MY FAVE HIKING STICK
for It was seeing the twinkle in my eye and the grin on my face, as I handled it, that motivated my wife Brigitte to end up buying it for me at a Tubac Art Fair, back in the early 1990’s. The artist, a man who traveled and sold his wares regionally from his home in Colorado, fabricated them from local trees he accessed in his travels and hikes to the high country of his State. Considering my age, he may no longer be with us, but I hope he still lives. He truly is an artist, and his name is Robert L. Parker. The stick carried a tag with his printed stylized name on the outside and a printed phrase inside, "Your original sculpture has been created in,” and within, he had handwritten the species of tree he used for this hiking stick. His notation, for my original sculpture, read: "Engelman Spruce.”
Sensing my keen interest in this ideally-sized-for-my-height item, he told me that it was made from a tree that had existed and grown at about a 14,000 foot altitude, very slowly each year. Looking end-wise at the rounded top, He pointed out the many narrow rings, so that by the time the tree was harvested, the limb which he used in his sculpture, provided a hiking/leaning stick which was aged, dense, light, strong and straight. However, it also possessed gentle curves he created for gripping while hiking and a knob or pommel at the very top. The latter was for grasping in steep places, to stride upward and once there, to lean upon, catch your breath and rest your whole body for a while. I ask you, how could I NOT want and encourage my wife to gift me with such a unique "sculpture," after that story? SOLD !!
Sensing my keen interest in this ideally-sized-for-my-height item, he told me that it was made from a tree that had existed and grown at about a 14,000 foot altitude, very slowly each year. Looking end-wise at the rounded top, He pointed out the many narrow rings, so that by the time the tree was harvested, the limb which he used in his sculpture, provided a hiking/leaning stick which was aged, dense, light, strong and straight. However, it also possessed gentle curves he created for gripping while hiking and a knob or pommel at the very top. The latter was for grasping in steep places, to stride upward and once there, to lean upon, catch your breath and rest your whole body for a while. I ask you, how could I NOT want and encourage my wife to gift me with such a unique "sculpture," after that story? SOLD !!
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Back in the day, it cost me $55.00 plus applicable tax, probably about 8 percent, thus totaling almost $60.00, but it has been worth it. Since then, I have used it throughout my hikes and neighborhood strolls in Arizona. It has been mine now for more than twenty years. I remember a scheduled four-day deep snow hike, shortened by my serious knee injury, despite previous months of training in the trails around Tucson. We went down and back up the difficult Level 3 Grandview Trail at the Grand Canyon in March of 1995, with my son Ross and my friend, and then colleague, Rocco. The hiking stick, and the crampons latched to our boots saw me through the ice and deep snow, down and then back out, after a frigid overnight tenting on Horseshoe Plateau. These days, I gravitate toward less challenging topography. I am older and necessarily wiser, but I "walk my hood" five to seven days each week.
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Yearly, I carefully sand down my stick with 400, then 1000 and finally 1500 grit sandpaper. I wipe off the grit and put some food-grade coconut oil in the palm of my hand and caress the length if the hiking stick. I pay particular attention to the bump beneath the heel of my hand near the top and also to the beautifully rounded, “sculptured” pommel at the very top end. If it is too worn, I attach a new rubber cap to the bottom end, and then it all gleams back at me. Ready to go again. May the Lord continue to shine upon me so I'm ready too.
FIVE AMBASSADORS OF KENYA
Ambassadors are diplomats of the highest rank, charged with representing their nation to key leaders in other countries of the world. Most people like me may go through a lifetime and never meet, personally hear or speak with one ambassador. Ambassadors operate only at the highest governmental level, or is that a rather narrow assumption about the title and functions of true ambassadors?
In September, 2015 I met not one, but five ambassadors of Kenya. These gentlemen do not carry the official title, "Mister Ambassador," but they deserve to have it added to their resumes'. Officially, these men were the team, possessing a combined set of many skills i.e., driver/guide/naturalist/cultural anthropologists that brought their land, its animal inhabitants and its people to life for a group of thirteen American amateur photographers, myself included, visiting Kenya. They all contributed to introducing us to the mammals, the birds, the plants, the history, the cultural heritage and the daily flow of activity in their unique and beautiful nation. They did all this, but there was more.
