tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29106162167468176792024-03-13T10:31:41.429-07:00Donna Stewart BloggingDonna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-85739153569868015642020-10-15T07:46:00.001-07:002020-10-15T07:46:47.509-07:00<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bMAGh11IERo/X4hf_INn5FI/AAAAAAAAU9k/3bakt3IqT0s-cSKU8fEMzpXDAGIYMKgjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201010_092531.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bMAGh11IERo/X4hf_INn5FI/AAAAAAAAU9k/3bakt3IqT0s-cSKU8fEMzpXDAGIYMKgjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20201010_092531.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div data-contents="true"><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="8oe1p" data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-text="true">I've started referring affectionately to my seemingly standardized 4:30 am wake-up-and-wrestle-with-anxiety-time as "Fret Hour." It's where my mind throws every possible threat at me as though it's currently scheduled for the day's events. At the tail-end of this morning's bout, I had an epiphany: We're ALL going through hell right now, right? I mean, not all the time and some of the fall out around this is quite lovely, but it's also kind of a horror show. Climate change bringing catastrophe. The big P's of Pandemic and Politics. Economic uncertainty. My favorite restaurant shutting down because of an outbreak. On top of that, throw in some personal crisis....But this is my thought, one that might help peal off the horror mask of all of the above: </span></span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-text="true">This is the kind of shoot-show that brought us "The Last Great Generation." That generation that is currently in their 90s that seemed to be made of a glorious combo of satin and steel. Resilient, resourceful, deeply ethical, conscionable...and kind. </span></span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-text="true">You know part of how they got there? They went through HELL. Two world wars, a smatter of other wars, The Great Depression, The Dust Bowl bringing food insecurity, wide-spread, poverty that sent Americans roving all over the country in search of food and shelter (read Grapes of Wrath if you haven't.)...probably more that I'm not even thinking about.
That generation has been idolized, painted as either a generation of Phoenix or winged angels. But what we're forgetting is that it wasn't a generation of people. It was an ERA of people from MANY generations. What we're calling The Last Great Generation are just the last of a particular era's representatives. </span></span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-0-0"><span data-text="true">Right now, every single one of us is being forged by these experiences. Those generation's became what they were because of their ideals and philosophies, their deepest beliefs around justice and equality. Also just desperately trying to survive, but they managed to hold onto the higher drives as well.
It made me feel certain that we're going to survive this. Even if there is WORSE to come, We Are Going To Survive THIS and when we do, we, every single one of us, may very well have our own wings. Just hang in there while we grow them.
</span></span><span class="diy96o5h" start="2222"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-1-0"><span data-text="true">#survivor</span></span></span><span data-offset-key="en4sp-2-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span><span class="diy96o5h" start="2232"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-3-0"><span data-text="true">#angelwings</span></span></span><span data-offset-key="en4sp-4-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span><span class="diy96o5h" start="2244"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-5-0"><span data-text="true">#COVID19</span></span></span><span data-offset-key="en4sp-6-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span><span class="diy96o5h" start="2253"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-7-0"><span data-text="true">#love</span></span></span><span data-offset-key="en4sp-8-0"><span data-text="true"> </span></span><span class="diy96o5h" start="2259"><span data-offset-key="en4sp-9-0"><span data-text="true">#spiritualawakening</span></span></span></div></div></div>Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-21980934508935877952020-08-26T12:55:00.004-07:002020-08-27T08:33:43.826-07:0015 MINUTES OF FICTION<p><span style="background-color: #242526; color: #e4e6eb; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The following was a writing exercise I did with my friend, Debbie Higgs, last week. The short explanation will be to call it 15 minutes of fiction. This is the first fiction I've written since college. My process was stream of conscious, with no stopping to correct spelling or punctuation (or plot!), just keep the keyboard clicking and see what comes out. This was A LOT OF FUN. I don't think Random House is going to be knocking down my door over this, but, I gotta say, not bad for no plan. Want to try it? Just set a timer and keep the pen moving the entire time. I'd love to see what you come up with. My story idea began with just seeing a flock of buzzards seconds before I got my pen moving. IF YOU DO THIS...WILL YOU PLEASE SHARE?? Here's what came of my 15 minutes. Not sure I'll ever touch it again, but still, Fun is fun, right?</span></p><p><img alt="exploringafrica_ Beautiful vulture trying to figure out what this strange one eyed-creature is đˇ đ ŠTony V . | Animals beautiful, Bird photography, Funny animals" height="400" src="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/bd/79/78/bd7978a8a914b3d646d47fd08e693547.jpg" width="400" /></p><p>I was one of the vultures and I circled with my tribe, resting my great wings on air currents, round and round, dancing on air currents. I was a hunter, but not for prey. I hunted to help those who passed, return to the mother. So many use scavenger like it's something dirty, something to be ashamed of, but my brothers and sister and I don't mind. We know we are strong. We know we are wise and beautiful...and kind. </p><p>You don't see it? </p><p>Listen: We have figured it out. We figured out how to live without taking life. it doesn't matter if the whole of earth looks on us with repugnance. But we fly freer than any, being neither predator nor prey. We have learned to live and DO. NO. HARM. </p><p>I've learned the essence of this life's lesson, and thank the creator for the opportunity. I release from this being, relinquishing it to its true occupier. </p><p>đ¨đ¨đ¨đ¨đ¨đ¨đ¨đ¨đ¨</p><p>Sabaya sits on her deerskin, cross-legged, eyes closed. Her eyes slowly flutter open. She took several deep, slow breaths, allowing the morning's lesson to seep and circulate throughout every cell. She felt the understanding move into her heart and sighed as she felt one more ugly lie dissolve. She smiled, feeling lighter. One more sticky, toxic spiritual barnacle that was preventing the light from truly shining through. As she took in the beauty in the essence of the vulture tribe, their indifference to the judgment of others, their joy as the wind blew through their feathers and the peace in their buzzard hearts...then it was complete. The last of the toxic energy had washed away allowing the light to stream through one more neural pathway. </p><p>When all was complete. She closed her eyes then opened them slowly. The new light could be seen in her eyes a tiny pinprick in eyes with multitudes of light, of all different hues. Her peaceful smile another sign of the success of her strange voyage. She reached behind her neck, undoing the clasp of necklace made of hundreds of beads with constantly swirling colors and fluctuations of light. Beside her a bowl of similar jeweled beads glittered in the light of the fire.</p><p>She put her fingers in the bowl, swirling them around until her fingertips wrapped around one bead. Plucking it from the bowl, she held it to her heart, said a prayer then held it up in front of her mouth. She softly blew onto the bead and like a coal from a fire, it began to glow bright, with all of the colors like burning pastel fires that swirled and pulsed within the bead. She held the necklace in front of her. The necklace was made up of several strands, containing hundreds of these beads. She brought the bead towards the necklace and they reached towards each other, drawn like magnets. When they touched, the new bead moved into line on one of the strands. Sabaya moved her long, dark hair back as she reached the two ends of the necklace back behind her neck and clasped them. </p><p>She kneeled and started to roll her deerskin when the sound of an explosion shook her rock dome, knocking her off her balance. She fell backwards, knocking over the bowl of beads...</p>Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-29483936247214883802019-12-10T10:25:00.001-08:002019-12-16T13:57:04.548-08:00The Healing Power of Mother Nature<div class="post-banner" style="background-color: #fefefe; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Oxygen, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Fira Sans", "Droid Sans", "Helvetica Neue", system-ui, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px 0px calc(2rem); padding: 0px;">
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The Healing Power of Mother Nature</h1>
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By <a href="https://adventurepro.us/author/donna-stewart/" rel="author" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; word-break: break-word;" title="Posts by Donna Stewart">Donna Stewart</a></h5>
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Lifestyle</a></h5>
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December 9, 2019</h5>
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Four personal tales of how the outdoors has provided healing power to a sick or broken body and boosted gratitude for life</h3>
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Itâs said that we should be grateful for the hard times for it is they that truly make us who we are. A year ago, if you said that to me, you probably would have gotten a special kind of dirty look. Iâve been on my own since I was 16. Iâve fought and clawedâand studiedâfor everything Iâve ever had. I thought I knew all about hard times and kicking and scratching my way through them. Until I woke up one morning last year and couldnât feel my legs.</div>
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Darn the Luck</h6>
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When I came to Colorado as a wayward kid and discovered <a href="https://adventurepro.us/how-to-sport-climb/" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;">climbing</a>, <a href="https://adventurepro.us/high-country-mountain-biking/" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;">mountain biking</a>, snowboarding and every other way you can go nuts under blue skies, with a big Southern âYeehaw!â I plunged in and the earth became my giant bouncy castleâwithout the bounce. After years of falling off this and that, my spine was a collection of misaligned vertebrae that were now straining under overtightened muscles resulting from recently triggered PTSD symptoms. Basically, my body was trying to pull itself into some kind of protective turtle shell, with the slight problem that Iâm not a turtle and have no shell. Darn the evolutionary luck. </div>
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This all happened a little over a year ago and has been one of the most painful, terrifying and<em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> </em>transformative<em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> </em>experiences of my life.</div>
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Earth Medicine: The Science</h6>
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As I started to heal, my initial forays back into the wild consisted of lying on a patch of warm grass in my front yard under the glistening needles of a favorite pine. I was surprised at just how good that felt; how much it felt like medicine. Only half joking, I started calling those sunning sessions my âearth medicine.â I didnât know what I was feeling, only that it somehow felt crucial to my recovery.</div>
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I know how hippie-dippie that sounds. I know how hippie-dippie I would think it was if you said this to me a year and a half ago. But part of my exciting adventure has included learning about the science and legitimacy of some of these supposed hippie-dippies. For one, me having the urge to go lie on my back flush against the ground in the sunshine? Itâs called grounding. Itâs a real thing.</div>
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In 2015, renowned biophysicist and researcher James Oschman published an article in The Journal of Inflammation Research<em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">,</em> titled âThe Effects of Grounding (Earthing) on Inflammation, The Immune Response, Wound Healing, and Prevention and Treatment of Chronic Inflammatory and Autoimmune diseases.â Dr. Oschman and his team of researchers found significant scientific validity for the healing effects of this previously suspect prescription, and thereâs a host of legit research backing him up (read the study<a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4378297/" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;"> here</a>.) Walking across the earth barefoot? Turns out this PachaMamaâs little helperâs effects are better than keto, spinning or living off kale. </div>
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When I was able to return to my rock climbing and bushwhacking, I held tight to âsometimes just chilling in the sunâ and âwatching birds flit about the bushes.â <a href="https://adventurepro.us/breakable-how-to-stay-up-with-injury-keeps-you-down/" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;">It just felt right.</a> Well guess what? Thatâs earth medicine, too.</div>
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Ecotherapy</h6>
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Thereâs a slew of studies documenting the physical and mental health benefits of Mother Nature beyond exercising in it, especially if done mindfully. Itâs called âecotherapy.â The findings are showing that we need nature almost as much as we need food, water and air. A 2017 <a href="https://www.businessinsider.com/why-spending-more-time-outside-is-healthy-2017-7#walking-in-nature-could-improve-your-short-term-memory-1" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;">Business Insider article</a> reviewed the literature on the benefits of connecting with nature and found that a majority of the research reported a minimum of one association between outdoor activities and positive, healthy outcomes â and not one reported a single negative. They werenât just looking at playing or exercising outdoors, either. Some of these studies just looked at the impacts of having a âviewâ outdoors. The positive impacts were especially noticeable on mental health, showing dramatic improvements across the spectrum.</div>
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We know in our fiber itâs true. How many times have you found bliss or respite in nature? For some of us, itâs the bosom we run to in our deepest trials.</div>
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Cheryl Powers: Cave Therapy</h6>
<figure class="post-content__image wp-block-image" style="background-color: whitesmoke; border-radius: 6px; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; display: flex; flex-direction: column; margin: 0px 0px 1.5rem; max-width: 100%; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; width: 814.313px;"><img alt="Cheryl Powers" class="wp-image-22230 jetpack-lazy-image jetpack-lazy-image--handled" data-attachment-id="22230" data-comments-opened="0" data-image-description="<p>Cheryl Powers found healing and sanctuary in a childhood cave.</p>
" data-image-meta="{"aperture":"0","credit":"","camera":"","caption":"","created_timestamp":"0","copyright":"","focal_length":"0","iso":"0","shutter_speed":"0","title":"","orientation":"0"}" data-image-title="Adventure Pro Magazine â Cheryl Powers" data-large-file="https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/CherylPowers.jpg?fit=632%2C568&ssl=1" data-lazy-loaded="1" data-medium-file="https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/CherylPowers.jpg?fit=300%2C270&ssl=1" data-orig-file="https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/CherylPowers.jpg?fit=632%2C568&ssl=1" data-orig-size="632,568" data-permalink="https://adventurepro.us/cherylpowers/" data-recalc-dims="1" sizes="(max-width: 639px) 98vw, (max-width: 1199px) 64vw, 632px" src="https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/CherylPowers.jpg?ssl=1" srcset="https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/CherylPowers.jpg?w=632&ssl=1 632w, https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/CherylPowers.jpg?resize=300%2C270&ssl=1 300w" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-height: 642px; max-width: 100%; object-fit: contain; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 814.313px;" /><figcaption style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-color: initial; border-left-style: initial; border-right-color: initial; border-right-style: initial; border-top-color: rgb(228, 228, 228); border-top-style: solid; border-width: 1px 0px 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #555d66; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 1rem;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; display: block; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; padding: 0px;">Diagnosed with tumors, Cheryl Powers and her dog retreated to a childhood cave and found not only sanctuary but healing boosts of courage and gratitude.</span><cite style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #5d5d5d; display: block; font-size: 0.8125rem; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Robert Mooney</cite></figcaption></figure><div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1rem; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
When my friend, Cheryl Powers, of Parsippany, New Jersey, was diagnosed with a tumor behind her eye and another growing inside her spinal cord, she loaded her 115-pound German shepherd, Lexi, into her truck and made a frantic drive for Buttermilk Falls in northern New Jersey to a secret cave. As a child, she found sanctuary in the cave and now, more than ever, she needed sanctuary. She made a fire in the cave while Lexi, who had recently recovered from being hit by a car, attacked a fallen tree across the creek as if it was the villain behind all of their problems.</div>
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âShe tore at that pine tree âtil it broke in half and fell into the stream,â said Cheryl, âThen she came up and laid down beside me, and we were both just like, thatâs the end of that. The end of the fear.â</div>
<figure class="post-content__image wp-block-image" style="background-color: whitesmoke; border-radius: 6px; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; display: flex; flex-direction: column; margin: 0px 0px 1.5rem; max-width: 100%; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; width: 814.313px;"><img alt="Lexi" class="wp-image-22252 jetpack-lazy-image jetpack-lazy-image--handled" data-attachment-id="22252" data-comments-opened="0" data-image-description="<p>Lexi shared the healing moment with Cheryl Powers.</p>
