and past
They wouldn't know the truth if it bit 'em in the ass
Billy got a gun, Joey got a knife
Janey got a sign to carry in the fight
Marching in the streets with sticks and stones
Don't you ever believe words don't break bones
Here’s the official video which has Dolly sitting on a world on fire.
From the brochure on this area: “David Rice (D.R.) Pulliam and his wife, Virginia (Ginny), were the previous owners of the Bobcat Ridge property. D.R. and Ginny visited the area often, enjoying the peaceful beauty of this land. One year, as a birthday surprise for D.R., Ginny had a narrow dirt road built to Mahoney Park—one of the couple’s favorite spots. D.R. was so pleased with the new route, he immediately named it after his wife. Today, the Ginny and D.R. trails provide access to this beautiful area.”
The presumed gopher snake created a spike in my heartrate as it popped up right in front of me on the trail just as I was gazing out towards the meadow. Once I saw no rattle then the ol’ heartrate calmed a bit. There were thousands of downed trees in the latter half of the hike, likely a result of a beetle infestation. It was like a giant game of pick-up sticks for as far as the eye can see. I imagine this area looked completely different before this occurred. Another beautiful day in Colorado.
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| Lots of options |
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| Hanging out with this deer |
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| Mahoney Park |
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| Garden of rocks |
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| One of several mountain biking features |
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| Informative sign about the bowl-shaped park |
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| Nice view of Mahoney Park |
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| Big snake. Gopher snake maybe? |
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| Trail art |
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| From the ridge looking north, clouds obscuring better views |
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| Trail art |
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| Looked like a bomb went off here...bark beetles maybe? |
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| Tree saluting me as I went by |
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| Dead tree wrestling with a rock |
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| More mountain bike features |
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| The inspiration for the mountain bike feature? |
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| I picked the trail on the right |
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| Entrance/Exit with two nice etchings of the park's namesake bobcat |
Here are some lines:
Is this the life I envisioned for myself? My God no. I wanted to be a high jumper.
The nights when she’d fall asleep with her cheek on my thigh are certainly long past. I lie there awhile watching her make angry faces in her sleep.
Evelyn’s note says: I could never forgive you for putting our sons at risk. Goodbye forever, you passive flake. Don’t try to find us. I’ve told the kids you sent us away in order to marry a floozy.
Possessing perfect knowledge I hover above him as he hacks me to bits. I see his rough childhood. I see his mother doing something horrid to him with a broomstick. I see the hate in his heart and the people he has yet to kill before pneumonia gets him at eighty-three.
Then it was summer and the lagoon scummed over and race riots broke out and tear gas blew over the trees as Leo and I fished for carp.
she comes to and spits in my face and says I couldn’t possibly know the darkness of her heart. Try me, I say.
The stars are blinking like cat’s eyes and burned blood is pouring out of the slaughterhouse chimney.
I roll out of my car and brush my teeth with my finger. My first day as a killer.
He loved us. On that we’ve always agreed. He threw us over (the wall) to save us from death. He believed in people. He believed in the people on the other side of the wall.
Next morning he wakes us before dawn and marches us out to the Sarcoxie slavemart, a fenced-in mudpatch behind a firebombed Wendy’s.
Which raised a second question, one that I now see as being at the heart of this book: Why is the world so harsh to those who are losing?
“Every happy man should have an unhappy man in his closet,” wrote Chekhov, “to remind him, by his constant tapping, that not everyone is happy, and that, sooner or later, life will show him its claws.”
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| Is it the Gravel Pit trailhead or Rainbow trailhead? |
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| Into the trees |
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| Daughter way ahead of me going uphill |
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| Three different trailheads for this summit |
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| First glimpse of the views to come |
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| Daughter and wonder dog heading up |
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| Great views from the summit |
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| Beautiful |
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| Artsy foreground shot |
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| Great lunch spot |
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| Daughter and wonder dog/goat |
As in A Visit From the Goon Squad, this latest novel of Egan's had a couple of creative chapters. In one, the story is told completely from an email and messaging chain. Brilliant. Another chapter tells the story in the format of an operating manual for spies. Egan is somehow able to create and tell stories in many different and unique forms.
The goon in the previous novel was the idea of time passing and wondering about your life. In this novel, The Candy House could be a sort of metaphor for memory, or maybe as the NPR review said, “The phrase "the candy house" (as in Hansel and Gretel) refers to the Faustian bargain of convenience and connection for loss of privacy.” The way we’re willing to give social media companies all of our information just so that we can have these cool apps to play with. But don’t worry, Egan doesn’t brood on the philosophical ramifications of social media too much because she’s busy creating this incredible set of characters with fascinating and intersecting lives to keep you entertained…. although a character map maybe would have helped, I just read it and enjoyed every minute of it. Here are some lines:
“Does he have psychological issues?” “I don’t know,” Kristen said wearily. “I think he just likes to scream.”