We shared broad scenic views, sunrises and sunsets, unique animal behavior, rare sightings, creatures large and small with their young, a remarkable mountain rain with delayed replenishment of previously dry river beds, migrations of vast herds and river crossings of those massed grazing creatures. We began in Samburu National Reserve, followed by Lake Nakuru National Park and concluded in the Masai Mara Game Reserve. The diversity of mammal and bird species was amazing, and our ambassadors regaled us with facts, previously unknown species interrelationships, personal stories, local history and folklore. We visited a village of the Samburu tribe, a group closely related to the Maasai people and paused, refreshed and immersed ourselves in many places during the intervening drives between our three major camp locations. Wherever we traveled and whomever we met, because of these ambassadors, WE were always received as honored guests
Just like official governmental ambassadors, these gentlemen are all multi-lingual. Each speaks the distinct native dialect from where he was born and raised. Each is also fluent in Swahili, a kind of universal African language which enables people of different tribes to communicate with a common vocabulary. On the game drives, we were treated to the intriguing, almost musical sounds of Swahili, as the drivers each dialogued or narrated what was happening in their specific location. When a driver or passenger spotted something noteworthy, this fact was quickly communicated in Swahili via two-way radio to our other four-wheel drive vehicles, so that all five vehicles and group members could converge, to capitalize with images of that 'noteworthy' event.
Each of these ambassadors speaks English extremely well, and is also familiar with phrases and identifications in the German, French, Belgian and Italian languages. Remember, this cadre of ambassadors is exposed to visitors and photographers from around the world. Each ambassador whom I met carried diverse work experience from regions surrounding Kenya. These places were once foreign-held and governed colonies. Today most of these, now independent nations, still project aspects of the former colonial language, in the course of daily life, relationships with surrounding nations and in commerce.
In September, 2015 I met not one, but five ambassadors of Kenya. These gentlemen do not carry the official title, "Mister Ambassador," but they deserve to have it added to their resumes'. Officially, these men were the team, possessing a combined set of many skills i.e., driver/guide/naturalist/cultural anthropologists that brought their land, its animal inhabitants and its people to life for a group of thirteen American amateur photographers, myself included, visiting Kenya. They all contributed to introducing us to the mammals, the birds, the plants, the history, the cultural heritage and the daily flow of activity in their unique and beautiful nation. They did all this, but there was more.
We shared broad scenic views, sunrises and sunsets, unique animal behavior, rare sightings, creatures large and small with their young, a remarkable mountain rain with delayed replenishment of previously dry river beds, migrations of vast herds and river crossings of those massed grazing creatures. We began in Samburu National Reserve, followed by Lake Nakuru National Park and concluded in the Masai Mara Game Reserve. The diversity of mammal and bird species was amazing, and our ambassadors regaled us with facts, previously unknown species interrelationships, personal stories, local history and folklore. We visited a village of the Samburu tribe, a group closely related to the Maasai people and paused, refreshed and immersed ourselves in many places during the intervening drives between our three major camp locations. Wherever we traveled and whomever we met, because of these ambassadors, WE were always received as honored guests
Just like official governmental ambassadors, these gentlemen are all multi-lingual. Each speaks the distinct native dialect from where he was born and raised. Each is also fluent in Swahili, a kind of universal African language which enables people of different tribes to communicate with a common vocabulary. On the game drives, we were treated to the intriguing, almost musical sounds of Swahili, as the drivers each dialogued or narrated what was happening in their specific location. When a driver or passenger spotted something noteworthy, this fact was quickly communicated in Swahili via two-way radio to our other four-wheel drive vehicles, so that all five vehicles and group members could converge, to capitalize with images of that 'noteworthy' event.
Each of these ambassadors speaks English extremely well, and is also familiar with phrases and identifications in the German, French, Belgian and Italian languages. Remember, this cadre of ambassadors is exposed to visitors and photographers from around the world. Each ambassador whom I met carried diverse work experience from regions surrounding Kenya. These places were once foreign-held and governed colonies. Today most of these, now independent nations, still project aspects of the former colonial language, in the course of daily life, relationships with surrounding nations and in commerce.
So who are these five men that I met, whom I proudly describe as 'five ambassadors of Kenya?' The accompanying image is courtesy of www.gerlachnaturephoto.com, and the men are (left to right): Henry Miwani; Edwin Selempo; Benedict Ndambuki; Stanley Kariithi; and Zachary Mbuthia.
Now, having fulfilled my bucket list dream of visiting and photographing the wonder that is Kenya, I have settled down to many happy hours of reviewing, editing and organizing the six to seven hundred gigabytes worth of images, which I acquired. The refined collection will become an outline, a table of contents, as it were, for reliving something greater than pure visual imagery. These individual pictures connect into larger memorable sequences. The sequences become more substantial when combined as events. The collection of those events has already given me a treasure, which I will never forget. They are all reminders of exciting moments and glimpses into nature in a wondrous time and place. That unique vision of Kenya will never be seen in the same way again. Now, I have my own personal time capsule of how I was blessed to see it.