" data-image-meta="{"aperture":"0","credit":"","camera":"","caption":"","created_timestamp":"0","copyright":"","focal_length":"0","iso":"0","shutter_speed":"0","title":"","orientation":"1"}" data-image-title="Adventure Pro Magazine â Lexi" data-large-file="https://i0.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Leksi.jpg?fit=720%2C540&ssl=1" data-lazy-loaded="1" data-medium-file="https://i0.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Leksi.jpg?fit=300%2C225&ssl=1" data-orig-file="https://i0.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Leksi.jpg?fit=720%2C540&ssl=1" data-orig-size="720,540" data-permalink="https://adventurepro.us/leksi/" data-recalc-dims="1" sizes="(max-width: 639px) 98vw, (max-width: 1199px) 64vw, 720px" src="https://i0.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Leksi.jpg?ssl=1" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Leksi.jpg?w=720&ssl=1 720w, https://i0.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Leksi.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Leksi.jpg?resize=640%2C480&ssl=1 640w" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-height: 642px; max-width: 100%; object-fit: contain; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 814.313px;" /><figcaption style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-color: initial; border-left-style: initial; border-right-color: initial; border-right-style: initial; border-top-color: rgb(228, 228, 228); border-top-style: solid; border-width: 1px 0px 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #555d66; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 1rem;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; display: block; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; padding: 0px;">Cheryl Powersâ German shepherd, Lexi, was with Cheryl when she took sanctuary in the cave, and shared her healing moment.</span><cite style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #5d5d5d; display: block; font-size: 0.8125rem; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Robin Welch</cite></figcaption></figure><div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1rem; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
The tumor behind her eye was removed and found to be benign. The one in her spine shrank and disappeared. That was 15 years ago, and Cheryl maintains a special connection to that cave, a place where she received a boost of gratitude, a feeling that somehow just being there had helped her replenish her courage and restore her health.</div>
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âYou could feel it was a place of power,â says Cheryl.</div>
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Sheâs not wrong. Studies have found that spending time in nature can lower inflammation, decrease anxiety and depression, reducing cortisol and other stress hormones, and lower heart rates. Pachamama takes care of her own.</div>
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Ri Ganey: What Illness?</h6>
<figure class="post-content__image wp-block-image" style="background-color: whitesmoke; border-radius: 6px; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; display: flex; flex-direction: column; margin: 0px 0px 1.5rem; max-width: 100%; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; width: 814.313px;"><img alt="Ri Ganey" class="wp-image-22233 jetpack-lazy-image jetpack-lazy-image--handled" data-attachment-id="22233" data-comments-opened="0" data-image-description="<p>Ri Ganey began a path to recovery after being introduced to the outdoor lifestyle.</p>
" data-image-meta="{"aperture":"2.8","credit":"","camera":"Canon EOS 60D","caption":"","created_timestamp":"1566181196","copyright":"","focal_length":"40","iso":"125","shutter_speed":"0.0015625","title":"","orientation":"1"}" data-image-title="Adventure Pro Magazine â Ri Ganey" data-large-file="https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?fit=1024%2C683&ssl=1" data-lazy-loaded="1" data-medium-file="https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?fit=300%2C200&ssl=1" data-orig-file="https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?fit=5184%2C3456&ssl=1" data-orig-size="5184,3456" data-permalink="https://adventurepro.us/riganey3-jane-webber/" data-recalc-dims="1" sizes="(max-width: 639px) 98vw, (max-width: 1199px) 64vw, 770px" src="https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?resize=1024%2C683&ssl=1" srcset="https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?resize=1024%2C683&ssl=1 1024w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?resize=300%2C200&ssl=1 300w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?resize=768%2C512&ssl=1 768w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?resize=640%2C427&ssl=1 640w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?resize=1200%2C800&ssl=1 1200w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?w=2000&ssl=1 2000w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/RiGaney3-Jane-Webber.jpg?w=3000&ssl=1 3000w" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-height: 642px; max-width: 100%; object-fit: contain; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 814.313px;" /><figcaption style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-color: initial; border-left-style: initial; border-right-color: initial; border-right-style: initial; border-top-color: rgb(228, 228, 228); border-top-style: solid; border-width: 1px 0px 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #555d66; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 1rem;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; display: block; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; padding: 0px;">Diagnosed with numerous health challenges, Ri Ganey is back to laughing and living life to the fullest after being introduced to the outdoors.</span><cite style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #5d5d5d; display: block; font-size: 0.8125rem; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Ri Ganey</cite></figcaption></figure><div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1rem; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
Ri Ganey has read a lot of those studies. In high school she used them to convince her parents to significantly reduce or eliminate her medications. A junior at Fort Lewis College in Durango, Ri struggles with a number of health challenges including hashimotos thyroiditis, celiac, Raynaud Syndrome, Sjogrenâs Syndrome, asthma, eczema, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, endometriosis, sciatica, mild scoliosis and is currently being monitored for Lupus. Some days she just feels like dog poop. Despite this list of challenges, Ri is majoring in adventure education and is an active participant in Keeping Women Wild, an outdoor adventure club.</div>
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When Ganey first moved to Durango as a broke student, she got really sick living on a steady diet of Ramen noodles and peanut butter. But she had good friends who encouraged her to get out and make better choices. With their support, she went on backpacking trips that all but exhausted her physically. However, when she returned she didnât decide to give up backpacking; instead, she pushed herself even more.</div>
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Ri said, âIt was really a battle to get out the door, but I realized that when I was out there it was the only time I remembered feeling fully happy and whole.â</div>
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So she forced herself to go on more adventures. That was six years ago. Today she still has rough days, but she has more good days than bad. Prior to entering a lifestyle that took her outdoors, she was barely able to manage nine credit hours a semester. Now she easily manages a full-time class schedule, an internship at Durango Nature Studies and a job as a snowboard instructor at <a aria-label="Purgatory Resort (opens in a new tab)" href="https://www.purgatoryresort.com/" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;" target="_blank">Purgatory Resort</a>. She even rallies to volunteer at <a aria-label="Hesperus Ski Area (opens in a new tab)" href="https://www.ski-hesperus.com/" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;" target="_blank">Hesperus Ski Area</a> as an Outdoor Emergency Care (OEC) instructor for other patrollers, is the logistics coordinator for Keeping Women Wild and serves as regional secretary for the Association of Experiential Education for the Rocky Mountain region. Thatâs a lot for someone without her health challenges!</div>
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Brimming with good nature and enthusiasm, Ganey throws her head back and laughs when I asked for her biggest challenge. In answering, she turns serious. She wants me to know that she means what sheâs about to say. âThe biggest challenge is separating my illness from my goals,â she says. âPeople learn about my issues and think it means I canât do this or that, but other people donât get to decide whatâs above my limits. Thatâs up to me. Theyâre just going to have to trust me to make those choices.â</div>
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Ri credits the outdoors with playing a crucial role in her evolving strength. âThe outdoors have helped me understand what it is to truly be alive,â she said, tossing a stick for her dog, Bridger. âItâs easy to cave in to an illness, but you canât do that when youâre in nature. It teaches me to be present.â</div>
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Thad Ferrell: Sight Restored</h6>
<figure class="post-content__image wp-block-image" style="background-color: whitesmoke; border-radius: 6px; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; display: flex; flex-direction: column; margin: 0px 0px 1.5rem; max-width: 100%; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; width: 814.313px;"><img alt="Thad Ferrell" class="wp-image-22236 jetpack-lazy-image jetpack-lazy-image--handled" data-attachment-id="22236" data-comments-opened="0" data-image-description="<p>Thad Ferrell has a renewed outlook on life after enduring a fall while rock climbing.</p>
" data-image-meta="{"aperture":"0","credit":"","camera":"","caption":"","created_timestamp":"0","copyright":"","focal_length":"0","iso":"0","shutter_speed":"0","title":"","orientation":"1"}" data-image-title="Adventure Pro Magazine â Thad Ferrell" data-large-file="https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?fit=769%2C1024&ssl=1" data-lazy-loaded="1" data-medium-file="https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?fit=225%2C300&ssl=1" data-orig-file="https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?fit=3600%2C4791&ssl=1" data-orig-size="3600,4791" data-permalink="https://adventurepro.us/thad2/" data-recalc-dims="1" sizes="(max-width: 639px) 98vw, (max-width: 1199px) 64vw, 769px" src="https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?resize=769%2C1024&ssl=1" srcset="https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?resize=769%2C1024&ssl=1 769w, https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?resize=225%2C300&ssl=1 225w, https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?resize=768%2C1022&ssl=1 768w, https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?resize=640%2C852&ssl=1 640w, https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?resize=1024%2C1363&ssl=1 1024w, https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?resize=1200%2C1597&ssl=1 1200w, https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?w=2000&ssl=1 2000w, https://i2.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/Thad2.jpg?w=3000&ssl=1 3000w" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-height: 642px; max-width: 100%; object-fit: contain; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 814.313px;" /><figcaption style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-color: initial; border-left-style: initial; border-right-color: initial; border-right-style: initial; border-top-color: rgb(228, 228, 228); border-top-style: solid; border-width: 1px 0px 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #555d66; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 1rem;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; display: block; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; padding: 0px;">A 100-foot fall while rock climbing resulted in Thad Ferrell breaking numerous bones and enduring multiple surgeries. He attributes the fall to a better outlook on life. âIâve got it so good.â</span><cite style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #5d5d5d; display: block; font-size: 0.8125rem; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Thad Ferrell</cite></figcaption></figure><div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1rem; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
This is all well and good when nature treats you right, when it teaches you, saves or soothes you, but what if betrays you? Or worse, almost kills you? Could you imagine referring to it then as a life blessing? In September of 2017, Thad Ferrell took a 100-foot fall just after summiting a climb called Holy Grail outside of Durango. Miraculously, he landed on the dirt between two sharp boulders and lived. But still, 100 feet is a long way to fall and he didnât walk away from it. He was carried out by emergency rescue personnel and has had a long road to recovery. Heâs undergone multiple surgeries for broken ankles, pelvis and jaw, yet he maintains the kind, positive spirit that made him so many friends throughout his life.</div>
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âIâve got metal in my feet, my pelvis is welded together and my entire bottom jaw is made from my left legâs fibula,â said Ferrell. âBut I still have to punch myself because Iâve got it so good.â Since the accident, he has started his own fly fishing guide service,<a href="https://kingfisherflyguides.com/" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;"> Kingfisher Fly Guides</a>. This is one of the blessings. He said he would never have started this business before the accident because his life had been all about getting the next hit of endorphins.</div>
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âOne of the human dilemmas is finding your place in the world, and I had been focusing all of my attention on climbing or trail running,â Thad said. âIâll always be a climber but itâs not my identity. I used to not be able to do anything else until after I climbed or ran a long way on a hard trail. Now I can bring my daughter out to boulder, but if sheâd rather just run around and play, then thatâs what we do and itâs awesome. Thereâs more to life than the next adrenaline rush. Whatâs most important now is to make sure Iâm a better son, a better husband and a better father.â</div>
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Thad still heads for the wild whenever he can but the relationship is different. Itâs grown into a deeper experience. âBefore the accident I was frustrated because I was hitting a plateau,â said Thad. âI was losing the ability to see all that beauty out there. Now I can see again. The autumn light, the gold on aspensâŚthatâs the blessing when something like this happens, you get to see all the beauty. Itâs always been there, you just couldnât see it.â Chalking up his hands before we warm up on a boulder in Sailing Hawks bouldering field, he added, âYou think the world has changed, but youâre the one whoâs changed.â</div>
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Dave Williams: One Peak at a Time</h6>
<figure class="post-content__image wp-block-image" style="background-color: whitesmoke; border-radius: 6px; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; display: flex; flex-direction: column; margin: 0px 0px 1.5rem; max-width: 100%; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; width: 814.313px;"><img alt="Dave Williams" class="wp-image-22231 jetpack-lazy-image jetpack-lazy-image--handled" data-attachment-id="22231" data-comments-opened="0" data-image-description="<p>Dave Williams processes the deaths of friends by bringing awareness to male mental health issues with mountain climbs.</p>
" data-image-meta="{"aperture":"9","credit":"","camera":"E-M5MarkII","caption":"OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA","created_timestamp":"1494288722","copyright":"","focal_length":"24","iso":"200","shutter_speed":"0.003125","title":"OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA","orientation":"1"}" data-image-title="Adventure Pro Magazine â Dave Williams" data-large-file="https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?fit=1024%2C768&ssl=1" data-lazy-loaded="1" data-medium-file="https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?fit=300%2C225&ssl=1" data-orig-file="https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?fit=4608%2C3456&ssl=1" data-orig-size="4608,3456" data-permalink="https://adventurepro.us/olympus-digital-camera-25/" data-recalc-dims="1" sizes="(max-width: 639px) 98vw, (max-width: 1199px) 64vw, 770px" src="https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1" srcset="https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?resize=640%2C480&ssl=1 640w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?resize=1200%2C900&ssl=1 1200w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?w=2000&ssl=1 2000w, https://i1.wp.com/ballantine-apro.s3.amazonaws.com/production/uploads/2019/12/File099DaveWilliams.jpg?w=3000&ssl=1 3000w" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-height: 642px; max-width: 100%; object-fit: contain; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 814.313px;" /><figcaption style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-color: initial; border-left-style: initial; border-right-color: initial; border-right-style: initial; border-top-color: rgb(228, 228, 228); border-top-style: solid; border-width: 1px 0px 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #555d66; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 1rem;"><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; display: block; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; padding: 0px;">Dave Williams processes the deaths of a friend and one of his students by bringing awareness to male mental health challenges with sea-to-summit climbs of the highest peaks on all seven continents.</span><cite style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #5d5d5d; display: block; font-size: 0.8125rem; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Dave Williams</cite></figcaption></figure><div style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-size: inherit; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1rem; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
Dave Williams was facing a personal crisis when he heard the mountains call. The Head of the Outdoor Education Department at New Zealandâs Botany Downs Secondary College, Williams had recently lost both a former student and a close friend to suicide. He was still processing their deaths when a friend asked him to join him on a sea-to-summit climb of Mount Taranaki, New Zealandâs dormant volcano. A sea to summit is an adventure that involves summiting a peak by foot from the nearest seaboard. It was on this trek that Williams came up with a way to honor his fallen friends and bring awareness to mental health issues, particularly male mental health challenges. </div>
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âFor New Zealand men, itâs taboo to talk about vulnerability,â Williams says. âItâs seen as weak, so we hold it all inside. I want to promote the idea that itâs not weak, but strong to show when weâre vulnerable.â</div>