At home, everyone seemed happy, as I reminded myself daily by checking Trudy’s Facebook—later, her Instagram feed.
The emptiness of the desert felt biblical, as if nothing had ever happened there—as if all of history were yet to come.
we’re all in our fifties—do people even ask what we’re “doing” anymore? Hasn’t that already been decided?
He looked like a man who’d been pummeled, accidentally, into handsomeness.
We loved the messy tragedy of his life, the loose ends and failed children; the enemies and sports cars and outbursts and midnight inspirations;
Nothing is free! Only children expect otherwise, even as myths and fairy tales warn us: Rumpelstiltskin, King Midas, Hansel and Gretel. Never trust a candy house!
Lana broke away in 2025, the year after our mother did. She, too, has joined the eluders—that invisible army of data defiers.
The oldest, Lou Kline, is only thirty-one, but all were born in the 1930s and raised without antibiotics, their military service completed before they went to college. Men of their generation got started on adulthood right away.
Wind and sunlight tear at the fog.
Kiki spent all her time with a Christian youth group; Roxy assumed that, being plain, her sister had no better options. God loves everyone, right?
Heroin is her great love, her life’s work, and she has given up everything for it, through renunciation or sheer neglect.
Abuela met him at the door of her gray-green house and folded him into a fragile embrace mentholated by the cigarettes she still smoked at eighty-six,
Human beings are fiercely, primordially resilient.
We reassure ourselves by summoning, in our dreams, those we love and miss.
I’m not sure what it says about my life that the only person who will appreciate the day I’ve just had is the one I divorced almost thirty years ago.
Technology, wealth, fame—to Gregory, these were features of a world where the things that mattered to him, namely books and writing, counted for nothing.
One horror of motherhood lies in the moments when she can see both the exquisiteness of her child and his utter inconsequence to others.
It’s 1991, and a lot of things that are about to happen haven’t happened yet. The screens that everyone will hold twenty years from now haven’t been invented, and their bulky, sluggish predecessors have yet to break the surface of ordinary life. No one in this crowd has ever seen a portable phone, which gives to this moment the quality of a pause. All these parents gathered in the fading light, and not a single face underlit by a bluish glow!
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| An old dude ranch converted into scientist quarters |
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| Part of the old Walker Ranch buildings |
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| Stairway to heaven |
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| Lots of water in Cow Creek, overflowing bridges |
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| Several small waterfalls along the way |
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| So much water |
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| Bridal Veil Falls |
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| More colorful shot of Bridal Veil |
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| It wouldn't take much to overflow onto the trail... |
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| Sun-dappled moss |
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| That's water over the bridge... |
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| Seeing eye tree |
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| Trees reaching for the sky in praise |
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| Views of Longs Peak from the Black Canyon junction |
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| Longs Peak |
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| There were still patches of snow on the trail at 9,000 ft |
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| The Scream tree? |
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| Headed back down |
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| Backcountry pit toilet at one of the two single-site campsites I passed |
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| Trail art |
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| Last look at the very full Cow Creek |
Here are some of many great lines in his diary which was dug up by his widow and provided to a family friend who had it published in 1947:
About Hitler: The man has certainly lied, and not only in politics. He has lied regularly and often to enhance his own personal reputation.
About Hitler’s ego: If a German government had built a gigantic studio, subsidised the newspapers to declare him the greatest artist of all time, and managed to satisfy his limitless vanity that way, I believe he would have turned to completely harmless pursuits and would never have gotten the idea of setting fire to the world.
September 1932, the streets were already quite unsafe, I had a loaded revolver with me. In the almost deserted restaurant, I could easily have shot him. If I had had an inkling of the role this piece of filth was to play, and of the years of suffering he was to make us endure, I would have done it without a second thought. But I took him for a character out of a comic strip, and did not shoot.
Another image: A little Jewish boy, condemned to death under martial law for aiding the enemy, is being led to execution and does not understand. He is handed an order on which the verdict is written, glances at it uncomprehendingly and asks: ‘Please . . . for what is the little paper?’
Germany has been sinking deeper and deeper into unreality ever since. . . . It is now completely drugged on its own lies. The cure will be more awful than anything ever seen before in history.
It is typical of the spiritual state of the German people that when his children were told of the death of their father, the reaction of one was: ‘He (Hitler) had father shot, but still, he is our Führer.’
