July 16, 1945

I knew I wanted to write about my life for my children and grandchildren, as my mother had done for us. However, my life seemed so mundane compared to those of my parents and grandparents – until I received a forwarded email from a friend asking where I was on a particular date in history. That was all I needed to get my juices going. This is the first of a series of stories linking my life with points in history.

When the first atomic bomb was exploded on July 16, 1945 at 5:45 am MST in the New Mexico desert, on land that is now the White Sands Missile Range, I had just turned three and was asleep in Santa Monica, California home. 2015 marks the 70th anniversary of this event that changed the course of history.

According to an Associated Press article that appeared in the Albuquerque Journal on July 16, 2015, “When a flash of light beamed from the arid New Mexico desert early on July 16, 1945, residents of the historic Hispanic village of Tularosa felt windows shake and heard dishes fall….The end of the world is here, they thought.”

It would be another three weeks before the world would begin to know the significance of the desert event.

My father, an engineer with the Civil Air Administration (CAA), was not allowed to join the armed forces before 1945 since his job was deemed essential to the national security. By January 26 1945, the CAA repair and construction of airports in the western part of the country came to a close, and he joined the Navy Seabees (Naval Construction Force). He left for Camp Pendicott in Rhode Island for basic training on February 24.

Omer Brodie in his navy uniform.

Omer Brodie in his navy uniform.


Fate intervened and just prior to his battalion leaving for North Africa, he came down with pneumonia and was hospitalized. They left without him and he was assigned to another battalion that was bound for the Pacific. They spent a month at the Naval Construction Battalion Center at Port Hueneme (near Ventura, CA) the West Coast homeport of the Navy’s Seabees and he was able to visit us at home (overnight liberties) – much to my delight.

Among the birthday gifts listed for my 3rd birthday was a “telegram from daddy.” He must not have had overnight liberties at that time. I’m sure this was nothing unusual during the war.

my 3rd birthday party - 16 days before the atomic test.

my 3rd birthday party – 16 days before the atomic test.


Because the Manhattan Project, responsible for the development of the atomic bomb, was still secret, even the Navy did not know what had happened on that morning and my father’s battalion continued their preparations to leave for Okinawa.

While I have never visited the Trinity Test site even though I have lived in New Mexico for over 20 years, I have visited the Bradbury Science Museum in Los Alamos where a replica of “the gadget” is on display and there are extensive exhibits on the history of the Manhattan Project.

I am grateful for my mother’s detailed record-keeping of events during my early years and my reactions to them in Your Child Year by Year: A Development Record and Guide From Birth to the 16th Year, published by The Parents Magazine

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Following Our Grandfather’s Footsteps Through Flanders in WWI

Joseph Bell Stage, my grandfather, joined the Canadian Expeditionary Forces 2nd Contingent in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan on Oct. 27, 2014 at age 35. He was assigned to the 28th Battalion and trained first in Winnipeg, Canada

Joseph Bell Stage - top row, 2nd from left

Joseph Bell Stage – top row, 2nd from left


and then near Shorncliff, England. My grandmother, with my uncle and mother, followed him, first to Winnipeg and then to England. The Battalion left for the Front on September 17, 1915, four days after my mother’s 7th birthday.

“September 18, 1915. Arrive at Boulogne (France) just prior to 5 AM after rough crossing and little sleep. A British N.C.O. announces that revile will be at 0600, and breakfast at 0700. The Battalion entrains for the Front area at noon. Entrained to St. Omer at 1500, proceed to Cassel by train 1915 and Billets at St. Sylvestre Cappel, Bn.Hq at Drouleux Farm.” 28th Battalion History, First Winter at the Front 1915-16.

In our mother’s written recollections she stated that her mother “insisted on taking us over to Calais, France to be near him…Since we were not allowed to see Dad or to stay in France, we returned to England and our apartment.”

Ever since we discovered two sources of records for our grandfather’s Battalion (1100 men and 35 officers) in the Canadian Expeditionary Forces, my sister and I had longed to visit the area where he had fought and been injured. On our recent trip to the Flanders area of France and Belgium, we set out to follow in his footsteps and learn more about what he experienced, using, the 28th Battalion History, a War Diary of Intelligence Summary, Stewart A.G. Mein’s, Up the john!: the story of the Royal Regina Rifles, and our grandfather’s medical records to plot our route, as well as our mother’s written recollections of that period of her childhood.

While our grandfather had not been near Arras, where a major battle in 1917 wiped out much of the town, our introduction to commemoration of WWI on our trip began with the photo exhibit around the town square in Arras on the first night of the trip. We viewed some of the photo signs the day we arrived and I spent an hour the next morning viewing and reading each of the 100 photos.

One panel of photo exhibit

One panel of photo exhibit


Our actual pilgrimage began 5 days later near Dunkirk, not far from Boulogne-sur-Mer where he landed. Armed with the logs and maps, we wound our way along country roads to St. Omer, which was along the train route to Cassel. At first we envisioned the Battalion walking along the same roads we were traveling, until we realized that over 1100 men would have marched across field and not followed the roads.

When we approached Cassel, we followed the signs – looking left and right for a railroad station. As the road headed up the hill, we noticed that it still retained its brick construction.

Cassel, France

Cassel, France


We quickly realized that the train station would not have been on top of a hill!

“I can find the railroad track,” Chris, a train buff, informed us. “It will be south of the hill,” and she directed us down the opposite side of the hill and through some farms and soon spotted the railroad track, but no station.
FR Cassel tracks area
Upon reflection after our visit, it seems likely that the train stopped at some point and all of the soldiers disembarked and then marched the approximately 4 miles to Saint-Sylvestre-Cappel where they set up camp.

September 25 – “Marched to Kemmel where we relieved the 15th bn (battalion) trenches about midnight.” War Diary Intelligence Summary

We continued our route, following the D933 through Caestre,

Caestre, France

Caestre, France


Metern,
Metern, France

Metern, France


Ballieul and
near Ballieul, France

near Ballieul, France


Locre to Kemmel.

Soldiers that died at a specific location were buried there together. At some points we passed small roadside cemeteries with a few rows of crosses marking the burial sites of fallen soldiers.

While most of the blossoms were gone, a few bright red poppies dotted the road sides – very fitting.

roadside poppy

roadside poppy


As we passed through the countryside, we were cognizant of the fact that most of the trees and buildings were less than 100 years old.

There were no remnants of war-time trenches. While I had seen trenches depicted in movies, it was a real eye-opener to see an actual reconstruction of one at the Musee de la Grande Guerre in Meaux that we visited on our last day,
FR-Meaux-trench
as well as a ‘no mans land.’

diorama of 'no mans land'

diorama of ‘no mans land’


September 26 – “The trenches were bombarded…by German trench mortar. 1 man was killed. Another man was killed by a sniper.” 28th Battalion History, First Winter at the Front 1915-16.