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To that end, Williams founded his organization, <a href="https://sea2summit7.com/" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;">sea2summit7</a>, whose mission is to climb the highest peaks on all seven continents, starting from the nearest coastline. </div>
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âI started off not really understanding how big this issue was for men in New Zealand. I believed in it, but didnât really understand it,â Williams said. His experiences on the summits for his cause have taught him considerably more, he explained â as any of us whoâve attempted hard summits can attest. âWhen you put yourself into these harsh environments, you get a next level understanding of vulnerability and itâs helped me understand the cause so much more.â</div>
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These summits arenât his first outdoor adventures. Williams is a lifelong outdoor enthusiast who teaches this art and passion to college students. He actually has a degree in Outdoor Recreation. Given what heâs witnessed in his classes, an outdoor-oriented campaign is a perfect fit for a mental health cause. </div>
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Why? Itâs summed up in Daveâs favorite quote, one most often attributed to Edmund Hilary: âIt is not the mountain that we conquer, but ourselves.â </div>
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âAs an educator, from day one I was taking youth into the outdoors, watching how it changes them and the kind of impact it has on their lives,â he said. âI canât even count the number of students I have that have been going through issues in their lives and the outdoors has become their medicine.â</div>
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So far, Dave has completed four of the seven summits: Mount Kosciusko in Australia, Mount Aconcagua in Argentina, Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania and Mount Elbrus in Russia. Still to come, Vinson Massif in Antarctica, Mount Denali in Alaska, and Mount Everest on the border of China and Nepal. </div>
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Next May, Williams heads for Denali. </div>
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A Toast</h6>
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As we remember our blessings this season, itâs also good to remember our incredible planet. Earth is a miracle in our galaxy, possibly in all galaxies, a place where Mother Nature not only feeds us physically, but spiritually. Please raise your glasses this holiday season and join me in a toast to our brilliant Earth. May we treat her with greater kindness in the years to come. (Last two sentences were not part of the originally published article, but were part of my original vision for the article).</div>
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<em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Donna Stewart is a freelance writer and author of the book, </em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;">Yoga Mamaâs Buddha Sandals: Mayans, Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girls</a><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">. You can see more of her work at </em><a href="http://www.donnastewartwrites.com/" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #2e2e2e; cursor: pointer; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; word-break: break-word;"><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">www.donnastewartwrites.com</em></a><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">.</em></div>
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Article originally posted in <a href="https://adventurepro.us/" target="_blank">Adventure Pro Magazine</a>: <a href="https://adventurepro.us/the-healing-power-of-mother-nature/">https://adventurepro.us/the-healing-power-of-mother-nature/</a></h2>
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Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-19846325389616169672019-12-03T12:41:00.001-08:002019-12-03T12:41:28.399-08:00Grateful SummitsThis article appeared on Rock and Ice Thanksgiving Day <a href="https://rockandice.com/inside-beta/grateful-summits-how-climbing-inspires-gratitude/">https://rockandice.com/inside-beta/grateful-summits-how-climbing-inspires-gratitude/</a><br />
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Grateful Summits: How Climbing Inspires Gratitude</h2>
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And maybe even spiritual transformation.</div>
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By Donna Stewart | November 27th, 2019</div>
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<span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bolder;">Iâve always felt that there was something deeply spiritual</span> about climbing: that when weâre climbing, weâre tapping into some kind of pure state of being that may somehow, I dunno, maybe even help make the world a better place? I realize that some of you may have just rolled your eyes at me. But I also know that some of you just said, âI know, right?â</div>
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Iâve been doing some digging through the tomes on this kind of stuff and thereâs almost diddly squat on the subject. The closest Iâve found so far are the words of those whoâve nearly died while climbing (thereâs no religious experience quite like nearly dying, it seems) and Everest climbers beseeching the grace of Miyolangsangma, the Buddhist goddess of Inexhaustible Giving, who calls Everest home. Many climbers seek Miyolangsangmaâs blessing before setting out to summit the mountain and some Sherpas will do no work with climbers who donât. (Speaking of transformative experiences, Miyolingsangma was originally a malevolent demoness who was converted by a great Buddhist and was so overwhelmed with gratitude that generosity became her, um, middle name.)</div>
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As part of my digging process, I unearthed inspiring stories on the transformative power of climbing. Whether you believe there is something spiritual about climbing or not, if youâre a climber, at the very least you likely have a deep gratitude for finding this sport. Some of us owe our very life to climbing⌠which is kind of funny for a sport that, done wrong, can take your life.</div>
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[Also Watch <a href="https://rockandice.com/videos/climbing/video-emily-harringtons-el-cap-rescue/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">VIDEO: Emily Harringtonâs El Cap Rescue</a>]</h4>
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Iâm one of the life owe-ers. When I found climbing, I was on a dangerous path. I was a homeless kid with nothing to lose and the voices of a past full of trauma I desperately wanted to silence. The only way I could feel most days was by scraping down to the raw, which usually entailed near-death experiences. Before I discovered the wild outdoors, this entailed jumping on moving trains, a mild fascination with breaking and entering, and climbing old buildings on the way wrong side of the tracks in my hometown of Memphis, Tennessee (considered one of the most dangerous cities in the U.S. even on the right side of the tracksâthough this is changing, as youâll see in a moment).</div>
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In high school, I was voted most likely to be dead by our first reunion. No one is more surprised and grateful than I that Iâm still here. Not only am I still here, but Iâm sort of thriving. And climbing is partially responsible for that. Iâm still puzzling through the spirituality of climbing for me, but as I encountered more and more of these butterfly effects, Iâve discovered that Iâm not the only one whoâs been transformed or feels such an overwhelming gratitude for the sport, even when the price for participating is high.</div>
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Craig DeMartino was climbing in Rocky Mountain National Park in 2002, when there was a tragic miscommunication between he and his belayer. He thought he was going to be lowered down; his belay partner thought Craig was going to belay him from above the ledge, 10 stories up the cliff face. <a href="https://rockandice.com/climbing-epics/the-bucket-list/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Craig</a> stepped off the ledge expecting the rope to catch him, but instead he fell through the air, bounced off a tree, then landed on his feet. He shattered bones in his feet, ankles and ribs, and vertebrae in his spine.</div>
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Eighteen months later, Craig was still frustrated with his right foot. For one, there were so many metal parts now permanently implanted in his foot he couldnât put on a climbing shoe. Plus, there was the pain. Heâd talked to other outdoor athletes who had elected for amputation rather than give up active lives and live in pain. So, almost two years into his recovery, he elected to amputate his right leg seven inches below his knee.</div>
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<figure aria-describedby="caption-attachment-33307" class="wp-caption alignright" id="attachment_33307" style="box-sizing: inherit; float: right; margin: 0.375em 0px 1.75em 1.75em; max-width: 100%; width: 467px;"><img alt="" class=" wp-image-33307" height="280" sizes="(max-width: 467px) 85vw, 467px" src="https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/190510_IndianCreek_01950shrp-e1564767964203.jpg" srcset="https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/190510_IndianCreek_01950shrp-e1564767964203.jpg 1920w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/190510_IndianCreek_01950shrp-e1564767964203-300x180.jpg 300w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/190510_IndianCreek_01950shrp-e1564767964203-768x461.jpg 768w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/190510_IndianCreek_01950shrp-e1564767964203-1024x614.jpg 1024w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/190510_IndianCreek_01950shrp-e1564767964203-1200x720.jpg 1200w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/190510_IndianCreek_01950shrp-e1564767964203-707x424.jpg 707w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/190510_IndianCreek_01950shrp-e1564767964203-938x563.jpg 938w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/190510_IndianCreek_01950shrp-e1564767964203-1008x605.jpg 1008w" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; vertical-align: middle;" width="467" /><figcaption class="wp-caption-text" id="caption-attachment-33307" style="box-sizing: inherit; color: #4c4c4c; font-size: 11px; padding: 3px 0px;">After losing his right leg in a climbing fall, Craig DeMartino (upper left) longed for a prosthetic leg that could work in thin crack climbs. Designer Kai Lin (upper right) was inspired by watching a video of mountain goats climbing steep cliffsâwhat if a prosthetic could grip like that? <a href="https://rockandice.com/snowball/out-on-a-limb/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">With support from Arcâteryx, DeMartino and Lin put their heads together to invent a technical climbing prosthetic leg.</a></figcaption></figure><div style="box-sizing: inherit; color: rgb(0, 0, 0) !important; font-family: GothamBook; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
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âI told myself if I wasnât going to be a climber, itâd be fine, but I wanted to decide that,â says Craig. âI didnât want the accident to take it.â</div>
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He never looked back, and when he looked forward, he started seeing more possibilities than limitations, and that wasnât just around his climbing.</div>
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âI feel like my life was great, but now, the things Iâm able to experience and see are things that I never would have before,â says DeMartino. âIt all came from the accident.â</div>
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[Also Read <a href="https://rockandice.com/snowball/out-on-a-limb/" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;">Out On A Limb</a>]</h4>
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Craig now lives a life dedicated to helping others find their inner strength and joy, by learning to live and thrive with whatever hand life deals them.</div>
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âI was pretty selfish and self-indulgent before,â Craig says. âGetting hurt opened my eyes to what my life could actually be like.â</div>
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Craig works with people with a wide range of disabilities, from those who suffered accidents liked him to veterans crippled by their experiences. Getting them into their bodies and showing them what they can still do has marked influence and science is now trying to articulate why. There are more and more studies about the health benefitsâboth mental and physicalâof getting outside. The science has been so convincing that, according to a video on <a href="https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/how-adaptive-climbing-is-helping-veterans-fight-ptsd/vp-BBQYmsF" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">MSN</a>, âIn 2017, the VA funded adaptive sports programs in every state. Veterans are learning how to heal their war wounds through outdoor therapies like backpacking, skiing and rock climbing.â</div>
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Rana Betting, a climber, trained psychotherapist and curator for the blog Climbing Psychology, tells me, âOutdoor education programs have known for years that utilizing rock climbing experiences with their students often results in profound transformations.â As both a climber and a psychologist who has recommended outdoor therapy for patients, Rana has given this a lot of thought. She believes climbing creates greater self-knowledge, increased self-esteem, and greater connection to community and the outdoorsâall of which enhance mental health. âEach time we try and succeed in any small or large way, we create positive pathways in our brainâs reward system.â</div>
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<figure aria-describedby="caption-attachment-35178" class="wp-caption alignright" id="attachment_35178" style="box-sizing: inherit; float: right; margin: 0.375em 0px 1.75em 1.75em; max-width: 100%; width: 356px;"><img alt="" class=" wp-image-35178" height="475" sizes="(max-width: 356px) 85vw, 356px" src="https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/debbie1.jpg" srcset="https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/debbie1.jpg 3456w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/debbie1-225x300.jpg 225w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/debbie1-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/debbie1-1200x1600.jpg 1200w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/debbie1-318x424.jpg 318w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/debbie1-422x563.jpg 422w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/debbie1-454x605.jpg 454w" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; vertical-align: middle;" width="356" /><figcaption class="wp-caption-text" id="caption-attachment-35178" style="box-sizing: inherit; color: #4c4c4c; font-size: 11px; padding: 3px 0px;">Debbie Higgs. Photo: Donna Stewart.</figcaption></figure><div style="box-sizing: inherit; color: rgb(0, 0, 0) !important; font-family: GothamBook; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
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For climber, yoga instructor and Reiki master Debbie Higgs, climbing has taken what she was told was a broken body and brought her strengthâphysically, mentally and spiritually. âI am doing things with my body that, a few years ago, I would have thought were impossible, because I was <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">told</em> they were impossible. But Iâm doing them and itâs not because of some radical transformation of my body. Itâs a change of attitude.â</div>
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Debbie was diagnosed with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis at the age of 21, but she had had the disease for much longer. While itâs not clear how long, it <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">is</em> clear that a lot of damage had occurred before detection, especially in her hands and feet. Her toes arch and curve gracefully, but in a way that, especially as a climber, you can see right away is not normal. Itâs obvious that her toes pose challenges in balance, and that it would be painful to try to use her feet in the same way that most of us do. So Debbie finds other ways.</div>
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âHow can I be climbing, balancing up there on rocks? How can I be up there, trusting this body that so many people have told me not to trust?â Debbie asks. âI donât have to copy or emulate others, Iâll find my own way to get to the top, or sometimes I wonât, and at those times Iâll learn something about what my limits really are.â</div>
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Doctors are surprised Debbie walks around as much and as well as she does, but Iâve hiked miles with her and gotten winded keeping up. (Full disclosure: Debbie is my friend and one of the strongest, most focused women Iâve ever met. We climbed for months before I found out about her arthritis, because I wasnât climbing with a woman who let her illness define her reality.)</div>
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Even Debbieâs relationship with climbing is one uniquely self-tailored to her: âItâs not the same relationship that everyone has with the sportâŚthe time I spend climbing represents a place of total freedom, releasing expectations for myself, letting my body write the story instead of the stories and fears in my mind that limit the possibilities of the game.â</div>
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Doctors originally told her that climbing and her other outside activities would cause her condition to deteriorate further, but sheâs found that not to be the case. Instead, her body continues to grow stronger and she no longer needs as many medications as she once did, especially antidepressants.</div>
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âThe thing I cherish most about climbing is that within it, Iâve created a space where I do not evaluate myself on any kind of framework at all. I let myself enjoy the challenge, and I refuse to measure my success or my strength on <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">any</em> kind of scale. When I go out, my only goal is to give myself space to see what I find that day,â she says.</div>
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For Debbie, itâs one day at a time. She wouldnât have it any other way.</div>
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âI still struggle with my illness, and I know that struggle will go on. Itâs all part of the journeyâŚsome days my mind feels like steel, and I feel strong. Some days Iâm gripping my hands to a rock, with someone below cheering me on, telling me to stay up there because I can do it and I want to break into tears. My heart shatters and I think, âI CANâT DO IT!â Some days I wonder after every climb if Iâll ever be able to do it again.â The next day, she gets up and tries again.</div>