What price a forest if the ‘national’ interest calls for a cellulose factory? Or a German cathedral that stands in the way of an autobahn? What is the value of a tiny remnant of the German soul when aggression is in the works and an entire nation is being systematically turned into cavemen
And the rattle of the machine guns, and the dead lying on the much-trodden ground, so tiny and flat against it that they seemed already part of the earth.
The harpooner, a red-bearded Irishman, kept putting harpoons into the whale. The intestines were hanging out of the mangled body of the huge animal, and nevertheless it continued to swim back and forth in the water made red by its blood, trying with its shattered body to shield (her baby) whale. Since then, and the sight of that harpooner’s freckled face as he laughed derisively, and of that poor creature, faithful to the end, I have believed in the existence of Satan as I believe in the existence of God.
Nationalism: a state of mind in which you do not love your own country as much as you hate somebody else’s.
Really, this people, only yesterday so intelligent and discriminating, seems to have been overcome by a disease of the mind. They now believe everything they are told, provided it is done with sufficient aplomb.
Ah, have you ever looked about you at the possessions of a man on his deathbed, knowing that all of it would soon be scattered to the four winds?
she extolled this ‘Führer’ of ours because ‘in his goodness, he has prepared a gentle and easy death by gas for the German people in case the war ends badly.’ Oh, I am not writing fiction. This lovely lady is no creature of my imagination. I saw her with my own eyes: a golden-tanned forty-year-old with the insane eyes of all this type
I lay down sadly. I have been born too early on this planet. I will not survive this insanity.
Like most state parks, this one has something for everyone. Hiking, fishing, hunting, boating, biking, picnic areas, swimming, paddle boarding, and camping. The trail took me along the western shore of the entire length of the lake. I passed several day use areas and camping spots along with some very quiet and scenic locations. Around the halfway point water was gushing into Boyd lake from Horseshoe Lake to the west. There were several people fishing here because it looked more like a river than a lake. A few of them were even having a bit of luck. There are many benches and picnic tables along the way to relax and take in the views of the lake. Most days you would also have terrific views of the Front Range to the west, but this week we’ve been caught in a “smoke bomb” with wildfire smoke from both Canada and Mexico swirling in the air making visibility really bad. As a matter of fact on one day (May 19th), Denver had the third worst air quality index in the world (after Kuwait City and Dehli). Yikes. Expect more occurrences of this as wildfires get bigger everywhere thanks to climate change.
Today’s highlight was watching a large squadron of pelicans hanging out at the shore on the northern part of the lake where there are fewer people. Other names for a group of pelicans include, a pod, a pouch, a brief, or even a flock…but squadron is the coolest name for a group of these prehistoric looking birds because that’s what they look like when they’re in flying formation. There were several young ones huddled together, perhaps protecting themselves from eagles. It was a nice day in one of Colorado’s many state parks. More to come this year!
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| Small welcome sign |
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| So green after all the rain |
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| Fisherman enjoying the day |
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| Artsy pelican shot |
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| Water pouring in from Heinricy Lake |
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| A very pretty paved walk the entire way |
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| Folks hoping for some fish as water pours in from Horseshoe Lake |
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| Even with the Canada smoke, it was nice out |
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| So many pelicans! |
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| Squadron of pelicans |
This was a mostly entertaining book describing the author’s upbringing, college life, theater work in Chicago, starving actor in Los Angeles, marriage to Megan Mullally of Will and Grace fame, up until his casting as Ron Swanson on Parks and Recreation. I say mostly, because it did get bogged down a bit as he described his Chicago theater days, but other than that, it was a fun read. Along the way he provides his various lessons on life, initially learned from his parents growing up on a farm, and then honed as he’s lived his life, which has seen its share of ups and downs. And of course, he spends a fair bit of time talking about his woodworking passion. His musical tastes align well with my own and he references Tom Waits, Patty Griffin, and John Prine as some of his favorites. I could probably be buddies with this guy. Here are some lines (note: I edited the colorful part of his vocabulary in the lines below mainly so I don’t get booted off of Blogger):
They have yet to make a man I like better or respect more than my dad. And he’ll be the first to tell you that my mom is even better.
I have no intention of ever ceasing to enjoy red meat. However, I firmly believe that we can choose how and where our meat is raised, and I’m all for a grass-fed, happy steer finding its way to my grill long before a factory-farmed, filthy, corn-fed lab creation.
I think the Bible is largely an amazing and beautiful book of fictional stories from which we can glean the most wholesome lessons about how to treat one another decently...It’s a book of stories that should be treated as suggestions. It is not a book of rules for the citizens of the United States of America.
Choose your favorite spade and dig a small, deep hole, located deep in the forest or a desolate area of the desert or tundra. Bury your cell phone and then find a hobby.