The fondest gift, which I expect to retain from what is now my personal time-capsuled journey, is a deep sense of gratitude. That feeling will enrich my memories of the generosity and friendship given by all participants during the time we were together. It will remind me of new friends and relationships established within the tour group and with the five ambassadors of Kenya. UNFORGETTABLE ! Thank you my new friends, my brother Henry, Edwin, Benedict, Stanley and Zachary. Thank you fellow tour group members, who have remained in contact with me, thus far. Also, many thanks to tour leaders John and Barbara Gerlach, with whom I have traveled previously in the United States and in Canada. You are splendid instructors, lovers of the people and places you visit, and most of all, my friends.
Now, having fulfilled my bucket list dream of visiting and photographing the wonder that is Kenya, I have settled down to many happy hours of reviewing, editing and organizing the six to seven hundred gigabytes worth of images, which I acquired. The refined collection will become an outline, a table of contents, as it were, for reliving something greater than pure visual imagery. These individual pictures connect into larger memorable sequences. The sequences become more substantial when combined as events. The collection of those events has already given me a treasure, which I will never forget. They are all reminders of exciting moments and glimpses into nature in a wondrous time and place. That unique vision of Kenya will never be seen in the same way again. Now, I have my own personal time capsule of how I was blessed to see it.
The fondest gift, which I expect to retain from what is now my personal time-capsuled journey, is a deep sense of gratitude. That feeling will enrich my memories of the generosity and friendship given by all participants during the time we were together. It will remind me of new friends and relationships established within the tour group and with the five ambassadors of Kenya. UNFORGETTABLE ! Thank you my new friends, my brother Henry, Edwin, Benedict, Stanley and Zachary. Thank you fellow tour group members, who have remained in contact with me, thus far. Also, many thanks to tour leaders John and Barbara Gerlach, with whom I have traveled previously in the United States and in Canada. You are splendid instructors, lovers of the people and places you visit, and most of all, my friends.
SHERLOCK STUETZE: Wet Bobcat and Hawk |
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We saw and photographed a soaking wet and bewildered juvenile bobcat, as it left the entrance pathway to Sweetwater Wetlands north of Tucson, Arizona near I-10 and Prince Road. Ten steps and seconds later we are on a pedestrian bridge over the manmade water supply creek to the wetlands wastewater cleansing ponds and the two recharge basins. Looking down from the bridge we saw a lone male Cooper's Hawk, standing in a shocked trance, offering his best wading bird imitation. The only elementary deduction we can draw from the foregoing is that the stalking, young bobcat got overanxious, sprang precipitously over the handrail, missing any clawed grip on the hawk and they fell simultaneously into the shallow, rocky creek. The heavier bobcat took a hard, wet bounce and quickly left the creek. The hawk, fluttered to a more controlled, and softer landing, a safe distance from the cat. It was definitely still in shock after this near fatal experience, because it barely moved and remained in that unlikely and useless stance for over ten minutes, while we continued to photograph it. I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but I only missed the event by seconds. This is my take on this stereophonic wet story and I am sticking to it. You have to admit, its not only plausible, its a great little yarn that probably happened just like that..and just that fast!
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THE SNAIL'S PACE "ZOOM"
Some times in our lives we feel like we’re progressing slow-motion, barely moving at all, and we are reminded of the cliché, a “snail’s pace.” We are not particularly proud of ourselves; we pick up the pace and feel much better for it. Aha! Now we’re getting somewhere! What did those poor snails do to deserve such a universal bad rap as the slowest of slow pokes? One good reason is that for the most part, they are not in any particular hurry in the scheme of their lives. They are content to mosey along in their smooth, leisurely fashion, because they really don’t need to do anything faster. Have you ever wondered, what if there were times that snails really “get a move on,” and outdid themselves in velocity. I never stopped to wonder about it. I have too much to get done. I have always been racing about doing my thing. Have you ever stopped to think about it? I thought not.