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For some, climbing provides a safe haven, metaphorically, literally or, as in the case of Jarmond Johnson, a climber from South Memphis, Tennessee, both. In May 2018, <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Rock and Ice</em> published an <a href="https://rockandice.com/climbing-news/memphis-rox-charts-new-territory-non-profit-gym/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">article</a> on a cultural experiment spearheaded by Tom Shadyac, director of blockbuster movies like âAce Ventura: Pet Detective,â âPatch Adams,â and my personal favorite, âEvan Almighty.â The experiment involved building a climbing gym in South Memphis.</div>
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<figure aria-describedby="caption-attachment-35176" class="wp-caption alignright" id="attachment_35176" style="box-sizing: inherit; float: right; margin: 0.375em 0px 1.75em 1.75em; max-width: 100%; width: 357px;"><img alt="" class=" wp-image-35176" height="516" sizes="(max-width: 357px) 85vw, 357px" src="https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/Jammond-Recovered-RecoveredNatePackard.jpg" srcset="https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/Jammond-Recovered-RecoveredNatePackard.jpg 709w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/Jammond-Recovered-RecoveredNatePackard-208x300.jpg 208w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/Jammond-Recovered-RecoveredNatePackard-294x424.jpg 294w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/Jammond-Recovered-RecoveredNatePackard-390x563.jpg 390w, https://d1vs4ggwgd7mlq.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/Jammond-Recovered-RecoveredNatePackard-419x605.jpg 419w" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; vertical-align: middle;" width="357" /><figcaption class="wp-caption-text" id="caption-attachment-35176" style="box-sizing: inherit; color: #4c4c4c; font-size: 11px; padding: 3px 0px;">Jarmond Johnson. Photo: Nate Packard.</figcaption></figure><div style="box-sizing: inherit; color: rgb(0, 0, 0) !important; font-family: GothamBook; font-size: 14px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
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Memphis, Tennessee is my hometown. Itâs an incredible city full of talented artists, writers and what I have always felt was an overwhelming abundance of good hearts. Itâs also a city struggling with some of the highest poverty and violent crime rates in the country. A few years ago it made it into the top ten of <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Time</em> magazineâs peculiar list, â<a href="https://time.com/69550/10-cities-where-americans-are-pretty-much-terrified-to-live/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Ten Cities Where Americans Are Pretty Much Terrified To Live</a>.â</div>
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Jarmond grew up in South Memphis. If Memphis has the kind of reputation mentioned above, South Memphis is the epicenter from which that reputation was built. It can be a dangerous place where trust is hard to cultivate. Jarmond grew up in a house with his mother and two sisters. From an early age he felt it was his responsibility to protect them. He thought becoming affiliated with one of the cityâs gangs could help him do that. Understanding the complexity of Memphis gangs is beyond the scope of this article, but we all know that some of the activities come with great risks.</div>
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âI was on the wrong side of the law,â says Jarmond. âI fell toward that life and was getting involved in some crazed activities when my mom told me about Memphis Rox.â</div>
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Jarmondâs mother, Florence Johnson, was one of the first employees hired after the gym opened, and she believed in its potential. âShe kept talking to me about the gym and telling me I needed to come by there and see it,â says Jarmond. Shortly after that, Jarmond started working at the gym, too. Three months later, he started climbing and has been hooked ever since.</div>
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When construction started for the rock gym, people thought it was a waste of money. âThey ainât gonna come,â says one naysayer in âSafe Haven,â a recent Shadyac film on what the gym has meant to Memphis. âBlack kids donât do outside activities,â the person says.</div>
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The gym doubled its membership sign-up goals in the first year and thatâss with a system that has a voluntary payment model. At Memphis Rox, if you canât pay, you donât have to. As for the complexion? Itâs in all colors: everybody is there. Itâs bringing a city together that has remained one of the most segregated in the nation, despite the fact that it hass been 55 years since the Civil Rights Act. Memphis Rox has been called one of the most integrated places in Memphis.</div>
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âIt used to be that if they donât look like me and they donât talk like me, I donât talk to them,â says Jarmond. âNow weâre in here all climbing together: Black, Caucasian, Asian, it donât matter. Itâs taught me not to judge so quickly.â</div>
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Jarmond started working for the gym as general staff, but management noticed that he spent any time he could mentoring the younger kids, and so they created a mentoring position for him. He says the more he climbed, the more he shied away from the high-risk gang activities.</div>
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âA lot of my friends havenât lived to be 20,â says Jarmond. âAny time I get to work with these kids is valuable to me. This gym is a safe haven for a lot of these kids.â</div>
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[Also Read <a href="https://rockandice.com/features/free-for-all/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Free For All</a>]</h4>
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Every Wednesday, Jarmond leads a group of kids in what they call Hump Day Talks. They have conversations around questions like, âWhat do you want to do?â âWhat can we do to improve ourselves?â âHow can we improve in order to get to the next phase?â The program appears to be working. Last Halloween, Jarmond talked to some of the neighborhood gang leaders about working to uplift the community, too. Halloween night, rival gang members called a truce and handed out candy side-by-side from the doors of Memphis Rox.</div>
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âMy biggest inspiration was my mother, who passed away this past February,â says Jarmond. âShe put her heart and soul into this gym. Sheâs seen this community go up and down, places open and shut. But this place? She said, âThis place is gonna be here forever.â Long as Iâm working here, Iâm gonna try to make it be here forever.â</div>
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An ancient philosopher once said, âIf you want to awaken all of humanity, then awaken all of yourself. If you want to eliminate suffering in the world, then eliminate all that is dark and negative in yourself. For truly, the greatest gift you have to offer humanity, is your own transformation.â In this case, it seems to be one climber at a time.</div>
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<span style="box-sizing: inherit; color: blue; font-size: 16px; padding: 14px 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bolder;">Donna Stewart</span></span> <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">is a freelance writer and the author of </em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Yoga Mamaâs Buddha Sandals: Mayans, Zapatistas</a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;"> and Silly Little White Girls</a><em style="box-sizing: inherit;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;">.</a> You can see more of her work at <a href="http://www.donnastewartwrites.com/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">www.donnastewartwrites.com.</a></em></div>
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Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-3875099532435786592019-10-28T11:27:00.000-07:002019-10-28T11:27:02.194-07:00Rock and Ice Article: Climbing Takes on the Theater<div class="" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Gotham-Medium; font-size: 10px;">
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Climbing Takes on the Theater: Durango Dirtbags Win Award for Their Play âLobujeâ</h2>
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Climbing stories have made for classic books, been in the magazines for years, and more recently have made the leap to the big screen. Now theyâre taking on the stage.</div>
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By Donna Stewart | October 23rd, 2019</div>
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<span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bolder;">âWHY DO YOU WANT TO CLIMB THIS MOUNTAIN?â</span> Mike Largent, climber, actor, writer and founder of the adventure-based Theater Troupe, Theatre of the Wild, demands from fellow climbers, roaring into their faces drill-sergeant style.</div>
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The climbers, standing at military attention, shout back, âTO TELL A MOUNTAIN CLIMBER STORY THAT DOESNâT END WITH JAMES FRANCO UNDER A ROCK, SIR!â</div>
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This is the opening scene for the ground-breaking play, <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Lobuje</em>, named for the 20,000-foot Himalayan peak and based on the raw experience of the theater troupe, Theatre of the Wild, who summitted the peak last November. Their docu-dramedy is the first time a mountain climbing story has ever been performed on the stage. How did the story translate to the unusual terrain? They won a Peopleâs Choice Award at the Fort Collins Fringe Festival in July and they deserved it.</div>
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While the troupeâs leader, Mike Largent, did nearly die of hypoxia and had to be rescued by a helicopter, the opening scene guarantees the audience that thatâs not what this story is about⌠at least, itâs not <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">all</em> this story is about. And thatâs super refreshing because Iâve heard more than one person âmehâ when the latest film debuts about badasses sponsored by Black Diamond or The North Face finding the next big edge on which to test their already considerable skills. Donât get me wrong, weâre all still deeply impressed, but itâs getting harder for us to connect to their stories. And, frankly, weâre seeing so many that maybe, just maybe, theyâre starting to be a little same-old, same-old? Where are the stories about those of us living real lives kicking and scratching our slightly less-toned tushes through a bit of adventuring?</div>
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[Also Watch <a href="https://rockandice.com/videos/climbing/trailer-return-to-mount-kennedy/" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;">VIDEO: Return To Mount Kennedy]</a></h4>
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âGo Big or Go Homeâ is actually starting to get some shrugs and yawns here and there as audiences, overwhelmed with the litany of the <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">howâs</em> of these adventures, have started yearning for the deeper waters of the <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">whyâs</em> and <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">whoâs</em>, with the whoâs being who are these people <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">really</em>, where did they come from, what drives them, and how much like âmeâ are they? Along with these deeper questions, people, especially non-climbers, also want to know, âWhy does this even matter?â</div>
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The answer to these questions is what Theatre of the Wildâs <em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Lobuje</em> is all about. One of the core-binding principles of the four troupe members (Mike Largent, Sarah Grizzard, Theo Reitwiesner and Gustavo Palma) is that pushing yourself through adventures, whether in the wild or otherwise, carried out on the individual level, improves the world on a global level. The important thing is that youâre getting out of your comfort zone. âIt isnât about being the best,â says Theo Reitwiesner, a college student pursuing a double major in psychology and outdoor recreation at Fort Lewis College, one of the only colleges in the country that literally offer a degree in Adventure Education. âIt makes us better people and thatâs good for the whole world.â</div>
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Theatre of the Wild want to remind the audience that growth promoting adventures come in many different forms. âYou can do more, you can get out there in whatever way that means for you, and itâs worth it,â says Largent. âYouâll grow.â</div>
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<em style="box-sizing: inherit;">Lobuje</em> brings this message through revelations not of the pure badassery of the players, but through the revelations of their lovable, fabulous human fallibility, starting with three of the climbers downing a bottle of martini premix like some sort of post-race sport drink rather than pouring it out at airport customs, which naturally came with some uncomfortable consequences over their long flight to Kathmandu. The messageâthat anyone can and should have adventuresâis brought home as you watch this crew who had been so busy with work and school and life that they didnât have time to fully train, struggle and crawl their way to the summit. That is, except for Largent, who had perhaps the deepest, most powerful adventure of all, struggling to breathe until he was forced to evacuate by helicopter, alone, with the hopes a rapid descent to lower elevations allowed him to live.</div>
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When asked why no one went with him, Reitwiesner said Largent waved them on saying, âWhat are you going to do? Lick my wounds or hold my hand?â Full disclosure from this writer: If weâre climbing in a foreign country and I just spent the last 24 hours unable to talk because I had to concentrate on trying not to drown in my deepening lung lake, Iâm gonna want you to hold my hand all the way to the hospital like the big baby I am.</div>
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True to the opening scene, however, Largentâs near-death experience is only an aside in a story that is sometimes frightening, sometimes hilarious, but always raw and honest, performed by a talented troupe of performers, three of whom are theater veterans.</div>
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[Also Read <a href="https://rockandice.com/climbing-news/gambling-in-the-winds-finishing-hayden-kennedys-unfinished-line/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Gambling In The Winds â Finishing Hayden Kennedyâs Unfinished Line</a>]</h4>
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The entire performance is played out on the back of an old dump truck the troupe has converted to simulate the troupeâs climb to the peak. They custom built a fold out stage that features a retractable climbing wall they actually clip into and scale.</div>
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âPeople say they felt like they were immersed, like they were really experiencing it and thatâs exactly what we were going for.â Said Gus Palma, who was relatively new to climbing when the troupe took on the climb. âWe want people to ask themselves: Whatâs their version of their stories? What do they want to do? Not talk about, not daydream, not read about, but do?â says Largent. And nobody has to die or leaves a limb pinned under a rock for it to matter.</div>
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Theatre of the Wild have one more performance coming up October 25-27 at the Alpine Clubâs Cragginâ Classic in Moab, Utah. For more information: <a href="https://americanalpineclub.org/moab-craggin-classic" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #007acc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">https://americanalpineclub.org/moab-craggin-classic</a></div>
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Story ran in Rock and Ice Magazine October 23, 2019: <a href="https://rockandice.com/inside-beta/climbing-takes-on-the-theater-durango-dirtbags-win-award-for-their-play-lobuje/" style="font-family: Gotham-Medium; font-size: 10px;">https://rockandice.com/inside-beta/climbing-takes-on-the-theater-durango-dirtbags-win-award-for-their-play-lobuje/</a></div>
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Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-23169871306763611592019-10-22T14:10:00.003-07:002019-10-22T14:10:40.801-07:00Epically Human - Published in The Durango Telegraph 9/12/19<h1 style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.95); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: FFMarkWebBold, sans-serif; font-size: 28px !important; line-height: 1.2em; margin: 20px 0px 10px;">
Epically human<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><small style="box-sizing: border-box; color: inherit; font-size: 0.5em; font-weight: 400; line-height: 10px !important;">Theatre of the Wild's "Lobuje" offers answer to today's radness overload</small></h1>
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<img alt="Epically human" src="https://www.durangotelegraph.com/tele/cache/file/7B99AD0C-B9B3-4F51-72F4046BE7D55918.jpg" style="border-radius: 0px; border: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.4) 0px 2px 10px 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; height: auto !important; max-width: 100%; vertical-align: middle;" /><div class="caption" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: FFMarkWeb, "sa ns-serif"; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.2em; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 0.75em;">
Members of Theater of the Wild in a scene from "Lobuje" earlier this summer at the Fringe Festival in Fort Collins. The play, about a real- life climb to the 20,000-foot Himalayan peak, was performed on a makeshift climbing wall on the flatbed of a truck./Courtesy photo by Donna Stewart</div>
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<cite style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #1f6910; display: block; font-size: 14px;"><span class="fa fa-user" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; font-family: FontAwesome; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 1; text-rendering: auto;"></span> Donna Stewart - 09/12/2019</cite></div>
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âIâm saying, letâs take f***ing action toward things that weâre passionate about, without apologizing and without reservation. We donât have time for that,â Mike Largent, founder of Durango-based performance art troupe Theatre of the Wild, said.</div>
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It sounds like a battle cry, a pep rally-to-action before facing some sort of epic challenge. But Theatre of the Wild is out to challenge ideas about who and what exactly is âepic,â especially, but not exclusively, in the wild.</div>
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Truth is, weâre getting bored with titans. In the last few years, Iâve heard more than one person âmehâ when the latest mountain climber story hits the theaters. With 500,000 peak baggers in Colorado alone, itâs getting so even free-soloist Alex Honnold has a hard time maintaining his level of appeal.</div>
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Audiences are starting to desensitize to epicness. Weâve struggled and lost right along with the best climbers in the world. Yet another climber spends days, weeks or even years confronting his or her limitations by struggling to the top of something craggy? Lucky them, but what else is new?</div>