Mein describes conditions in the trenches “..the Batallion packed itself into its allotted front line positions, so full of men that at times movement was almost impossible.” And, “The first tour in the front line for the 28th was relatively uneventful. It was devoted chiefly to shaking down, getting adjusted to the dank trench life, and acquiring a taste for army issue rum.”

The Battalion remained in the trenches until September 30 when they were relieved and went to nearby shelters in the village of Kemmel. The following evening at 11 PM, the Battalion was moved to Locre, 2.5 miles away. From there they worked in shifts day and night building articles to be used in the trenches and then transporting the items to the trenches.

“A large number of men being sent to the Div baths and a large percentage suffering from colds and rheumatism due to wet and exposure.” War Diary Intelligence Summary

It’s hard to imagine the conditions under which the soldiers lived and worked.

The Battalion returned to the trenches on October 6,

“leaving Locre at 4:30 pm marched to the trenches where we relieved the 31st Bn…being completed by 10:30 pm.” War Diary Intelligence Summary

The October 12 log reads “…in trenches most of the day, artillery duels in the afternoon, enemy shell buried a number of our men killing two and wounding nine…” War Diary Intelligence Summary

October 12 is the date that our grandfather’s medical records indicate that he was buried by a shell explosion. According to oral family history, he was initially considered to be dead and was one of those buried by an enemy shell. A telegram was sent to our grandmother letting her know of his death. The following day when a party went to retrieve the dead, they discovered that our grandfather had been ‘buried alive’ and was still breathing. Our grandmother received another telegram informing her that her husband was injured. Her immediate reaction was that the order was reversed.

The medical records indicate that he suffered a contusion and was initially treated in the field and then transferred to Mont des Cats, where a casualty clearing station had been set up in the abbey. On October 29 he was returned to duty, only to be hospitalized again on November 5 suffering from pain – duh. He was returned to duty after two weeks and served until April 1916 when he was transferred back to Shorncliffe, England with ‘slight’ shell shock.

He was a man who never complained, just stoically did what needed to be done. It was humbling to realize just what he endured.

While the Battles at Ypres happened before and after our grandfather fought in the area, we had planned to visit Ypres – not far from Kemmel – in hopes of attending the daily Last Post ceremony. Unfortunately, it was too late when we arrived.

Town Square, Ypres, Belgium

Town Square, Ypres, Belgium


The crowds were streaming away from the Menin Gate, so we ducked into a restaurant to assure ourselves a table before everything filled up. As we ate, I realized that everyone in the restaurant was about our age – the last generation to know someone personally who had served in the Great War. We pondered whether subsequent generations would care and visit.

Our cousin Kam stated, “This should be on everyone’s bucket list that had family fighting in this area. Peter and I have been to the ceremony three times and it was just as moving the third time.”

After dinner we walked over to the gate where the ceremony is held nightly – rain, snow or shine.

Menin Gate, Ypres, Belgium

Menin Gate, Ypres, Belgium


Everything came together on our last day in France when we visited the Musee de la Grande Guerre in Meaux.

As we walked up the front path, a motion sensor triggered a variety of recordings – first of horses’ hoofs, then boots marching, and further up the path gun shots.

walkway to museum

walkway to museum


After a historical overview that refreshed us on the events that led up to the war, we entered the main gallery.

I was reminded not only how vast the war was, but that soldiers from European colonies were conscripted.
FR-Meaux-internl-faces
It has been war that has led to the development of devices to assist ‘wounded warriors,’ which in turn, has benefited other people with disabilities – who previously had not been a priority.

WWI prosthetics

WWI prosthetics


Dioramas depicted soldiers marching – and very cleverly includes those who died with uncolored figures.
FR-Meaux-soldiers
I was wandering in a side gallery when I came upon this photo and called Chris over to look at it.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “It’s grandpa.”
FR-Meaux-buried-alive
For both of us, the reality of being ‘buried alive’ and then struggling to gradually work part of his face to the surface was staring us in the face.

Our journey through Flanders had enabled us to better understand not only our own grandparent’s experiences, but hopefully will be a legacy for our children and grandchildren.

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The Rijkssmuseum and The Louvre – Viewing Great Works of Art Despite the Crowds

Everyone wants to see the Mona Lisa, made famous by Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code, even if they don’t know much about Leonardo Da Vinci. And, for those that studied art history in college, the notion of seeing and carefully examining original works of Vermeer, Rembrandt, Monet, Van Gogh and Michelangelo puts European museums at the top of your bucket list. And, I was no exception.

It was a rainy Saturday when we visited Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum and we were glad we had purchased our tickets online before leaving on our trip. While there was a line for those with advance-purchase tickets, it moved quickly compared with those who needed to buy their tickets on-site. As we moved along, we had an opportunity to view the intricate details of the building’s impressive architecture.

Approach to the Rijksmuseum

Approach to the Rijksmuseum


We had gone to the museum’s website to plan our visit and a friend had given us a map from her visit. The paintings on our priority list were in the Gallery of Honour, which was where everyone was headed. We followed the crowd up the stairs. Unlike most of the throng, we stopped to admire the large stained-glass window on our way
NL---Rijksmuseum-stained-gl
and Bill reminded me to look up to appreciate the ceiling art.
decorative ceiling

decorative ceiling


I was particularly interested in viewing works of Johannes Vermeer. I had read The Girl With the Pearl Earring and recently watched the movie, Tim’s Vermeer. The Rijksmuseum has four of Vermeer’s paintings, the most famous being The Milkmaid. There was a large crowd gathered at one of the paintings near the entrance to the Gallery of Honour.

No one seemed to be studying the painting, which in real life was more luminescent than photos I have seen. Instead, they were gathered taking photos with their cell phones high above their heads, as if to say ‘I was here.’ After documenting the crowd, I nudged closer to admire the details and colors of the painting.

Crowd around Vermeer's The Milkmaid

Crowd around Vermeer’s The Milkmaid


17th Century Dutch artists are the specialty of the Rijksmuseum, so we wandered through the crowd to admire masterpieces of Rembrandt, Steen and others. The museum’s most famous painting is Rembrandt’s Night Watch (De Nachtwacht) and it was interesting to learn that it represented one of the first representations by artists of ordinary people – those who performed the night watch of the city. After spending an hour in the Gallery of Honor, we decided to split up and view other areas of the museum that appealed to each of us. The layout of the museum was complicated, involving four floors in two adjacent wings that were not connected.

There is a whole museum devoted to Van Gogh that we would not have an opportunity to see, so I made my way to the first floor gallery that contained Van Gogh’s self-portrait and then to the exhibit of Delftware.