During a recent afternoon, after a late monsoon deluge in my Tucson, Arizona back yard, my grandsons, who are bug finders and catchers extraordinaire, were on the hunt. What they found was a sight I had never seen before. Everywhere I looked, within my raised flower bed, there dozens, no hundreds of snails. They were all on the move clambering over all the tiny-to-us obstacles of their surface world. Yes, they were even gliding and climbing, over other snails that got in their way. There was no rhyme or reason. I perceived no natural super-highway style pathway. There was no single direction that I could detect. Then it dawned on me. A huge amount of water had suddenly dropped on top of them during the monsoon microburst. It had disrupted their subterranean meanderings and they were suddenly in an emergency escape mode. They had to get up from under the super soggy ground and find a drier location on top of the soil. Damn the twigs, the pebbles, the clover, the prehistoric snail shell fragments or each other. This was a battle for survival and “slow” was, for once, NOT the answer. Now that I think I’ve got it all figured out, just you watch and see. Some genius zoologist is going to come along and tell me, ”You’re all wet!”
FAMILY POETRY
Toward the end of January, 1987 two of my sons were in elementary school and were challenged to write poetry by their teachers. As kids of that age, they were not in the least bit deterred or overwhelmed by this assignment. They set about the task and were encouraged to take their work home to elaborate and continue the efforts together with their parents. With five kids at home, my wife nominated me for this task. My son Greg had written a short poem which was fun to read. It had great rhythm, an easy cadence and he was able to share his love of penguins As a parent I was quite proud of his effort, but I committed an adult sin. I brought geography into the picture. One of his rhyming words was "arctic' and it worked out perfectly. However, most penguins live in the extreme southern hemisphere of the planet in what is called the "antarctic." In the spirit of accuracy, I pointed out this fact. For Greg this was not a problem and he cheerfully changed the word. He read the poem out loud and then he noticed something. That extra syllable, although making the poem geographically accurate, totally messed up the aforementioned perfect "rhythm and cadence," which he had created. It upset him immensely and no amount of apologies, back-pedaling or my last-ditch reference to something called "artistic license" seemed to calm him at that moment. He finally regained his composure in two key phrases. One was a question. The final one was a challenge to me. He asked, "Have you ever written a poem?" I answered that I had, when I was about his age, but I didn't remember it or have a copy of it anymore. Then he said, "If you think you can still do it, I think you should write a poem about something you like too!" It was obvious what I had to do. I had to do this for him, to redeem myself and for any hope of poetry or literary effort from him in future school years. That is how, "The Order of the Otter," was born, in Tucson, Arizona, in the wee hours of January 23, 1987.
See the heart-laden bubble on his chest and a second fully heart-shaped bubble that has floated off into the water at his right shoulder? Otters naturally give off love. This is not a software manipulation.
THE ORDER OF THE OTTER
"The Order of the Otter," is that what I heard you say? Well there simply isn't any, unless the word is "play."
Oh, of course they feed and breed and sleep, for all creatures thats a must, but order in an otter? Thats one gigantic bust!
You envy them? They're fun to watch! The helter-skelter walks. The teasing, playing nipping jigs, the muffled nasel squawks.
You tolerate the pungent musk rising from their oily fur. It helps them swoop and glide in ponds as birds do in the air.
I grant you, they are different, the clowns of weaseldom. Unlike their sneaky cousins, nerve-wracked till evils done.
In wild or zoo they have a spirit, that none can hold at bay. It cries our FREEDOM, LOVE OF LIFE and TIME to fill each day.
The "Order of the Otter," is a phrase of my insistence. The fact is every otter finds great joy in pure existence.
No vast deep plan, no marvelous goals, no pause or hesitation. Just headlong life, fulfilled alone as part of God's creation.
Where in this scheme do I fit in? Am I pressing... pausing...pushed? Do I regret and wish I could, bogged down by all I think I should, and yet...
I am the way God made me, searching striving to be better. I'll find in life the mix thats mine, MY "Order of the Otter."
Oh, of course they feed and breed and sleep, for all creatures thats a must, but order in an otter? Thats one gigantic bust!
You envy them? They're fun to watch! The helter-skelter walks. The teasing, playing nipping jigs, the muffled nasel squawks.
You tolerate the pungent musk rising from their oily fur. It helps them swoop and glide in ponds as birds do in the air.
I grant you, they are different, the clowns of weaseldom. Unlike their sneaky cousins, nerve-wracked till evils done.
In wild or zoo they have a spirit, that none can hold at bay. It cries our FREEDOM, LOVE OF LIFE and TIME to fill each day.
The "Order of the Otter," is a phrase of my insistence. The fact is every otter finds great joy in pure existence.
No vast deep plan, no marvelous goals, no pause or hesitation. Just headlong life, fulfilled alone as part of God's creation.
Where in this scheme do I fit in? Am I pressing... pausing...pushed? Do I regret and wish I could, bogged down by all I think I should, and yet...
I am the way God made me, searching striving to be better. I'll find in life the mix thats mine, MY "Order of the Otter."