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Hereâs something new: a live theater production that features climbers, not sponsored by Black Diamond or North Face, reveling in the adventure of the personal.</div>
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âWhy do you want to climb this mountain?â Largent roars, drill sergeant-style, into each climberâs face in the opening scene for the troupeâs new production, âLobuje.â</div>
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âTo tell a mountain climber story that doesnât end with James Franco under a rock, sir!â</div>
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Itâs true that when we watch movies or read the titanâs tales, we get jazzed, eager to run out and start conquering mountains or slaying dragons. But sometimes people just feel like these tales are more demoralizing than inspiring. We canât relate. Sure, they make us dream big. We spend every spare moment at the crag and lots of moolah on gear. Yet, at some point, we realize weâre just not going to be the next Honnold or Tommy Caldwell.</div>
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Which isnât to say itâs not worth trying. Itâs just that most of us just donât have the time and money to sustain the lifestyle necessary to hold on till Arcâteryx looks our way. Personally, every time Iâve approached breaking the V3/V4 barrier, Iâve either broken a bone, had to work more or gotten pregnant. Life gets in the way. With the current philosophical emphasis being âgo big or go home,â itâs hard to rally for adventures that seem, on the surface, nothing to write home about.</div>
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Undoing that mindset is one of the goals of Theatre of the Wildâs âLobuje.â Their message: You do you, and to heck with bragging rights. They want to remind us that itâs not about what we get to the top of, or how many miles we walk, run, paddle or crawl. Itâs that weâre showing up, for ourselves, in whatever way that manifests for us at the time, regardless of whether anyone else will be impressed.</div>
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The four troupe members (Largent, Sarah Grizzard, Theo Reitswiesner and Gustavo Palma) are no strangers to obstacles. Each of them worked long hours or several jobs at once to make âLobujeâ happen. When hoops popped up, they hopped through them. And they believe we can all do a little more ourselves if weâre willing to jump, too. âWe want people to ask themselves: Whatâs their version of their stories? What do they want to do? Not talk about, not daydream, not read about, but do?â says Largent.</div>
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Last July, the Durango-based troupe debuted their theatrical docu-comedy at the Fort Collins Fringe Festival (earning a Peopleâs Choice Award). The first ever recorded play documenting a mountain climb, âLobujeâ follows a motley crew of performers as they attempt to summit the 20,000-foot Himalayan Peak of the same name.</div>
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As the group takes us on their true, very relatable 2018 journey, they reveal the unique, the tragic and the quirky in each of their personal stories. With raw honesty and courage, they give the audience full exposure to what drives each of them to subject themselves to the kind of life-and-death tests that await. While âLobujeâ isnât one of the highest peaks in the world, itâs still a big, freaking craggy mountain covered in ice with the hiking starting at around 15,000 feet â 7,000 feet above the danger line for altitude sickness (which Largent got and nearly succumbed to, by the way.)</div>
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And âby the wayâ is how that part of the story is told, not as the focus, but merely as an aside of an adventure that is sometimes frightening, sometimes funny. Three of the climbers actually start the long trek with a martini hangover, which they had to endure while navigating foreign systems and technological quirks.</div>
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While itâs true their climb lacks all of the traditional juice that fuels most mountain-climbing tales (loss of life, limb or marriage), what they bring to the table is an action comedy that strives for deeper waters. In the process, it gives the audience a human version of the typical climbing experience: a mountain climbing story about and to inspire everyman/woman.</div>
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âWeâre not really here to say you could be the next professional athlete,â said Largent. âWeâre here to say that that doesnât matter. You can do more, you can get out there in whatever way that means for you, and itâs worth it. Youâll grow. Itâll make you a better person, and that will benefit the whole world.â</div>
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That message comes through loud and clear, in large part because itâs being conveyed to you not only by the people who actually made the climb, but by a group of talented actors who are as passionate about performance art as they are adventure. Largent, who also serves as artistic director and lead writer, taught theater at Arizona State University and Fort Lewis College. He holds an MFA in performance from Arizona State, which specializes in developing new work and might be where he perfected some of his incredible facial expressions. He uses these masterfully in each of the several roles he plays in the performance. As a matter of fact, all the actors wear many hats, an inside joke youâll get when you see the play. Watching the characters âtransformâ so completely and convincingly is one of this playâs marvels.</div>
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And where would you see this kind of play? Why outside, of course! The theatrical play is styled for outdoor performance on a truck/stage custom built by the troupe. The fold out stage features a retractable climbing wall that simulates their climb to the peak. And hereâs the thing, itâs all so convincing that you actually believe you are there.</div>
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Could Alex Honnold do that?</div>
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link to original article: https://www.durangotelegraph.com/second-section/features/epically-human/<a href="https://www.durangotelegraph.com/second-section/features/epically-human/" target="_blank">https://www.durangotelegraph.com/second-section/features/epically-human/</a></div>
Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-76930398882318371022019-07-16T08:43:00.002-07:002019-12-05T13:50:32.378-08:00Original Adventure Pro Lightning Strike ArticleI've always been curious to know how readers would respond to my raw articles, the original version before the editor gets a hold of them. Like the old Chinese Proverb of Good luck, Bad luck, who knows? I think having a news paper editor is a mixed bag. If you read the article in Adventure Pro, I'd be curious to know if you can see what they changed and what you think about those changes. With that in mind, here's the original article that was published recently in Adventure Pro Magazine (Pg. 35) <a href="https://issuu.com/durangoherald/docs/adventureprospring2019is">https://issuu.com/durangoherald/docs/adventureprospring2019is</a><br />
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Title ideas: How Not to Get Lit UP, Flash Facts and the
People Who Lived Them, Electrifying Tales, Shock Therapies<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dan McClure was coaching his sonâs little league baseball
team when the first thunderclap slowly rolled across the valley, originating
from almost 10 miles away. Despite the actual clouds being far in the distance,
Dan followed protocol to head for safety at the first hint of thunderstorms. He
sent the kids and their parents to the safety of their vehicles parked behind
the nearby dug-out. Then, Dan headed to his car, parked on the far other side
of the field, on Bayfieldâs Mill Street.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Dan, who is the owner of Bayfieldâs Lightning Bolt Chiropractic,
was moving pretty fast when, twenty feet from his car, lightning crackled through
the sky and struck a nearby telephone pole. The bolt went down into the ground
and traveled through the earth another fifteen feet, where it surged up, entering
Danâs left hand. In less than a second, the bolt shot through Danâs left arm
and exited through his right foot, leaving the lingering sensation of a burning
bbq briquette in the bottom of his foot. Twenty years later he still has that
burning sensation. It never goes away. (Picture of Dan last week in the spot
where he was struck pointing at the lightning pole). <o:p></o:p><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Donna Stewart</td></tr>
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Aside from the burning sensation in his foot and feeling
like heâd been cold-cocked by Thorâs hammer, at first he thought he was more or
less alright. He went to work the next day happily cracking grateful patients
back into shape. But the day after that? He couldnât even get out of bed. An
MRI revealed that heâd âcookedâ his lower vertebrae. So began a long journey of
recovery that he reflects on with gratitude. He credits the experience not only
with impressing upon him the preciousness of life, but with a heightened
intuition that has greatly enhanced his abilities as a chiropractor (hence the
business name Lightning Bolt Chiropractic). (Picture of Dan with Dog, Thunder)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Donna Stewart</td></tr>
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Dan was lucky on several fronts. Most obviously, a lightning
strike can kill you and Dan survived. But lesser known is that 90 percent of
people struck by lightning do survive. <o:p></o:p><br />
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But that doesnât make them alright. Generating more heat
than the surface of the sun in less than a second causes a shock wave we
generally experience as thunder, but anyone standing within 30 feet of the
actual strike could experience the equivalent blast of a 5 kg TNT bomb that can
literally blow your socks off. The sudden intense rise in temperature can
vaporize your sweat instantly, resulting in steam that can blow off your shoes,
your socks and everything else.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Closer proximity or an actual strike can cause spinal cord injury
(like Dan), severe neurological problems, burned retina, or third degree burns
caused by the immediate and intense heating of any metal on your body.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;">Photo by </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/@jbowersphotography?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; text-decoration-skip-ink: auto; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out 0s, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out 0s; white-space: nowrap;">Jonathan Bowers</a><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"> </span></td></tr>
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The blast can scramble the bodyâs signals, stopping the
function of the heart, lungs, or any combination of the functioning of your organic
matter. This might be a good time to mention that a person struck by lightning
will not carry an electrical charge after the hit, so you can, should, and
please do, perform CPR immediately if someone near you is struck by lightning
and lies unconscious and not breathing. That is, if you know how to perform
CPR. Not all strikes are equal, however.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mother of 3, Kristi Murphy was standing on some rocks with four
friends beside the Slate River in Gunnison, Colorado, when lightning hit the
other bank.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span>Murphy thinks she was
knocked to the ground but truly doesn't remember. "I felt a
tingling sensation in my body just before lightning struck the opposite
bank." Four of the five people complained of symptoms like
tingling sensations, nausea, and concussion symptoms like headaches that lasted
for a few days after. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Murphy said that she not only had headaches, but a peculiar
âbuzzingâ sensation in half of her body, âThe tingling feeling stayed on one
side of my face and body for the next two days.â<o:p></o:p><br />
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Since later symptoms seemed relatively minor, no one in
Murphyâs group sought medical attention, though they all wondered if they
should. Most people donât know whether to head for the ER after being struck,
especially if their symptoms at first seem mild. But experts highly recommend
getting checked out. Lightning strikes can cause significant damage to the
brain, spine and other internal organs that might not be immediately apparent. Murphy
was one of the lucky ones and her symptoms cleared up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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(Pic of Main Trail sign for Horse Gulch)<o:p></o:p><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Donna Stewart...yes, that's a dog butt.</td></tr>
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But not everybody makes out like Kristi Murphy and the good
Dr. Dan. Our beloved Stacyâs Loop trail in the Horse Gulch Trail System is a
living memorial to mountain biker, Stacy Thomas, a young woman whoâd attended
Fort Lewis in 1997. It was a late August afternoon and she was mountain biking
with two friends on Telegraph Trail. The three were riding about 15 feet apart,
with Stacy in the middle, when she was struck by a lightning bolt. Theyâd started
out under blue skies, but Emergency Management Director Butch Knowlton, who was
among the first on the scene that day, said that, âit was a typical broken day,
like any other summer day in Durango, meaning there were scattered thunder
showers.â (Pic of Trail map highlighting Stacyâs Loop and Telegraph Trail where
she was struck)<o:p></o:p><br />
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Knowlton remembers, âWe recognized immediately that Stacy
was critical and did everything we could to revive her.â Knowlton called in a
helicopter for immediate transport, but to no avail. Stacy was gone. Today, a
host of bikers, hikers, joggers and even horses enjoy the loop daily. (Pic
array of Stacyâs living memorial with bikers, horses, jogger with dog and
Spring Lupine)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horses grazing along Stacy's Trail, photo by Donna Stewart</td></tr>
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As sweet as that is and as much as we all love Stacyâs loop,
youâre probably wondering how to keep that story from becoming any part of your
own.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Well that gets complicated. Hereâs the thing, according to
Knowlton, âLightning is absolutely impossible to predict. You can stay indoors all
your life, but even that is no guarantee you wonât be struck.â<o:p></o:p><br />
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Itâs pretty rare, but there are plenty of stories about
people being struck by lightning that came in through windows, electrical
outlets or even plumbing. Inside a building or car is your best bet, but who
wants to live trembling behind a curtain? <o:p></o:p><br />
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Ready to live life anyway? Here are some steps you can take
to minimize your exposure. If youâre inside, stay away from windows, electrical
outlets, tubs, faucets and other plumbing during a storm. Check the weather
before you head to the wild. Generally, in Durango, the earlier the better,
especially during the June/July monsoon season. If you get caught âout thereâ
stay away from water, wire fencing (or wire of any kind), and exposed high
points. Do not shelter under trees, boulders or cliffs, while at the same time,
donât be the tallest thing out there. If youâre in a group, spread out so if
someone gets struck someone else can perform CPR and/or run for help. If you
can safely keep moving out of harmâs way, keep moving til you can reach a metal
topped car or a building. If you have to stay put, get low to the ground with
the least contact to the earth as possible (lightning squat method). There are
no studies showing that really helps, but itâs worth a try if itâs all you got.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Ron Corkish, President and Mission Coordinator for La Plata
County Search and Rescue told me, âRemember the fundamentals of Know Before You
Go: If in doubt, donât go. Going out is an option. Coming home isnât.â For more
information visit: <a href="https://www.fs.fed.us/visit/know-before-you-go/lightning">https://www.fs.fed.us/visit/know-before-you-go/lightning</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Donna Stewart is a freelance writer and the award-winning author
of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas/dp/0692738711/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr="><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yoga Mamaâs Buddha Sandals: Mayans,
Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girls</i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. </i>Sheâs chocked full of character and cautionary tales. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-31110902694342025992019-06-09T19:59:00.002-07:002019-10-23T07:19:25.856-07:00How to Not Get Struck by Lightning - Published in Elevation Outdoors, June 4, 2019 as Lightning Strikes<img height="263" src="https://www.elevationoutdoors.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/Lightning_Tobiasvde.jpg" width="400" /><br />
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When the mountains called, they hadnât mentioned anything
about getting struck by lightning being part of the plan. They beckoned and I
got my boots on and headed for the Bear Peak trailhead, only to find it swathed
in heavy gray clouds. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I should have listened to second thoughts. Colorado averages
500,000 ground strikes a year, most of those in June, July and August. Since I
was hiking in October, I thought it would fine. More importantly to me at the
time: Iâd recently relocated to the Front Range from the rural Southwest and
the city streets were closing in on me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Besides, at 8,500 feet, Bear Peak was just a wee mountain
and, though Iâm not usually one to follow the crowd, I saw plenty of people who
looked like they knew what they were doing heading out and I lemminged right
after them. Right into one of the most hair-raising experiences of my
lifeâliterally, once I hit the peak, the hair on the back of my neck stood up
and I immediately turned to go. Within five minutes the storm unleashed with a terrifying
assault of sleet, hail, thunder and lightning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thatâs when I realized my mistakes. For one, Iâd hiked, on
purpose, to the second highest point in the Boulder Mountain Park when it was
completely socked in. Though I hadnât witnessed any lightning or thunder up to
that point, as weather.gov points out, the first lightning strike is just as
deadly as any other and we all know how much lightning just loves high points
like ridges and trees. Second, once the
storm let loose, jabbing lightning fingers all over that mountain? I had no
idea what to do. I knew I couldnât hide under a tree, but what about a boulder?