We reconvened in the late afternoon to enjoy dark chocolate brownies and coffee in the café.

As we left, the sun had come out and a smiling Rembrandt was standing along the path and I couldn’t resist taking a picture of Bill with him.

Bill Burk with 'Rembrandt'

Bill Burk with ‘Rembrandt’


We stopped by the gift shop; however, I didn’t buy anything as the offerings resembled what I could get at The Getty Museum. There was a wonderful mural along one outside wall.
Gift shop mural

Gift shop mural


A week later, we visited The Louvre in Paris.

My son and his family had been in Paris a few weeks earlier and had warned us about the crowds. “You’ll never get to see the Mona Lisa,” I was told. “It is a small painting and there are too many people crowded around it. Instead, they spent time in the Egyptian exhibit and my granddaughter had insisted that I see the mummies!

I was not to be deterred. I was not going to Paris and the Louvre and not see the Mona Lisa!

A friend had recommended that we enter from the basement after getting off the Metro. We never saw that exit and emerged from the Metro along a side street next to the museum, but were there 15 minutes before it opened and got in the fairly short line for those with the Paris Museum Pass – a VERY smart investment. Two large tour groups were already in the other line.

Pyramid entrance

Pyramid entrance


I was armed with a brochure map from another friend and had gone to the website the night before and meticulously written down the exhibits we wanted to see, their location and the order that would work best. Unfortunately, I had not noticed the small colored square next to the exhibit photos and had assumed that everything we wanted to see was in the Richeleu wing. We were surprised there were not many people going through the line to show our ticket for this wing. We walked into the first gallery we came to and inquired where the Mona Lisa was – only to discover that we were in the wrong location. A very nice guard gave us a new map and directed us.

The two tour groups were mobbing their way to the other wing check point and I joined the throng, leaving Chris and Bill to find an elevator. After emerging from the check point, I marched with the others streaming through to Room 6 in the Denon Wing, not giving a glance at the bronzes, up the stairs through the Apollo Gallery, and ignoring the other exhibits as we made our way. I felt like I was part of the ‘running of the bulls,’ trying not to get trampled.

As predicted, there was a large crowd in front of the painting – all taking photos.

Crowd in front of Mona Lisa

Crowd in front of Mona Lisa


However, as people snapped their photo and moved away, I was able to move closer,
FR-Louvre-Mona-Lisa-better-
until I was able to see the painting well.
FR-Louvre-Mona-Lisa-view
Now I could relax and see the rest of the exhibits and met up with Chris and Bill.

Next on our list was the Winged Victory of Samothrace, where there was a large crowd. By standing on a landing above it, I was able to get a good look.

Winged Victory

Winged Victory of Samothrace


We made our way back to the Apollo Gallery to view architectural details
FR-Louvre-arch-details2
and then to the gallery with Roman sculpture.
Italian scuptures

Italian scuptures


Next up was Venus de Milo in the Greek Antiquities galleries. I waited until a tour group leader had finished her spiel so I could appreciate the graceful form of the statue and then take a photo with as few heads in front of the statue as possible.
Venus de Milo

Venus de Milo


I was amazed to see tourists having their picture taken as they imitated the poses of the statues.
FR-Louvre-miming-statue
As opposed to the Rijksmuseum, there was very little visitor seating to rest our legs and I was dehydrated and beginning to regret my decision not to have the weight of my water bottle in the side of my purse.

As we passed through the various galleries, I really appreciated Chris and Bill suggesting I stop periodically and look up at the architectural details.
FR-Louvre-architec-details
In trying to find our way to the Egyptian exhibit, we discovered the area referred to as Medieval Louvre, where a boardwalk curved through the lower ground floor displaying parts of the original fortress that preceded the palace and then museum,

Medieval Louvre

Medieval Louvre


Including a model of the original structure.
Model of Medieval Louvre

Model of Medieval Louvre


Before stopping for lunch, we took time to take in some of the Egyptian exhibit, including an imposing Sphinx
Egyptian Sphinx

Egyptian Sphinx


and the collection of Sarcophagus my granddaughter wanted me to see.
Egyptian Sarcophogus

Egyptian Sarcophogus


After lunch, we made our way to the Metro via the lower level that we had missed when we arrived – stopping to see the inverted pyramid.
FR-Louvre-inverted-pyramid
It was an exhausting day, maneuvering through the three areas of the museum and jostling through the crowds to view the works of art we really wanted to see, but it was definitely worthwhile. Maybe I’ll make my next visit in January.

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Driving in Europe – Siri to the Rescue

The GPS sat proudly in the middle of the console of our Volvo sedan that we had reserved through Euro Car, but alas there was no instruction book and all of the options on the unit were in French, using words that didn’t exist when Bill studied French fifty-five years ago. In our haste to get on our way, we did not try to program it or get help before leaving the rental car lot at the airport – after all, Chris had painstakingly documented all of the driving instructions from the Michelin website and she was ready with the first set.

We exited the lot, but couldn’t figure out how to leave the airport – and ended up circling Terminal 2 a couple of times before we finally got in the correct lane to exit. Having landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport in the early morning, we quickly joined the throngs of commuters on the highway. While there was a lot of traffic, we were moving too fast to be able to read the signs quickly enough. While this is difficult at any airport in the United States, it is even more difficult when all of the information is in another language – in this case French.

Our first destination was Beauvais, which is north of the Paris area. We missed the off ramp heading north and found ourselves driving south towards Paris. The first opportunity we had to exit was St. Denis, where there were no shoulders to pull off and study the map. All of the streets in the town appeared to be one-way – a pattern that would challenge us over and over. As Bill drove, Chris studied her map in the back seat and I tried to work the GPS with no luck.

Freeway sign leaving Paris

Freeway sign leaving Paris

The one benefit to Chris’s pre-trip research was her familiarity with the names of towns and freeway numbers. As we passed off ramps, she called out instructions and finally got us headed north again.

Even though the GPS was not programmed, we could see the number of the highway we were driving on and the names and numbers of the upcoming exits. Periodically, an upbeat voice would come from the unit in French that left us puzzling – was it an upcoming traffic or road problem, or was it an advertisement.

After visiting the cathedrals in Beauvais and Amiens, we headed to Arras where we had reserved lodging for the night. From the confirmation information, we knew that the small hotel was near the center of town and looked for Centrum on street signs. As we approached the centrum, there was another sign – a red circle with an H and an arrow indicating where the hotels were congregated. Soon there was a list of hotels, but no Ibis Hotel where we were staying. Since the streets were narrow and one-way, we tried to get as close to the town square as possible.