The people making stuff are generally less wealthy but much happier overall. Less bored, less bitter, more satisfied.
My generation certainly had the mind-set that in order to get a “good job,” one had to attend college, but what I’ve learned since is that many of these so-called good jobs are just a sentencing to a sort of cubicle soul-death with a paycheck attached.
I can happily tell you from experience that watching Patty Griffin weave the spell of her songs in person spins an enchantment entirely superior to hearing her records, already amazing in their own right.
(My dad) and my mom have made their lives nothing if not a graceful demonstration of their love for their four kids.
My mom and dad are much more than parents and grandparents. They are, between them, gardener, tailor, woodworker, cook, baker, labor and delivery nurse, schoolteacher, and much more.
Ennui got you down? Build a god$mn canoe, and trust me, you will be happy as a clam at high tide. Most of the work is done with hand tools, which means you get to crank your tunes for hours of pleasure. Check out any Tom Waits or Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sell Out.
our new digs. (I call it “the house that Will & Grace built,” because at the time, Megan was in charge of things like the mortgage, and I was in charge of expenses like supplying the household with toilet paper. I also believe the purchase of beer fell into my bailiwick. So, we were both contributing.)
One of the main reasons I think (our marriage is) succeeding has to do with our propensity to stay home and be boring.
check out this sweet-ass John Lennon quote: “When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy.’ They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.”
Every time I have the opportunity to eat some food that has fallen on the ground, especially in an airport bathroom, I jump to it, in the firm knowledge that I am solidly fortifying my immune system. The “cleaner” we keep our children, the weaker they will become. One man’s opinion. Also, most bugs are pretty tasty.
When I spent some beautiful days in the mountains of Japan, I was quite taken with the philosophy of the Shinto discipline. In short, it is a form of spirituality that links the indigenous people to their past generations as well as nature.
A man on foot, on horseback or on a bicycle will see more, feel more, enjoy more in one mile than the motorized tourists can in a hundred miles. —Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire
Later in this book we’ll hear a bit about scalping, but only a very little bit, because it’s truly f$%ked up, and I am a humorist, not Cormac McCarthy.
Historically, we absolutely had to vilify the Indigenous peoples in order to justify our depraved actions toward them.
(My uncle) is a retired schoolteacher and my aunt is a retired librarian, so they weren’t exactly swimming in income. Hunting has always been a way for him to provide plenty of the highest-possible-quality organic meat for his family, while spending many hours silently communing with nature.
But just like I think that woodshop and welding and baking and sewing and so forth should be taught in our public schools as imperative parts of the curriculum of life, I also think it would do our society a world of good were we made to participate in a hunt.
Choosing to pursue a career in live theatre, for example, is never a good idea if one is seeking a pile of wealth, but it’s where I met my wife, inarguably the richest gold-strike a prospector panning for life value could hope to seek.
I know of no better way to make a friend than to pitch in on hard work together, and the sh!ttier the conditions, the faster the friendship forms.
When expansive fields of grain on the American prairie are farmed entirely by machine, in a way that never once requires the farmer to insert their hand into the soil to assess its health, we lose perhaps the most precious aspect of having farmers among us.
this brings to mind the great quote from Jonas Salk: “Our greatest responsibility is to be good ancestors.”
Aldo Leopold wrote, “There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace.”
We’re all racist, we exist in a world, a framework, that was constructed by, and for the benefit of, white people, particularly wealthy white people. Let’s start by owning that. To deny it is a violent sort of ignorance.
Where I come from, values still exist, and they’re based not on skin color, or religion, or sexual orientation, but solely on decency.
By and large, when any tool production moves overseas, the quality goes down so that somebody’s wallet can get fatter, which is why I want to...buy American whenever I can.
His imagined first meeting of white people with Native Americans: “Hello, we are white people. Very nice natural resources you have here. Do you mind if we have this? [gestures all around] Yes? Um, okay. Are you sure? Because these here thunder-sticks are what we call guns, and these little letter-T things are called crosses, and when we combine these guns and crosses, we are able to excuse any and all depravity required of us when it comes to taking what we want by force. You want to sleep on it, maybe? We’ll be back soon and we can teach you about paperwork.”
brandishing a firearm of any sort in public is not a neighborly gesture.
if I can simply continue to enjoy my canoe, then I might just remember that actually nobody needs a yacht.
We must understand that each and every one of us is a cog or a wheel in the ecosystem of Leopold’s parlance, and that like it or not, you need me. And I need you, every gorgeous, godd@mn one of you, to continue to engender the ethics of agrarianism throughout the world, to save our food systems, our farmers, our civilization, and ultimately ourselves. It’s the biggest no-brainer in the history of mankind.
Until next month, happy reading and rambling!