Should I just run? I ended up running which, turns out, Runnerâs World Magazine
highly recommends if you can do it without plummeting off a cliff. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I asked Patrick Kerscher, operations manager for El
Paso Search and Rescue, about the best to-doâs, without hesitation he said, âBe
aware and avoid the situation to begin with. Climb early to avoid the afternoon
storms. Get out of the situation as quickly and safely as possible. If youâre
in a group, spread out so a strike wonât take everyone out and there will be
someone who can go for help or perform CPR.â <o:p></o:p></div>
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If you just gotta go, check the forecast. Dave Christenson
of Rocky Mountain Rescue told me, âThe weather service does a good job of
predicting lightning.â Once thereâs lightning, its behavior is almost
impossible to predict. It can strike from clouds ten miles away or travel along
the ground far from the original strike. NOAA, weather.gov, and several other sources state, usually with
an exclamation point at the end, âThere is NO safe place outside during a
thunderstorm!â So thereâs that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A study by the National Weather Service on lightning
fatalities between 2006 to 2017 found that most people who get struck had
shelter nearby, but waited too long to seek it. Trees, dugouts or picnic
awnings arenât shelter, theyâre lightning rods. For true safety, nothing beats
a car or building. Check out Weather.com for more lightning information.<o:p></o:p></div>
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June is smack dab in the middle of Coloradoâs busy season,
lightning-wise. I made it off the
mountain that day only breaking my phone, but according to the National Park
Service, âOn average, eleven people die from lightning each year in Colorado,â
and Colorado has ranked 4th in the nation for lightning fatalities...since
1959. Last year was one for the records,
in a good way: Colorado had zero fatalities in 2018. Donât be the one to break
our winning streak.âDonna Stewart<o:p></o:p></div>
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Donna Stewart is a freelance writer and the author of Yoga
Mamaâs Buddha Sandals: Mayans, Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girls. She
gets herself in impossible situations all the time. They make great stories!<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
To See the Article as Published in Elevation Outdoors:</div>
<a href="https://www.elevationoutdoors.com/author/donna-stewart/">https://www.elevationoutdoors.com/author/donna-stewart/</a>Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-49648395201578423012018-10-05T11:52:00.001-07:002018-10-05T15:25:55.913-07:00Just A Little Bleeding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z63gW2VHYTY/W7ey1B97bvI/AAAAAAAAJdQ/dJDwq_WxdbMtrA-6_4Z4y8yZbGjRBYiBwCLcBGAs/s1600/coffeewriter.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z63gW2VHYTY/W7ey1B97bvI/AAAAAAAAJdQ/dJDwq_WxdbMtrA-6_4Z4y8yZbGjRBYiBwCLcBGAs/s320/coffeewriter.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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This is going to be a long read, but since you're on a writer's page, you might even be hoping for that. Still here?<br />
<br />
Okay, So 2018 has been a challenging year for me, physically, emotionally and spiritually. I feel like I'm being shredded from the inside out, the soil from which I grow torn apart, sifted, examined...cleaned and enriched.<br />
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Over the last six months or so, much of which time has been spent recovering from various injuries I now know weren't random, I'm plundering beliefs, perceptions, experiences and...relationships. I'm sorting through all of this with as much authenticity, as much honesty as I can bare, ruthlessly tearing away noxious weeds, severing unhealthy relationships, while at the same time, trying to face my own mistakes, the darkness in my own heart, with a vigilance I've never braved before.<br />
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I never set out to do this. It was part of no resolution and I do not have a list I'm checking off. I take things on as I trip over them in my path.</div>
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At the same time, I face physical challenges that mirror the internal ones. In both cases, these challenges, once healed, could manifest a future so magical I can't even imagine. If I can pull off all this healing. It's all a marvel, really, to what end I can only theorize, but I see God's hand in all of it.</div>
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This morning, I came across my friend, Debbie Higgs,' post and was blown away by the truths, the messages, in myths. If you've got a moment more, read Debbie's post, which she credits to her friend, Chani Nicholas:</div>
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Your rage is sacred, holy ground. Proof that you are human. That the events that tried to break you have left their mark upon you. That the pain of your past, and that of generations past, is emerging through you. Wanting to be held by you. Brought to consciousness by you. Transformed by being spoken into existence by you.</div>
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Your rage waits for you to call it by its name.</div>
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Speak it. Translate it. Transcribe it. Plaster it up and down the halls that house abusers of power. In giant font. In wailing screams. In and through the vibrations true to you.</div>
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Pour your rage into your projects. Create ceremonies to honor it. Therapy sessions to hold it. Read the myths that contextualize it.</div>
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Find friendships that validate your rage. Communities that are galvanized by the conscious use of their own. Actions that channel it towards some kind of relief and release.</div>
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If your rage is showing up, if your pain is calling upon you, if the hurt that you have harbored for years is erupting, it trusts you enough to receive it.</div>
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Until we work with it, our rage, pain, and grief exists beneath the surface of everything we do. Seething. Soaking into and poisoning our best intentions. Contorting our hearts into shapes too collapsed to house the love we so desire. Wrapping itself around our life-force, strangling our creativity, staving off what is rightfully ours.</div>
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Stationing retrograde on October 5th, at 10° of Scorpio, Venus, planet of love, connection, relationships, women, femmes, femininity, and desire, reveals her other side. When Venus retrogrades we get to work with all that is in opposition to it. The experiences that evoke our most difficult emotions refuse to be ignored. One of Venusâs many retrograde lessons is that the abuse of all things Venus is old and deep. Wide and ready to be acknowledged. This goddess is hungry for justice too long withheld from her.</div>
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Retrograding every 18-months, the myths associated with Venusâs backward motion are of the goddessâs great descent. Venus was known as Inanna by the Sumerians. Her famous underworld journey is a tale of reckoning, awakening, and integrating the powerful material of the unconscious into consciousness.</div>
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Called one day by her sister, Ereshkigal, goddess of the underworld, Inanna descends to her realm. Ereshkigal is the opposite to Inannaâs beauty, glory, and adoration. She is the sister betrayed. Feared. Unloved. Alone. Rejected. Her pain has distorted her. Her hunger for love left unjustly unfulfilled. Ereshkigal is the aspect of Inanna, the aspect of us all, that lives just under the surface waiting for our consciousness to open to its call.</div>
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When she reaches her sister in the underworld, Inanna is met with a death stare that annihilates her. Her corpse is then hung on meat hooks, left to rot where no one can reach her. The only beings that come to her aid are two magical helpers who appease Ereshkigal by witnessing her pain, acknowledging it and mirroring her struggle back to her. These beings echo Ereshkigalâs cries and wails. For the first time Ereshkigal is relieved of her pain because she is related to. Accepted. Given some compassion for her struggle. In return for this kindness she gifts them Inannaâs body and the goddess is reborn. Ascending to the Great Above, Inanna is renewed, but is never the same. Now fully awakened by coming into contact with the pain of her other half, Innana is, for the first time, a Queen truly worthy of her crown.</div>
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Ereshkigal is the deep reservoirs of power that lay within the unconscious. We cannot come into contact with our full potential until we are willing to descend into our underworlds, reckoning with the truth of what has happened to us. The struggle of marrying the unconscious and the conscious, the Queen of the Great Above, and the Queen of the Great Below, is a process of transformation so intense and painful we can only do it in the underworld. We need deep caverns, incubators, and safe places to grieve and reunite with ourselves.</div>
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The collective rage that is being unleashed in this moment is incredible. Undeniable. Irreversible. Ancient. This has been a year of opening ourselves to the howls of Ereshkigal. We are all being asked to meet her, acknowledge her pain, and invite in the lessons and wisdom of this myth. We are not above the forces that threaten to pull us under, but we are undoubtedly made more whole when we can hold space for our broken and still beautiful selves....</div>
Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-62877826613427273242018-08-24T12:25:00.003-07:002018-08-24T12:29:22.205-07:00Messages With a Groove: Balam Apju-Bats<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/r9j_ZkQv0eI/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/r9j_ZkQv0eI?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "open sans"; font-size: medium;">This is a video from </span><strong style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: large;">Balam Ajpu</strong><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "open sans"; font-size: medium;">, the Mayan HipHop group I talk about in Chapter 16 of Yoga Mama's Buddha Sandals. Few things are as powerful as pure, soul-derived music. </span>Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-21487003121820566952018-06-29T14:03:00.002-07:002018-06-30T09:39:33.654-07:00God Sends Durango Bud Light: Living With The 416 Fire Part III<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QDlPLR-fuww/WzJLdZ6msYI/AAAAAAAAJBI/qkyNzuztnw8LLwBci99bpsMKU8xBfAVrwCLcBGAs/s1600/Untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="640" height="211" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QDlPLR-fuww/WzJLdZ6msYI/AAAAAAAAJBI/qkyNzuztnw8LLwBci99bpsMKU8xBfAVrwCLcBGAs/s320/Untitled.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #393939; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We're going on a month of living with this crazy ole 416 fire. Last week, we thought we'd dodged the bullet But the hot temps and wind have the fire roaring again. The past couple of nights, the smoke has been so thick the <a href="https://www.colorado.gov/airquality/colorado_summary.aspx" target="_blank">hazardous air</a> meters have been peaking and we're all keeping our windows shut at night, even though June is seeing temps average in the 90s. We're all keeping spirits high, though, and the outpouring of gratitude for the firemen holding the fire from town has been tremendous (Except me accidentally kicking one in the head the other night, but that's another story.).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #393939;">So about that dodged bullet: As Hurricane Bud began stirring things up out at sea we were told that the storm wouldn't help the fire, and if it did, it would bring with it disasterous mud slides almost as bad as the fire itself (which, not to tempt fate, but I have a hard time imagining.). We were told that the only thing that would help was a slow, steady rain for days, the likes of which never come to the Southwest in June. But then it did.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #393939;">Bud kicked and blustered and threatened a big ole walloping storm, then, like a good person with a bad temper, calmed down when it rushed upon land, causing little to no damage in Mexico, or anywhere else, as it marched straight for the Southwest. Hurricane Bud was downgraded to a tropical storm, earning the new comic title of Bud Light.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #393939;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you know me, you know I'm no fundamentalist, no member of any church. But if you've read my <a href="https://www.donnastewartwrites.com/published-works.html" target="_blank">book</a>, you also know that I am a strong believer in God and a believer in miracles. I can't see last week's storm as anything but. Even the Weather Channel came just short of calling it exactly that: </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #393939;">"Bud's remnant moisture also brought rainfall into the Desert Southwest, which is unusual for June. According to </span><a href="https://twitter.com/ProfCorbosiero/status/1007325497024548864" style="background-color: white; border-bottom: 2px solid rgb(60, 142, 210); box-sizing: border-box; color: #393939;" target="_blank">Kristen Corbosiero</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #393939;">, associate professor of atmospheric science at the University at Albany, "from 1958 to 2003 there has never been a tropical cyclone that tracked as far north as Bud and brought moisture to the U.S. Southwest in June." Hurricane Bud Recap, <a href="https://weather.com/weather/tenday/l/Durango+CO+USCO0114:1:US" target="_blank">The Weather Channel</a>, June 15, 2018</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #393939;"><span style="background-color: white;">Yet, while the outpouring of gratitude for the firefighters has been tremendous, no one's said much of anything about our major moisture miracle nor from whence it might have come (besides from the South) nor to who else they should perhaps send out a big Thank YOU! So this blog is mine. Thank you, God, for our sweet reprieve last week. Like ungrateful children. sometimes we forget to say thank you for the biggest gifts, too eager to start playing with them. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #393939;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #393939;"><span style="background-color: white;">Smoke is once again boiling over Hermosa Creek. It settles into our Valley and surrounds our homes each night, a noxious blanket I don't know how the wildlife is surviving. I accidentally left a door cracked last night and woke up to a smoky house again, which reminded me that I meant to write this. I meant to say thank you. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #393939;"><span style="background-color: white;">I want to stress that I DO NOT think the latest weather is a punishment for not saying 'Gosh, Thanks.' Again, if you know me, you know that I don't think God's that petty, not in the least. But, it's never to late to say thank you, and wouldn't it be nice if we got a poster or two on the wall thanking the maker, as well as the firefighters? Maybe even saying thank you FOR the firefighters? And keep the gratitude coming for the firefighters. They've been out there a month now and while some might be getting a bit weary of showing gratitude, remember that they are getting tired, too. But they don't have the luxury of stopping, nor would they think of giving up on your home and our town. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #393939;"><span style="background-color: white;">So here's my toast, to the fire fighters and God Almighty. From the bottom of my heart, Thank YOU. This Bud's for you. </span></span></span>Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-59328710027646359182018-06-14T10:55:00.001-07:002018-06-21T15:19:27.772-07:00Sorting Through Essentials When Your House is About to Burn Down: Living with the Durango 416 Fire Part II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n9T7sbjWkNA/WyKr7EzaH_I/AAAAAAAAI_4/MUC7X78OIngv8E-5-irNKqzqfrHXlIR-ACLcBGAs/s1600/sisters807535_640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="410" data-original-width="640" height="205" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n9T7sbjWkNA/WyKr7EzaH_I/AAAAAAAAI_4/MUC7X78OIngv8E-5-irNKqzqfrHXlIR-ACLcBGAs/s320/sisters807535_640.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
In the middle of a forest fire might seem like a peculiar time to unfriend your sister, but I think that's what I just did. I don't mean unfriending from Facebook. She's never accepted my friend request so that's not even possible. I mean from my actual life.<br />
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Now that I'm experiencing it, it makes perfect sense that I would cut ties while I've got a forest fire breathing down my backyard. Wandering around my house with a haze of clever smoke that's found it's way through cracks I haven't yet found and sealed, I'm photographing my belongings in the event my house burns down and I have to prove to the insurance company that I really owned this and that. I'm choosing which ones I'm actually going to carry away in the car with me, and which ones money can actually replace. In the process I'm learning there's a lot that I can do without, and there's a lot that weighs me down and drains me. It's an interesting exercise to conduct when all of your thought processes are taking place in your amygdala, otherwise known as your most primitive, survival-driven lizard brain.<br />
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I'm sorting between my daughter's toys (from birth (moved four times) to stuffed animals she got for her birthday a few weeks ago, our favorite books, shoes, sweaters, files, photo albums, climbing equipment...why not family members, too? Granted, a few weeks from now, perhaps, when the rains have come and everyone is safe and dandy, I wonder if I'll regret this, but right now? Not a bit.<br />
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Last week, i sent an email (because that's how my F-ed up family communicates, almost exclusively) about the fires. I sent a video of the billowing smoke that my daughter and I were among the first to spot while out garage saling. Nothing. No response. This passed Monday, I sent an email talking about what it was like to live in this cloud of smoke and helicopters. I told them how scared we all were. I asked them to pray for rain.<br />