At the point we seemed stymied, I volunteered to ask directions and Bill pulled over next to a shop that was still open – a hair salon, which did not sound promising for English-speakers. I went in and inquired “English?”  The beauticians had panicked looks on their faces. A patron, with some English, offered to assist and gave me very good instructions. She apologized for her English, to which I replied “it is much better than my French!”

Her directions took us to an area of the town square where there was parking; however, we could not see the hotel.

Arras Town Square

Arras Town Square

Bill, resurrecting his decades-old immersion experience, was able to ask further directions, and then he and I walked to the block to the hotel. The clerk told us that we could keep our car parked where it was or drive to the underground parking. We opted to try and locate the underground parking, which involved circling the centrum several times with no success. We parked in a different square and pulled our suitcases over the cobblestone street to the hotel.

Our destination the next day was Rotterdam. At the round-about in Douai, we exited too soon and made our first of many tours through the winding, one-way streets of a ‘housing estate.’ We coined the phrase ‘wandering aimlessly,’ which would become a trademark for the trip.

Housing Estate (this one is in Netherlands)

Housing Estate (this one is in Netherlands)

Once we entered Belgium, the upbeat messages on the GPS changed to Flemish and the signs leading towards Antwerpen became very confusing. That evening when we relayed our driving adventures to our cousin, we were told “Everyone takes a wrong turn at Antwerp.”

And, as we crossed into the Netherlands, the upbeat messages switched to Dutch.

On our first full day in the Rotterdam area, our cousin planned a day in the countryside to show us several points of interest. Since she doesn’t drive, she rode with us.

“I never pay attention to signs,” Kam explained; “therefore, Peter wrote everything down for me.” She sat in the front seat to be the navigator.

While we successfully got to Kinderdyke, the UNESCO windmills site, the directions from that point proved to be as useful as the Michelin instructions.

Kinderdijk

Kinderdijk

“Peter said that we just follow the dyke,” Kam said. Bill masterfully dealt with on-coming vehicles on the one-lane roads, while Chris and I admired thatched-roofed farm houses from the back seat.

Our next stop was a village she had discovered online where I could see storks nesting – one of my trip goals. She twice stopped to make sure we were headed in the right direction, and each inquiry resulted in conflicting information.

When it was clear that we had ‘wandered aimlessly’ too long, I dug out my cell phone, turned on the data, found our location on the map app, plugged in the name of the area near the stork village, programmed the route, turned on the oral directions and handed the phone to Kam. While she laughed at the pronunciation of Dutch names, Siri successfully guided us back to the village – which we had driven by an hour earlier.

A clerk where we stopped for lunch provided the final necessary directions – “turn just past the house with the llamas, then go past the cemetery…”

After enjoying the storks, we traveled a short distance to take a car ferry over the river Lek to Schoonhoven.

Car Ferry across River Lek

Car Ferry across River Lek

Our next stop was Gouda. After circling the town a couple of times, we found a parking spot a few blocks from the square – even with a spot marked for handicapped parking. Chris hung her placard from the mirror and off we went.

Gouda City Hall

Gouda City Hall

We returned to find a parking ticket – 61 Euros!

The following day as we were following Kam and Peter in their car, the ‘check engine light’ came on – not a good sign on a trip. Despite a two hour delay in leaving Rotterdam while the Volvo dealer checked the engine, the silver lining was learning how program the GPS and be able to set it in English. The driving instructions – “turn at the 2nd exit on the roundabout,” were given by a very polite voice with a British accent. We dubbed her UK Jane. If we decided to deviate to get something to eat, she would instruct us to “make a U-turn.” When we didn’t comply, she would instruct us to “Please make a U-turn” in an ever more urgent voice.

UK Jane successfully guided us through the countryside in northwest France as we traced the route of our grandfather’s WWI battalion, which wound in and out of France and Belgium, and got us back to our hotel in Bethune in the dark after visiting the memorial at Ypres.

War Memorial Gate - Ypres, Belgium

War Memorial Gate – Ypres, Belgium

And the next day, UK Jane guided us finally back to Charles de Gaulle to return the car.

While we had a very pleasant and efficient taxi ride from the airport to our apartment in Paris, the return taxi experience was a comedy or horrors where the meter was ticking as the cab was loaded, the driver’s junk was moved from the front seat to the trunk to accommodate Bill, and as he programmed his GPS. He couldn’t read the GPS and didn’t have the sound turned up, so drove erratically as he held a piece of paper over the screen to cut the glare.

On our final day, we rented another car for the day to visit Meaux. Trying to be smarter this time, we attempted to program it before we left the car rental lot. We successfully switched it to English and put in our destination, but were not able to turn on the oral directions. The rental car attendant was no help. Since we had to follow the blue line on the device, we dubbed this GPS unit “Silent Sally.’ The blue line had us ‘wandering aimlessly’ again and at one point suggested we take the next exit – a dirt path across a pasture. Rather than following an obvious bad suggestion, we stayed on the road and found ourselves heading back to Charles de Gaulle.

I dug out my phone again and Siri came to the rescue, successfully guiding us to Meaux.

Meaux, France - Memorial from U.S.

Meaux, France – Memorial from U.S.

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Liebster Award – Bloggers Supporting Bloggers

What a surprise to have WordPress notify me that someone had commented on a recent blog post with the following message: “Hi there! I really enjoy your blog. I wanted to let you know that I nominated you for the Liebster Blog Award. You can read all about it on my website:”

When I Googled ‘Liebster Blog Award,’ there were many, many referrals to recent posts citing blogs where others had received a similar message from a blog reader. It appears to be an award given by fellow bloggers to recognize blogs that they like and follow. I am honored that Pat thought of me.

I have been following Pat Bean since 2004 when she was still a reporter for the Ogden Standard-Examiner who also wrote a weekly column about birds. I met her when I was visiting Ogden and joined the Wasatch Audubon group as they took a census of bluebird boxes. When I returned home, I began to read her column, “Winging It,” every week online. As an aspiring writer who loved to chronicle my birding adventures, her column provided me with hope that others might be interested in reading about my experiences.

She retired and her columns stopped.

I started writing the equivalent of blog posts, which I sent out to friends each week by e-mail. After I retired, I took a class in blogging and converted my weekly e-mail stories into Judy’s Jottings, which Pat discovered and started following. A short time later, I set up a separate blog, devoted just to birding – It’s a Bird Thing. I don’t post much in Judy’s Jottings these days, since I have been consumed the last two years with writing – and now marketing – the book I co-authored, Birding Hot Spots of Central New Mexico.

Since Pat posts her blog posts on Facebook, I have been reading them regularly – and have been impressed with her commitment to write a post every day. However, I have to admit that in the bustle of other writing, I have not been following other blogs as much lately.

My obligation, upon being nominated, is to acknowledge the person who nominated me and then to nominate five of my favorite bloggers. I read several ‘professional’ blogs, e.g. Cornell University’s Round Robin, the American Birding Association’s, Peeps. However, my sense of the intent of the Liebster Award is to recognize individual bloggers.

So, here is my list:

1) Even though I acknowledged Pat, her blog posts have to be my #1 favorite. The quotes she uses as a preamble to her posts always reach out and grab me – and I love her photography. Pat Bean’s Blog.

2) I enjoy reading Rosyfinch Ramblings, written by Ken Schneider. Although he maintains homes in south Florida and Illinois, he continues his love of the Sandia Mountains and the Rosy-Finch project on his blog.

3) Another one of my loves is photography. I enjoy following the photographic art of Lisa Tannenbaum on NewMexicoPhotoJournal. She taught several classes I have taken at UNM Continuing Education.

4) My fourth pick would go to Natural Moments, Joe Schelling’s blog where he posts his exquisite photographs of birds and butterflies.

5) My fifth is going to a beginning blogger – Historymama. Carole has a keen sense of observing and commenting on human nature with dry wit. This is hoping that the nomination will encourage her to persist.

The Rules are:
1. Show your thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks for the award and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
3. Post the award on your blog.
4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people on the blogosphere – other bloggers.
5. And, best of all – have fun and spread the karma.

Posted in Birding, Birds, Writing | Tagged | 2 Comments

The Girl in the Polka Dot Skirt

It was a hot summer afternoon – a good time to be inside where the cool air from the swamp cooler wafted over us. Chris and I were engaging in our annual ritual of sifting through boxes of unidentified photos, letters and other memorabilia that had been among our mother’s possessions when she died. Most of it had actually come from our grandmother – who passed away in 1976.

Mother never felt comfortable asking questions about her family in northeast England – she always felt she was butting against a brick wall. Our grandparents immigrated to Canada when she was a year old and appeared to have cut ties with everyone. “I never knew anything about our family’s past or what motivated them to leave England,” Mom told us in her later years.

In fact, it took her at least five years to get up the nerve to look through the boxes of letters and photos. By time she did, so much was a mystery to her – and prompted Chris to begin her genealogical search to help Mom recreate her past. Bits and pieces of information began to piece together and previously unknown photos and names on letters started to fall into place. Yet many items remained a mystery – and became the basis for our annual summer ritual of looking at things with fresh eyes that now had more pieces to the puzzle.

“I came across this photo,” Chris said as she handed it to me, “when I was looking for some pictures of the girls when they were little. “She had been my pen pal when I was in high school.” she continued. “She was related in some way and Gram told me I should write to her – that we were the same age. She was someone Gram met when she visited England after Grandpa died in 1958. We wrote a few times, but didn’t seem to have much to say to each other; however, she sent me this picture. Although I have thought about her from time to time, I can’t even remember her name.”

It was a girl with a polka dot skirt who appeared to be standing on a ship or dock. We dubbed her ‘the girl in the polka dot skirt.’

The picture prompted us to look through the box of letters one more time to see if there were any clues.

There it was – almost at the bottom of the box – a letter from Gram. It was postmarked from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and talked about her visit.

Since Gram had eight siblings, some of whom we had not been able to find records for, it would be hard to know which niece she might be referring to.

Despite her closed-mouth response to Mom about her family, we discovered that she was in contact with some of her family. In 2002, our cousin Alan who lives in the UK, was able to track down and meet Lyn, the grand-daughter of Gram’s sister, Eliza. When Lyn wrote to introduce herself, she mentioned that when she had looked in her mother’s address book, she found Gram’s name and address in Yucaipa, CA!

Eliza and Matthew Mason

The picture of the ‘girl in the polka dot skirt’ went with us on a trip to the UK in 2008, along with an old weathered photo of a woman in fancy dress and a man in a top hat – taken behind a house. On that visit we met with descendants of our mutual great-grandparents, Samuel and Mary Jones. They were descendants from Samuel and Mary’s oldest daughter, Eliza – and we were descendants from their oldest son, Thomas. We would learn that the families of Thomas and Eliza remained close, most living in the Sherrif’s Hill and Windy Nook areas of Gateshead. We had always wondered how/why our grandparents lived there when Mom was born.

We discovered that the weathered photo was of Mathew and Eliza Mason, taken when their daughter Mary Jane married Isaac Hewitt.

When Chris passed around the photo of the ‘girl in the polka dot skirt,’ our cousin Harry said, “I have seen that picture before.” A couple of others also acknowledged it, but no one knew her name. And, in the past two and a half years, there have been no new revelations.

When Gram arrived in Gateshead in 1958, she first attempted to visit Stage relatives so she could tell them in person that her husband had died. After a chilly reception, she spent time with her extended Jones family. One of those was her cousin Elizabeth. In a letter to our mother she wrote, “you know, she is named after me.” And, in a letter to Chris and me she said, “they have treated me like a queen and just done everything to make me happy.”

When she returned, she suggested that Chris become her cousin Elizabeth’s daughter’s pen pal.

The picture remains a nagging mystery. Since all of the second and third cousins we have met and maintained contact with have helped us connect more dots and feel like we are part of a large extended family, we continue to hope that someone will recognize the girl in the picture and assist us to make contact.

“I am going to write about the girl in the polka dot skirt,” I told Chris recently. “Maybe the notion of the Six Degrees of Separation (a chain of, “a friend of a friend” statements can be made, on average, to connect any two people in six steps or fewer) will help us find her. “I will post my blog story on Facebook and urge people with ties to northeast England to share it with their friends.”
I am counting on the Six Degrees of Separation to help us find ‘the girl in the polka dot skirt.”

Posted in Family History, Memoir | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Texas A and M to Publish Birding Hotspots of Central New Mexico

It was June 2008 when fellow birders Dave and Abby Watson encouraged me to write a bird-finding guide to central New Mexico. “You’re a writer,” they said. “You would do a great job.”

It seemed like an impossible task, and I quickly dismissed the idea. However, over that summer, the notion kept popping up when I was exploring one of central New Mexico’s natural environments. I realized that I already had been collecting my impressions when I wrote the story about the week’s birding adventures and posted it on my blog – It’s a Bird Thing. It would be a natural extension to look at each location in a new light. As I roamed through the Sandia Mountains or prowled along the central Rio Grande, I began paying attention to the trails and facilities and started accumulating notes. I noticed what was helpful in other bird finding guides as I traveled to new areas.

By spring, I felt it was a project I could undertake and enlisted the involvement of my friend and birding mentor, Barbara Hussey. She was excited to be a part of the endeavor and has been a wonderful partner in the project. A month later, she and another friend, Sue, traveled to Texas in search of birds. As we wound our way through the Hill Country, down to Corpus Christie, over to the lower Rio Grande and back, we consulted two different guides and made note of what was helpful and what was missing.