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No response. Finally, a day later, I get an email from my Uncle saying he'd pray for us. From my sister and my mother: Not one word.<br />
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If you've read my <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7" target="_blank">book</a>, you know our relationship has never been what you'd call close. It's barely civil. My sister and I haven't even seen each other in person in over 5 years and I haven't heard her voice in 3. We've barely spoken since my parents got divorced. I'd grown accustomed to this bizarre, arms-length sisterhood and didn't really think it bothered me that much anymore.<br />
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Our family has never been overly affectionate. I remember as a child lying at my mother's feet while we watched movies and slowly trying to inch closer to her for chance she might lay her hand on my head, for that rare moment she might pet my back. If I was a plant I would have shriveled up and died.<br />
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I'm not telling you this story so you'll feel sorry for me. Don't. If you did read my <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7" target="_blank">book</a> you'll see I'm having an amazing life, full of adventure and love. I'm telling you this so you might understand unfriending my sister from my life. I never said it doesn't hurt. Hurts bad.<br />
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After years of struggling to be a part of our messed up family, getting absolutely no response from my sister or mother...well, truth is, being part of this arms-length family has become more painful with time, not less. It's painful to struggle to remain a part of it. But I struggle because...well, they're my family. And we don't really have much. It always seemed like it would be worse to have conversations with people who ask, "Do you have any brothers and sisters?" And to try to evade revealing how the relationship was so toxic I had to disconnect it. But lately? People are leaving our family not so much from family deaths as from opting out. My cousins, one by one, stopped talking to their parents. I've hung in there, if for no other reason than to try to imagine to myself I actually have a birth family. (Again, don't feel sorry for me. I have an amazing husband, daughter and puppy. I've MADE a wonderful life.).<br />
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But after getting no response about the email for several days, and operating almost completely from that ole lizard brain, I did something I should have done a long time ago. I let loose with this email:<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">"Really? Bobby is the only one who responded??? And you wonder why I moved out West and never came back? When I lived in Memphis I heard from no ONE. EVER. Lana, you didn't call me for 5 or 6 years. I don't think I've heard your actual voice in several years now. Mom, I saw you maybe once or twice a year and when I did, you acted like it was the worst thing that could have happened to you that day, and it's how you've acted every time I've visited from Colorado, too. The last couple of years you act like me going to the time and expense to come see you is mild compared to the inconvenience to you to make time for me when I do get there. I'm really starting to wonder why I've ever bothered."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I should probably mention I'm still Lizard braining it, so posting this entire thing might be a questionable decision. My husband cautions that I might burn bridges. Right now, in this state. I'm not out to burn bridges. I'm lobbing grenades. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Anyhoo. My response from my email? My mother "excused me" (by email) because I was obviously so freaked out by the fire. She still expressed no actual concern. She warned me not to put things in email (or blogs) when I'm upset because those words are difficult to erase. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Now, I can't be certain of this, but in times like these, aren't families supposed to call and console, encourage, or <i>something</i>??? As a mother now myself, I know that's exactly what I would do. I'd probably be on a plane to be by her side or urge her to come to mine. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">In my time of need, my mother, on the other hand, warns me not to say things that might upset anybody. Well why not? Cause I might damage our families fragile bonds? That I might be cast out of their <i>warm</i> embrace and they might not be there for me when I need them? Let me tell you, I've had a lot of hard times in my life (again, see my <a href="https://www.donnastewartwrites.com/published-works.html" target="_blank">book</a> ) and they haven't done diddly squat during any of them. Actually it's been worse than that. There responses have been about the way they have been during this crisis: Furthering my sense of isolation and driving the heartache deeper. Abandonment issues? Yep, got 'em in spades. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">My sister and I exchanged ever escalating emails to the point that the last email signaled the end of our relationship. Will I change my mind after this is all over? Will I regret sharing this with you? Frankly, it feels so good to say it out loud, to finally stop trying to figure out what I've done wrong and decide that they're wrong, to believe in my stance so strongly that I'm willing to open it up to challenge. Bring it. Right now, I examine this relationship. What is it? What is this family that communicates primarily through email and shrugs, gloats or SHUNS in times of need. It's dirty, dusty and barbed, difficult to handle, really too prickly to hold. It's something I just have, that just sits there as part of my existence but doesn't nourish my life. Quite the opposite. If I reach for it, it hurts me. Throughout my life, despite my best efforts, I struggle with the emptiness, the longing, the self-doubts and self-criticism a life of being treated with something that feels more akin to disdain or aversion than familial love brings. It has made me strong. But it also continues to wound and scar. Parts of my psyche, of my self-perception, have been on fire all my life and I've been struggling to hold onto them, to drown the embers, but the fuels just keep coming.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">With limited resources, the Firefighters out there on the actual ridges have to choose where to make their stands and when to let stands burn. Maybe I should too. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Donna Stewart is a freelance writer, researcher and author of </span><span style="color: #b87209; font-family: Trebuchet MS, Trebuchet, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/goog_205215210">Yoga Mama's Buddha Sandals: Mayans, Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girl</a></span></span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><a href="http://s./">s.</a> </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-26021365925870719702018-06-12T08:17:00.002-07:002018-06-13T07:25:56.790-07:00What's It Like Living Down The Street From the Durango 416 Forest Fire??<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy_vv3Dw7erN3OxlWohsdLBu8KPKYk7zSH_uyUlpKmQwOJyEwg51eiejmx5XxU1Uv7iqtAtOlgmKLT100wxBw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>(video taken by me and my daughter, first day of the fire, minutes after it started.)</b> </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What's it Like Living Down The Street From the Durango 416 Forest Fire?</span></b></div>
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I live in Durango, Colorado, home of the roaring 416 fire. The past couple of days, friends and family are asking, "Are you safe? Are you leaving? What's it like right now?" </div>
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It's pretty damned surreal. Last week, when the fire was just a wee 8,000 acres, I was online encouraging everyone to still come to Durango. I told them the fire wasn't defining us. That we still had so much to offer as a town, including a relatively safe place from which you could view the incredible spectacle that is a forest fire. I'm not doing that this week.</div>
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I'd gone away for the weekend and as we were driving home Sunday night, you could see the boiling, frothing smoke from the fire from almost three hours drive away. It looks like a volcano erupting. Not just drifting smoke, but moving, folding, rolling smoke, in varying shades of gray - and sometimes orange billowing hundreds, maybe thousands of feet into the sky. </div>
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It's a very unsettling feeling to see such a sight where you know your home is on the horizon...and you're still driving straight for it. </div>
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Once we reached home, it was bizarre. People are just going about their lives. They're wandering main street, riding bikes, kayaking down the river, playing with their dog, running errands...with this enormous, menacing plume of smoke hanging over everyone's heads. Okaaaaayyyyyy.</div>
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We unpacked from camping and joined the multitude trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy with this big beast hanging over our heads. We went paddle boarding.<br />
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But the beast doesn't just hang. Sunday night I accidentally left a window open. I woke up at 2 am, choking on smoke and fumes, eyes stinging, nose and throat burning. I woke up my husband, daughter and dog, and ushered everyone into the guest room, the one room where the smoke hadn't reached. We were having difficulty breathing and I wanted to go outside for fresh air, but outside was even worse. There was no where to go. My heart pounding, I struggled with terror trying to decide what to do while keeping it together for my daughter. Despite the burning eyes, nose and throat, she was giddy at her new sleeping arrangement: a sleepover with Mom, Dad and the Dog all in one room. </div>
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I've been pretty scared since then. </div>
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Our home is surrounded by huge, beautiful Ponderosa Pine trees. I have a dozen within ten feet of my house. Needles and limbs are in piles all over the place. They're piled because I've been trying to clear decades, or centuries, of build up off the ground since we moved in last year. The fire is still seven miles away as the crow flies, but the plume comes right over our house. As does the squadron of helicopters going to and from their fuel source. Every few minutes during the day, we're shaken by the rumbling, thawking sound of the helicopters and get a pretty good idea of how hard they're working because, at times, it sounds like a war zone. </div>
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At night, cooler temps cause the smoke to settle towards the ground and our house, and town, are enveloped in this thick, noxious cloud. I don't know how wildlife is surviving, but they are. We still hear and see birds and deer. Cows, sheep, and horses, like their distant human cousins, go about their days as they normally do, meandering fields and rolling in dust. I have no idea what they do when the cloud sinks to the ground for the night and the air becomes acrid and angry.<br />
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In the morning, the sun shines through the smoke giving strange, orangish light. The cloud starts to lift and by around 3, you can almost not smell it. That's when you open all your windows and try to get some fresh air in the house before you have to shut it all down for the nightly return of the smoke.<br />
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I've rarely been this scared. When I can't fight the curiosity anymore, I go look at the fire to see how much closer to town it's stormed. Every time I see it, my heart races, and from deep within my DNA comes the urge to get the hell out of here. In those moments, it takes A LOT to overcome the intense urge to run the other direction. But I'm still here. We're still here. And GOD BLESS THE FIREMEN WHO ARE MAKING SURE OF THAT.<br />
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This fire won't destroy us. It won't destroy Durango. Not it's beauty, not the incredible spirits of it's courageous people. When this is all over, come see us. There's no place like it in the entire world. I think when the smoke lifts today, I'll take my daughter paddle boarding.<br />
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Donna Stewart is a freelance writer, researcher and author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7" target="_blank">Yoga Mama's Buddha Sandals: Mayans, Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girl</a>s. </div>
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Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-50789682561809203412018-04-04T07:24:00.002-07:002018-06-12T08:55:22.534-07:00Summing up a week in Mexico in five Quotes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4Hu9lyGL2vA/WsTfyViPK5I/AAAAAAAAI3U/_cgKaNpcwzwi714yuGB5mnRJtxY7V62zQCLcBGAs/s1600/animal-2649625_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="743" data-original-width="1280" height="185" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4Hu9lyGL2vA/WsTfyViPK5I/AAAAAAAAI3U/_cgKaNpcwzwi714yuGB5mnRJtxY7V62zQCLcBGAs/s320/animal-2649625_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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If there's one thing I've learned from jungle travel, it's don't open your door in the middle of the night to a knocking monkey.<br />
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Sure, it's all fun and games til someone gets bit in the head.<br />
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That gentleman there, the one that keeps falling out of his kayak, the one with the midwestern pigmentation...<br />
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Boasting and full of bravado at 9:45 a.m. : Oh hell yeah! I just got out of a riptide. Reality setting in a 11:45 p.m.: Oh hell! I got caught in a riptide and it just came out of no where! Knees knocking.<br />
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Grab it! Yeah, I think it bites, but I'm pretty sure it's not poisonous.<br />
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Humor aside, it was an amazing week in a beautiful country with beautiful people. Amo Mexico.<br />
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Donna Stewart is a freelance writer, researcher and author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7" target="_blank">Yoga Mama's Buddha Sandals: Mayans, Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girl</a>s.<br />
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<br />Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-56302961656038492232018-03-01T15:00:00.002-08:002018-06-12T08:56:06.642-07:00The Black Panther Movie: I'm Just Going to Say It.<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DjcD5n5q-LM/WpiJDRRwSRI/AAAAAAAAIv4/0x4rG9EmntQbTjEBfk3__vn08_TIlICAQCLcBGAs/s1600/cristina-gottardi-205771-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DjcD5n5q-LM/WpiJDRRwSRI/AAAAAAAAIv4/0x4rG9EmntQbTjEBfk3__vn08_TIlICAQCLcBGAs/s320/cristina-gottardi-205771-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;">Photo by </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/JiOIzFytKYk?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Cristina Gottardi</a><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/search/photos/black-panther?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Unsplash</a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Black Panther just became the third highest grossing
Marvel-release film of all time in the U.S., outpaced only by The Avengers and
The Avengers: Age of Ultron (two of my favorite movies). Iâm a marvel junkie.
And an action movie junkie. So much so that even my husband says he wouldnât mind
the occasional romantic comedy every now and then. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is kind of unusual for
a girl, I know, but if youâve read my book, you get it. And itâs not really
that unusual. Humanityâs had a crush on superheroes since story tellers have
been spinning yarns. What was Hercules (circa 2000 b.c.) and the other demigods
who fought on mortal behalf, if not superheroes? How about Beowulf (circa 1000
a.d.) who used his super strength to rip the arm off the monster Grendel? Humanity
has always needed its heroes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Black Panther brings it: talented actors, action,
compelling characters, good triumphing over evil, cool tech, plenty of heartâŚyep, this
movieâs got it all. But I think thereâs more to its popularity. I think itâs a
movie we all need. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For one, itâs an antidote. Growing up in Memphis, Tennessee,
I was surrounded by racism in some of its ugliest forms and from all colors.
Whites who hate Blacks, Blacks who hate Whites. Browns, Beiges, Yellows, and
Reds who all hate each other <i>and</i>
Whites and Blacks. But Memphis, like much of the world, also has, I believe, an
even larger majority from all colors who want to see racism in all forms end. I
belonged to this faction and I believed with all my heart that I didnât have a
racist cell in my body, especially since I'm part Cherokee and therefore, multi-hued myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My trip to Chiapas (the subject of my book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas/dp/0692738711/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1520441426&sr=8-1&keywords=yoga+mama%27s+buddha" target="_blank">Yoga Mama's Buddha Sandals: Mayans, Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girls</a>) was the first
time I glimpsed how living in a world with racism, however subtle, had impacted
me deep within my psyche; how it had sunk in its ugly tendrils like a virus,
quietly influencing me in ways I still donât fully recognize. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Black Panther is not just heartening, fun entertainment.
Itâs not just a long overdue movie about a Black superhero. Itâs also a
poultice that draws these subconscious poisons to the surface where they can be
recognized and rectified. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Several times during the movie I was distracted by
arguments that seemed to come fromâŚwell, from someone who thinks differently
than I thought I thought. âWhy do all the bad guys have to be white?â I found
myself asking. âHow come all the white characters but one is a bad guy?â âHow
come there arenât more white people in this movie?â Where did THAT come from???