After enjoying looks of the Green (Barb) and Ringed (Sue and I) Kingfishers early one morning at Salineno, a remote village along the Rio Grande, we realized we had no clue where to find a rest room – and vowed to include that information in our publication. Most bird-finding guides, we would later discover, are written by men!

Because both Barb and I had traveled to other cities on business trips where we didn’t have a car, but wanted to sneak in some birding, we decided to include public transportation options when they existed.

By the end of May we had decided what sites we would highlight, and the features we would include about each one. By June I started writing in earnest. From northern Virginia, Barb began researching public transportation options, the best travel routes to reach each site, and the closest food, gas and lodging.

I quickly discovered some of the gaps in my notes, and made multiple trips back to each location – a wonderful excuse to do early morning birding before returning to my computer. However, it became difficult to enjoy my weekly trips with the Thursday Birders, since I felt compelled to check out details.

Fellow birders became additional site experts, reviewing and making recommendations to site descriptions where they frequently led field trips or located near their home.

In August, I contacted University of New Mexico (UNM) Press. They were very excited and the Acquisitions Editor felt it would be a good addition to their collection. I told him that we would be able to have a final manuscript to him by December 18. We both wanted to enjoy the holidays without having it hang over our heads.

As I completed each site description, I e-mailed them to Barb for her always excellent feedback. I reached my goal to have all of the site descriptions written before I flew to California in early October. A print-out of each chapter went with me to proof between visits with family and friends and on while away the time on the plane and the airport.

When I returned I began vetting each site with the government agency responsible for the location and researching the prevalence of the bird species we had included in the guide through Cornell University’s eBird online database of sightings. Through their bar graph feature, I was able to determine when migrating species arrived and left central New Mexico.

The manuscript was finished and sent off on schedule.

In early February after returning from a visit with my son and his family in California, I received a package from UNM Press – with the manuscript and a letter saying that it was with deep regret that they would not be able to publish our book; the press was experiencing severe financial constraints.

I learned how to submit a book proposal and started approaching numerous publishers. All came back with a polite rejection – until we got to Texas A&M Press. They were very interested and wanted us to send the full manuscript. We scrambled to make the numerous changes we had decided would enhance the manuscript and sent it on its way.

By the end of June, the editor had sent us the comments from our first peer review and told us she was in the process of contacting the second reviewer. By mid–August, we had the second set of comments and summarized the changes we would make as a result of the reviews. Their perspectives as individuals who had spent time birding in central New Mexico, but who were viewing the sites with fresh eyes, were extremely helpful.

Meanwhile, Barb was busy drawing trail diagrams and my sister, Chris, used her Computer Assisted Drafting (CAD) program to turn them into finished products!

The faculty review committee met on September 22 and unanimously approved Birding Hotpots of Central New Mexico for publication. “The committee members were enthusiastic and completely supportive,” she stated. “We’re ready to move forward.”

It still doesn’t seem real.

Early this week, a box went in the mail with two copies of the final manuscript and accompanying disks of photos, diagrams, etc.

The publishing process is lengthy, but will be worth the wait. The book should be ready to purchase in July 2011. Stay tuned for more details.

Posted in Birding, Birds, New Mexico, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Chaco Canyon – Mystical and Cold

Horned Larks scattered as we made our way along NM 46 and later County Road 7050 on our way into Chaco Canyon. Before long the pavement ended abruptly and we prepared ourselves for what we thought would be 20 miles of bouncing. We were pleasantly surprised to find the road had been graded level, and despite recent rains, there was no evidence of ruts.

It had been five years since I visited Chaco Culture National Historical Park on a University of New Mexico Continuing Education Story of New Mexico trip. I had been fascinated by the information presented by a long-time park ranger on the area’s history as we toured Pueblo Bonito. In addition, I had been amazed by the area’s natural history and was frustrated by the limited amount of time we had to explore the area. Staying in the campground and waking up in this mystical place became a future goal.

“October should be the perfect time,” my friend Donna stated early in the summer when we discovered our mutual desire to camp at Chaco.

Chaco-campsiteWe pulled into the Gallo Campground shortly before noon. It was a Monday and few spaces were occupied. We picked a spot that backed up to a small ruin – and close to the restroom. The restroom was being upgraded; two pink and two blue portable restrooms stood nearby – along with a portable sink.

We spent the afternoon walking out to the Wiiji Pueblo ruins. The trail, like a dirt road, meandered along the base of a sandstone mesa. A pair of ravens seemed to dance in the air as they flew acrobatic maneuvers over our head. We could hear the sound of their wing beats as they spiraled around each other.

Chaco-Wiiji

Wiiji Pueblo ruin

Unlike some of the other pueblos, Wiiji is thought to have been built all at once and has a uniform style of masonry. “I could never lay rock that straight,” Donna commented.

The timbers used for roof beams and door frames came from mountains over 50 miles away and were carried by man-power, rather than carts or animals. Carbon dating of these timbers has helped archaeologists establish the time periods of construction. What might appear like vent holes, also served as calendars – the rays of the sun coming through them marked the passage of time.

Chaco-fossil

Shell fossil

A short ways beyond the pueblo was a cliff with both petroglyphs (etched into the sandstone) and pictographs (painted pictures).

“Oh, look,” I called to Donna. “This rock beside the trail has a fossilized shell embedded on the top.”

Chaco-duskThe sun was getting low when we returned to the campground from the 3.5 mile walk. There was still time to explore the various small ruins tucked under the cliff behind the camp sites. The air was turning chilly. As I stood under the rock overhang to stay out of the wind, warmth radiated off the rocks.

“The Chacoans that built here, knew what they were doing,” Donna commented. The cliffs across the canyon seemed to glow in the fading sun.

Chaco-sunsetAs we fixed dinner snug in the camper, I peeked behind the insulated window covering to see if there was going to be a sunset.

“Will you watch the dinner while I go out and take some photos?” I asked.

A few campsites away, a couple was huddled around a campfire. It looked as though they were going to sleep in the back of their truck. Beyond them, the cliff was a black silhouette against the scarlet sky.

As we were about ready to get ready to make up our beds, the camper lights began to falter, and then the CO2 alarm started beeping.

“Oh, oh,” Donna gasped. “I think the camper battery is going.” We had just turned on the heater to take the chill of the increasingly cold night. “I am so sorry, but this is the end of our lights and heat.”

“Since my sleeping bag is rated for 32 degrees, I should be OK,” I replied, remembering that the campground host alerted us that the temperature was supposed to drop to freezing that night.

I felt snuggly warm once I slid into my sleeping bag and pulled my fleece hat down over my ears. My comfort was short-lived. Every time I thought I had the bag tucked around my shoulders, it would gape a little and I would start to feel a chill.

I slept – or dozed – rather lightly, waking up often when my shoulders got cold. I kept thinking about the two ravens Donna had spotted in a cleft near our campsite. They were nestled up next to the rock cliff to take advantage of the warmth. Even with the radiant heat from the cliff and the ability to fluff up their feathers to form a protective layer, it had to be a cold night for them. I longed to lean against something that would emanate warmth.

I had to make my first trip to the pink potty around 1 a.m. “Did you look up at the stars?” Donna asked when we returned.

“No, I just trudged along,” I grumbled.

By 5 a.m. when nature called again, I had slept very little. While I headed out again, Donna unearthed a mummy bag and stuffed it inside my sleeping bag. This time I attempted to look up at the stars, but the steam from my exhalation in the near-freezing air clouded my view.

Back in my double bags, I was finally warm and able to sleep for what remained of the night.

We were awakened in the morning by the pitter patter of a Canyon Towhee as it trotted across the roof of the camper. Light clouds covered the sky, hinting of the winter storm that was expected that night. I discovered ice in the top of my water bottle I had left in the cab of the truck.

Chaco-Fajada

Fahada Butte

After breaking camp we headed out to explore a different part of the park. Our first stop was the Fahada Butte Overlook. The Chacoans recognized the significance of this geological anomaly that is oriented in an almost perfect north-south, east-west axis, and used it as a sun shrine, a place of worship, and astronomical observatory.

We hoped to hike the Pueblo Alto Trail that heads up the cliff behind Pueblo del Arroyo to the northern mesa. “It passes through a cleft in the rock face,” the ranger at the Visitor Center told us.

Chaco-hikersAs we approached the bottom of the trail, we spotted two people heading down. After watching their descent, I began to have my doubts about whether I could scramble over the rocks, but didn’t want to give up without trying.

“Coming down is the worst. I can tell as I head up whether it will be too steep for the return trip. Let’s try and see how far we can get,” I stated.

The trail immediately involved maneuvering over big boulders; however, even larger rocks on either side of the trail provided leverage. I slowly picked my way up the trail – Donna in front of me in case I decided I needed a hand. All went well until we got to a point where the ‘trail’ went across an almost vertical rock-face with nothing to hold onto. It would mean descending on my rear end, but there would be nothing for me to use to ease myself onto the rock.

Chaco---Judy-on-trail

This is as far as I can go

“This is as far as I can go.” I stated.

Donna went a short ways further so she could see where the trail passed through the cleft.

Even though I didn’t make it to the top, it felt like a major victory to have scrambled that far.

We walked further down the main trail past Kin Kletso and finally turned around at Casa Chiquita.

Chaco-stairway

Chacoan Stairway

As we drove back along the loop that follows the South Mesa, we stopped to look at one of the 20 foot-wide Chacoan stairways that provided a way for travelers from the south to descend into the canyon.

We headed out of the canyon pondering the mysteries of the site that had been the center of Pueblo culture between 850 and 1250 AD – and then seemed to have been abandoned.

Posted in New Mexico | Tagged , | 9 Comments

A Pilgrimage Through My Childhood

Santa-Monica-houseI turned right on Cedar St and headed up the hill with some apprehension. Santa Monica had changed so much. Older houses are gradually being torn down and replaced with McMansions. Would my childhood home still be there? I crossed 10th St. and let out a sigh of relief. Not only was the home my parents built almost 70 years ago still standing, it was well cared for. The house across the street was not so lucky; it was gone and a 3-story ultra-modern house stood in its place.

Will Rogers Elementary

Will Rogers Elementary

I headed up the street to see the fate of Will Rogers Elementary, which opened when I was in the 3rd grade. It was still a bustling hub of the neighborhood. The neighborhood demographics had changed. In the 40’s the majority of the residents in our neighborhood were senior citizens. It now hummed with the energy of families with children.

This pilgrimage to my childhood started last winter when I registered with Facebook. I filled in the requisite information, including the name of my high school and year I graduated. As I explored the web site’s possibilities, I discovered that if I clicked on San Bernardino High School ’59 it took me to a page which listed others who had graduated in my class. I started scrolling through the names and photos, racking my brain to remember who they were. This led me to dig through my shelf of memorabilia and pull out the annual from my senior year and my high school scrapbook.

When I moved from San Bernardino to the Seattle area in the early 70’s, I lost track of my best friends from high school. Before the Internet, keeping in touch involved writing letters, which was hard for a busy, working mother to do. Over the years I have felt guilty about not making more of an effort, and was disappointed not to find those friends among the profiles on Facebook.

As the spring progressed, I realized that I had graduated 50 years ago and that there probably would be a 50th reunion. Of course, no one knew where I was or that my name had changed again, so I had to seek out information. A search on the Internet led me to the web site of the company that was putting on the reunion and told me how to register to receive information. I sent them my address and soon received a notice. I still wasn’t sure whether I would attend; I had not attended any other reunions.

My high school annual now sat next to my computer. I started checking the Facebook link to San Bernardino ’59 graduates weekly to see who was new and hoping that the upcoming 50th reunion would spur others to connect. I became more and more curious about the lives of my high school friends.

“You should join Classmates.com,” my sister told me. I had done that when it first launched and hadn’t connected with any friends; the chatter seemed frivolous. I started to protest.

“Since I am a member, let’s log onto your class and see if you recognize any names,” she continued. We started scrolling through the names – and there were the friends I was looking for! One had entered information about herself. She was now living in Las Vegas. So, I went home, registered, and wrote her using my one free message.

Within 24 hours she had responded and we shared e-mail addresses. She had stayed in contact with two others and I began to reconnect. One was on Facebook, but somehow the high school link was faulty. Now I started getting excited about attending the reunion.

I contacted three friends from college with whom I stay in regular contact. “When are your reunions?” I asked in an e-mail to them, since we all grew up in Southern California. Two of them had reunions the week before mine and would be in CA.

University of Redlands friends

University of Redlands friends

After spending a long weekend with BJ, Cori and Lilli in Encino, I took the light rail to Long Beach where one of my college friends had just moved. Our friendship also spanned 50 years. Three of us had been squeezed into a 2-person room our freshman year in college – and not only survived, but remained friends. The four of us went through different configurations of roommate combinations, depending on who was taking advantage of the University of Redland’s semester/year abroad options. It was delightful to have our own mini-reunion.

And then it was time to drive out to San Bernardino to re-explore the area after a 36 year absence and attend my reunion. The day prior to the reunion was spent birding in the San Bernardino Mountains. I stopped in the town of Running Springs where my family had escaped the heat of the valley at a swim club. I was trying to find a memento and wandered into a curio shop. The owner, who had lived in the town her entire life, perked up when she found out the purpose of my visit and began to drag out old photos of the town. “Do you remember a girl who rode a motorcycle to the club in her bathing suit?” she inquired. “The club is gone now,” she continued. “The property is now a parking lot for a church.”

reunion-happy-hours“We are going to be gathering for a pre-reunion happy hour in our motel,” Leslie told me when I called her at 4:00 later that afternoon. “They let me post a sign in the lobby.”

I headed over there at 5:00. “Aren’t you Judy?” a man called from the other end of the hallway as I headed towards the elevator.

I recognized his face from Classmates, but couldn’t place his name. It would be like this all evening. It was a person’s smile or gestures that sparked recognition.

It was wonderful re-connecting with Suzy and Leslie. After kibitzing for half an hour, we drove over to the Arrowhead Country Club. “I’ve been taking Tums all day,” Suzy admitted as we made our way to the reunion. I also experienced alternating excited anticipation and anxiety off and on all day.

HS friends

HS friends

The room was dim when we arrived and was filled with wall-to-wall people talking excitedly. We eased our way into the crowd and over the loud belting of hits from the 50’s, we began to greet our former classmates. The majority of people who attended (about 100, including many spouses, out of a class of almost 650) had remained in the general area. Many not only had several grandchildren, but also great-grandchildren! Several had lost their spouses.

“Are you still involved with algae?” a former classmate inquired. I was surprised that she remembered my senior science project on the potential use of algae as food. “I thought that maybe you were part of the progress that is being made to use algae as bio-fuel and had hit the big time.” My only involvement with algae, of course, is to continually scoop it out of my pond.

“You always were taller than I was,” a man said as he sidled up to me while we were mingling after our chicken dinner.

“Didn’t you live in the flat-roofed house at the end of Mt. View?” a woman asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “I drove by it yesterday and it broke my heart, it looked so neglected.”

San Bernardino High School

San Bernardino High School

“Have you driven by the school?” someone asked. The old administration building is gone; they built a new one.”

A man grabbed the microphone from the DJ and asked, “Who is no longer with us?” Name after name was mentioned. It was sobering.

“Everyone who went to Wilson Elementary, gather for a picture,” the DJ announced. A number of people congregated for the photo, realizing that they had known each other for 60 plus years.

I gathered with the group photo of those who attended Arrowview Junior High.

And then it was time to leave. We said our good-byes and slipped out into the quiet evening air. “I’m glad I came, but I am glad it is over,” I stated. We all agreed.

The next day, after attending services at my old church, I headed back to Los Angeles. As I sped along the freeway, I pondered the experiences of the past few days. Many things had endured, yet other things had changed. In some ways fifty years seems like yesterday; in others, it feels like eons have passed.

A friend summed it up, “Isn’t it amazing that we are still who we were then, and yet different.”

Posted in California, Memoir | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Experiencing the Grandeur of the Grand Canyon’s North Rim

“There are no words or pictures that can accurately capture the views of the Grand Canyon,” someone standing next to me uttered as we gazed out at one of the view points.

This was my fourth visit to the Grand Canyon. I made brief forays to the South Rim when I was much younger, and stopped at the North Rim three years ago, but didn’t have much time to linger. My prior visits provided snapshots of the canyon – each from a single location and moment in time. On my last visit I vowed to return and spend more time. When I found out that my friend Donna had similar experiences and aspirations, we decided to plan a trip after the summer tourist season was over.

Late afternoon view from lodge

Late afternoon view from lodge

After checking into our RV park at Jacob Lake 42 miles north of the Grand Canyon, we headed straight for the rim. It was already late in the afternoon and we parked ourselves on chairs along the low wall bordering the porch of the Lodge to watch the changing light.

It was threatening to rain, which provided additional depth and light patterns. As the light began to fade, we sat mesmerized, not wanting to leave. We took turns slipping away to get coffee from the Roughrider Saloon. Since Donna was going to drive back to Jacob Lake, mine was a Grand Canyon coffee, complete with 3 different coffee liqueurs!
Grand-Canyon-dusk
As dusk approached and the sun sunk towards the horizon, it peeked through to highlight selected cliffs. I took deep breaths of the cooling air and sighed in contentment.

Grand-Canyon-sunsetAll of a sudden, we looked through the windows of the lodge and saw a bright glow on the western horizon. Everyone on the porch got up en masse and headed through the lodge to the porch on the opposite side – just in time to capture the brilliance of the fading sun.

It was raining as we wound our way along the road to Cape Royal the next morning. The aspens were starting to turn. We passed through two different burned areas – one of them quite recent with the pungent smell of damp ashes. The National Parks Service had several educational signs discussing the benefits of lightning burns to rejuvenate the forest.

Angel's Window

Angel's Window

By time we arrived at Cape Royal the rain had stopped and we followed the paved trail out to the point. We stopped to take pictures of Angel’s Window and noticed people looking like ants as they walked across the top.

At the point, we discovered that this location jutted out into the canyon making it the closest distance to the south rim.

“Visiting this location really gives me a better grasp of the size of the Grand Canyon,” I told Donna. As I gazed in awe at the ripples of color, I couldn’t help but think of Haydn’s oratorio, “The Heavens are Telling,” that our choir had been practicing before I left on the trip.

Colorado River from Angel's Window overlook

Colorado River from Angel's Window overlook


On the way back to the parking lot, I followed the trail out to the end of overlook on top of the Angel’s Window. As I looked over the edge, I could see the Colorado River snaking through the canyon far below.

Least Chipmunk

Least Chipmunk

After lunch, we checked into the National Park campground and were lucky to get a spot along the periphery where nuthatches, chickadees, bluebirds, juncos and a variety of woodpeckers flitted and swooped amongst the trees. A Least Chipmunk busied itself eating acorns.

View from Bright Angel Point

View from Bright Angel Point

We followed the Transept Trail over to the Lodge where we encountered a Mule Deer doe and her two fawns. After listening to a ranger talk about the California Condor, we followed the Bright Angel Trail out to a point where there was a spectacular view of the canyon. Through my binoculars I could see the late afternoon sun reflecting off of the windows of Grand Canyon Village directly across on the south rim.

On the way back to the campground on the Bridle Trail, I pondered that I had achieved another goal on this trip – the opportunity to hike on a variety of trails.

We lingered over breakfast the next morning enjoying the views from the picnic table outside of the camper and wanting to savor our last moments on the plateau. And then it was time to head towards Flagstaff for our final night before home.

Posted in Arizona, Travel | Tagged , , | 3 Comments