Sound familiar? We ALL need this movie. This is what I donât believe: I donât
believe it is possible to live in this society and not be influenced by its
biases and some of those biases are flat out wrong and need to be confronted
before we can fully move forward. As we confront and dismiss these toxic mental
parasites, the Black Panther gives us a new message to soothe the raw, exposed
psyche. Or maybe I speak only for myself. Maybe I make much ado about nothing? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Either way, I plan to go see the movie again for
two reasons: 1) so I can see if those thoughts have any more fight in them and
reckon with them if they do and 2) Itâs a damn good movie, worth seeing again</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: small;">Donna Stewart is a freelance writer, researcher and author of </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;" target="_blank">Yoga Mama's Buddha Sandals: Mayans, Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girl</a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: small;">s. </span></span></span>Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-3811992009962127252017-10-13T10:28:00.002-07:002017-10-15T13:10:07.461-07:00How to Exorcise the Bogeyman: Mulling Over the Clean Power Plan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w3ZCwPkUm4Y/WeD1AGyhTJI/AAAAAAAAIio/xNlYA53gHUMRmVMgWKx3MwQpguWHM86uwCLcBGAs/s1600/thomas-roberts-350453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w3ZCwPkUm4Y/WeD1AGyhTJI/AAAAAAAAIio/xNlYA53gHUMRmVMgWKx3MwQpguWHM86uwCLcBGAs/s640/thomas-roberts-350453.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Photo courtesy of Thomas Robert<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><b>s</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><b>By Donna Stewart, article originally prepared for <a href="http://www.sanjuancitizens.org/" target="_blank">San Juan Citizens Alliance</a>.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">How to Exorcise the Bogeyman: Mulling over the Clean Power Plan<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<i>âWith this bellows I will pump the flames of this fire
which looks like from Hell, and witches will flee, straddling their broomsâŚand
when this beverage goes down our throats, we will get free of the evil of our
soul and of any charm.â</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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In some Japanese rituals, evil spirits are warded off by
throwing roasted soybeans. The Irish started the ritual of dressing up and
carving pumpkins to ward off evil spirits and since the eleventh century, some Gaelic
tribes ward off evil spirits by chanting the above conxuro (incantation) during
the Queimada, an ancient ritual that involves drinking from a flaming pot of
very strong distilled wine, coffee, sugar, lemon peel and coffee beans. Iâm
game. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Halloweenâs coming up and goblins, ghosts and ghouls are
parading around homes and towns, especially D.C.. Remember that movie, <i>The Last Rain Forest</i>? Remember Hexxus,
the evil pollution-chugging ancient spirit of destruction who thrived on poison
fumes and oil spills?, With the latest intention to repeal the Clean Power
Plan, Iâm starting to wonder if monsters like Hexxus could be based on real
characters. Ahem. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Hereâs âsomeâ good news about that: According to the Wall
Street Journal, New York Times and a few other semi-reputable news outlets,
many of the nationâs largest power companies are claiming that even if the move
to eliminate the Clean Power Plan succeeds, theyâre planning to move forward
laying the groundwork for renewable energy and nothing will change that simply
because clean, renewable energy makes the most economic sense. <o:p></o:p></div>
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With whatâs at stake, it seems like only the bogeyman or
some other evil spirit would try to send
us back to the days of black lungs and smoggy (er) skies. Colorado
Governor, John Hickenlooper, says the repeal wonât matter in Colorado because
weâll exceed the Planâs guidelines anyway. Colorado is already closing
coal plants and developing infrastructure and jobs in renewable energy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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âWe have dramatically
cleaner air and we are saving money. My question to the E.P.A. would be, âWhich
part of that donât you like?ââ Hickenlooper noted in a recent New York
Times article. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In an interview with CBS, Janet McCabe, a Senior Fellow at
the Environmental Law and Policy Center and one of the architects of the Clean
Power Plan, said âThis administration is doing all kinds of things to try to
prop up this industry but weâre finding that because of increased cost, increased
automationâŚthere are all kinds of reasons why the coal industry is not
thriving.â<o:p></o:p></div>
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By repealing the Clean Power Plan, by stepping back from
Paris, âThis administration is basically telling other countries, Okay, you can
be the global leaders, and you can make the money that WILL be made by investing
in a clean energy future.â<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wind farms and solar farms are already developing all
over the U.S. with impressive ROI. In Fowler, Indiana, energy giant BP opened
three wind farms, reviving an economy that was considering opening up a
waste dump in an attempt to generate jobs. BPâs farms have resulted in $17
million in payments to the county and $33 million invested in roads as well
as creating over a hundred permanent, professional pay grade jobs. A recent Department of
Energy survey found that this year there are 374,000 solar induastry jobs while only 160,000 people have been employed by the Coal industry. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Another consideration to ponder: Right now, China leads the
world in renewable energy development and manufacture. Want more of that here?
Letâs chant away some evil spirits. The EPA has a 60 day public comment period
before a final decision will be made. You can take a moment to make a comment
here: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://www.epa.gov/stationary-sources-air-pollution/clean-power-plan-proposed-repeal-how-comment">https://www.epa.gov/stationary-sources-air-pollution/clean-power-plan-proposed-repeal-how-comment</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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But wait! How about locally? Is LPEA ramping up plans to bring
green energy to our fair city? Why donât you ask them? Start chanting. Write, Call, or show up
to meetings and ask them where we are and share your thoughts: email: contact-lpea@lpea.coop
or call: 970.247.5786 or 888.839.5732<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Bippity Boppity BOO! Happy Halloween!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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Donna Stewart is a freelance writer and author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7">Yoga
Mamaâs Buddha Sandals: Mayans, Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girls</a>, available
at local bookstore, public library, Amazon.com or Barnes&Noble. You can see
more of her work at <a href="file:///C:/Users/darre/Downloads/www.donnastewartwrites.com">www.donnastewartwrites.com</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-58386987380274039052017-08-30T13:03:00.002-07:002017-09-25T11:59:18.906-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
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<img height="300" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?ui=2&ik=536c1f594d&view=fimg&th=15e53a53a89834f6&attid=0.1.1&disp=emb&attbid=ANGjdJ-fIOShGN9h9ShDIUvJaLIY6rv7Zee1Tms5I2GtMazmMvRh6uuoNdCX5tP5sOyM8IcOsCAL7iDdHD_cTPalSZ5arVtwAKfBFWqmbHJ19yZWjA4QP4lCZ3Nxmas&sz=s0-l75-ft&ats=1504641948281&rm=15e53a53a89834f6&zw&atsh=1" width="400" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><b>Solar Systems: Gas Shortages, Coming Full Circle in the Wake of Hurricane Harvey and the Path of Hurricane Irma, Jose and God?</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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Part III in a four part series on Renewable Energy <o:p></o:p></div>
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Ah, the Seventies! Paislies! Poofy smocks! Blondie, Queen and myriad reflectors (aka disco balls) spinning over the heads
of bushy-headed, bell-bottom-ringing rockers! I wish I had a time machine so I
could go hit just one night at Studio 54ârocking my own paisley-patterned
bell-bottoms and fringed leather halter top. Just one night. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was just digging
into the history of solar power in the 1970s and apparently you canât google
anything 70s-related without getting some Studio 54 images popping up in the
feed. At first glance it looks like the 70s were <i>defined</i> by wild parties, bad taste, Nixon and the Vietnam War. But
take a second scroll and youâll see a few headlines about something called â<a href="http://www.history.com/topics/energy-crisis" target="_blank">The Energy Crisis.</a>â <o:p></o:p></div>
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I bumped right up against an article about how in
1979, President Jimmy Carter had solar panels installed on the White House in reaction to suffering two energy crises over the decade, but then President Ronald Reagan called them a
<a href="https://www.yaleclimateconnections.org/2008/11/jimmy-carters-solar-panels/" target="_blank">joke</a> and had them removed when he became president in the next election. A
joke? Really? A researcher driven by a touch of OCD, I dove head first into the
endless, swirling bog of text. <o:p></o:p></div>
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What I learned was that it wasnât so much an âenergy crisisâ
or a âgas shortage,â as much as it was an almost complete redefining and
restructuring of world-wide power and alliances, and that these, now understated, energy crises had far more of an impact on our world than Freddy Mercury
wearing leather britches while cadenza-ing â<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04854XqcfCY" target="_blank">We Are The Champions</a>.â Cars waited
in line for hours at stations, then were sometimes turned away. Signs were posted:
âPumps Closed.â âNo Gas.â There was a â<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J27Fo2iUz24" target="_blank">Donât be Fuelish</a>â campaign reminding
people to be responsible with their energy usage during the âgas shortage.â In
an effort to save fuel, interstate speed limits were dropped to, gasp, 55 mph. Needless to say, gas prices soared. Psst: We might be experiencing something like that again by the time Hurricane Harvey finishes knawing on the oil infrastructure on the Gulf Coast. Today's Thursday, August 31st. Day 4 of Hurricane Harvey's rampage which has so far shut down three refineries and is expected to shut down a <a href="https://www.wsj.com/articles/harvey-ripples-through-u-s-global-energy-markets-1504137861" target="_blank">fourth today</a>, according to this morning's Wall Street Journal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Hereâs the thing: Back then, there wasnât a shortage. Select countries,
including the United States, were denied or had their supplies significantly
reduced by Middle Eastern suppliers in retaliation for our support of Israel,
among other reasons. Thatâs when we found out what can happen when we become Ăźber
dependent on something we canât produce locally. It was also a huge check on
Western arrogance. We thought we could strong arm the Middle East by flexing
our big money. Turned out we couldnât. We needed the oil and they knew it. They
gave us less oil, then charged more for it. Thatâs my extremely pithy cliff
note interpretation and itâs way, way, <i>WAY</i>
more complicated than that. Check out the full story for yourself. Itâs
fascinating. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One good thing about it was that it sparked renewed interest
in terrestrial applications for solar power. Thatâs when President Jimmy Carter
had those 32 solar panels put on the white house. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Through the following decades, slow but steady progress
continued. In 1991, President H.W. Bush created the National Renewable Energy
Laboratory, funding real research on renewable energy. In 2001, while President
George W. Bush was off clearing brush on his ranch, the National Park Service
quietly dressed up a white house maintenance shed with 167 solar panels and two
thermal solar systems for heating hot water. Since he never mentioned it, not
sure Bush ever knew they were there, but still: Yay!<o:p></o:p></div>
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President Barack Obama was far more open about his support
of renewable energy. In 2013, White House spokesman, Matt Lehrich, announced,
âContinuing President Obamaâs commitment to lead by example to increase the use
of clean energy in the U.S., the White House has completed installation of
American-made solar panels on the first familyâs residence as a part of an
energy retrofit that will improve the overall energy efficiency of the
building.â <o:p></o:p></div>
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Speaking of American-made panels, most of the panels
currently made in the world arenât. Fortune
Magazine says that, âChina is utterly and totally dominating solar panels.â They are the
worldâs largest manufacturer of solar panels at a time where markets are
âpredicted to expand by 13 percent a year,â according to a December article in
Scientific American. The U.S., is a distant third, maybe 4th, which is not where
we probably want to be given these recent findings from the <a href="http://www.thesolarfoundation.org/national/" target="_blank">Solar Jobs Census2016</a>: <o:p></o:p></div>
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â˘
One out of every 50 new jobs added in the United States in 2016 was
created by the solar industry<o:p></o:p></div>
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â˘
Solar jobs in the United States have increased at least 20 percent per
year for the past four years, and jobs have nearly tripled since the first
Solar Jobs Census was released in 2010.<o:p></o:p></div>
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â˘
Over the next 12 months, employers surveyed expect to see total solar
industry employment increase by 10 percent to 286,335 solar workers. Last year
the coal industry tallied 75,000 jobs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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â˘
The solar industry added $84 billion to the US GDP in 2016 <o:p></o:p></div>
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So third ain't so bad, but that's assuming we aren't about to get left in the dust by countries giving it their full attention, especially as renewables on the verge of significant
advancements. <a href="http://www.lanl.gov/discover/news-release-archive/2015/January/01.29-high-efficiency-perovskite-solar-cells.php" target="_blank">Perovskites</a>, a new material under research at Purdue University
and the National Renewable Energy Laboratory, could create solar cells that are
more flexible, allowing for broader applications, are also cheap and easy to
make. <a href="http://newscenter.lbl.gov/2015/01/13/berkeley-lab-illuminates-price-premiums-u-s-solar-home-sales/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;" target="_blank">Berkeley Lab</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">s predicts t</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">hey could double efficiency, further driving down costs that</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> have just dropped for the seventh straight year
in a row. Rumor has it, Audi has partnered with China to produce a solar
rooftop âfilmâ that will power ancillary operations for select vehicles,
rolling out of the show rooms in 2018.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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The real pickle, however, has always been how to store surplus
energy for when âthe sun donât shine or the wind donât blow. Teslaâs Elon Musk
believes we are on the brink of rapid advances in energy storage so strongly
that, in late March, he tweet-boasted he could deliver a battery solution to
fix Australiaâs notoriously cranky electrical system issues within 100 days â
or itâs free. He also predicted the energy-storage market would grow at âtwice
the rate of the automotive business.â Then, next month, hee, hee, Tesla unveiled its sleek
new solar panels that pair perfectly withâŚ<i>the
<a href="https://www.tesla.com/powerwall" target="_blank">Powerwall</a>,</i> Teslaâs sexy little, stackable battery, that promises to store
sun from the day to light the night. Boom!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do a search for solar power in google news and youâll see a
nice long list of big companies and government agencies signing contracts and
installing solar, ahem, systems: Comcast, Audi, The United States Federal
Reserve, Corvalis Airport, <i>Indonesia</i>,
etc. etc. etc. Itâs beautiful. Since the 70s, â<i>weâve come a long way, baby</i>.â <o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, with nationâs all over the world committing to reduce
the use of fossil fuels, some of them taking Muskâs offer seriously, <a href="https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/solar-power-sees-unprecedented-boom-in-u-s/" target="_blank">ScientificAmerican</a>âs 13% market expansion prediction might just be sand-bagged. Between that and Hurricane Harvey's decimation of U.S. oil production and the oil shortages expected from that, if we
donât get more into this gameâŚthe joke may be on us. You âdig?â<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
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Donna Stewart is a freelance writer and author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7" target="_blank">Yoga Mama's Buddha Sandals: Mayans, Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girls</a>, available
at your lovely, local bookstore, public library, Amazon.com or
Barnes&Noble. You can see more of her work at <a href="http://www.donnastewartwrites.com/" target="_blank">www.donnastewartwrites.com</a>.<o:p></o:p></div>
Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-80792669729758889082017-06-16T10:33:00.002-07:002017-06-16T15:10:31.333-07:00The One About SEX: Get Ready to be Schooled<div class="MsoNormal">
<img src="https://82000178-695227251721644292.preview.editmysite.com/uploads/8/2/0/0/82000178/img-8976.jpg" /></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>The One About Sex: Get Ready To Be Schooled</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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I think itâs high time I take this recurring question on:
Did I or didn't I sleep with Francisco? If you havenât read my book, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Yoga-Mamas-Buddha-Sandals-Zapatistas-ebook/dp/B01MDLJJU7">Yoga Mamaâs Buddha Sandals: Mayans,Zapatistas and Silly Little White Girls</a></i>, but plan to, donât read this yet. I
donât want to ruin anything for you. If you have read it, then you, too, may be
wondering about this: Did I or didnât I? How could we not have? After all,
there was a lot of steam in that jungle! And no one was looking.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Iâm getting a LOT of disbelief, ranging in temperature from
amused shock to downright seething and snide (primarily from women. WTF?). To the latter, I want to
respond with a snarky, âJust because you would have doesnât mean I would have.â
Or âHey, he wasnât my first Hot Pursuer.â<o:p></o:p></div>
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To the more gentle disbelievers, I refer you back to Chapter
2. Remember? I was on my own more or less from the time I was 13 years old, in
and out of the custody of a dangerous, lecherous father who used and threw away
women like empty beer cans: crush-toss. Before that I lived in an Ăźber
strict Southern Baptist house of shaming where everything I watched on TV or
read in books was sieved through narrow-fine moral filters. I grew up in a
modern world but my media was almost completely from the 1940s and 50s. While
my classmates played on their Xboxes, I grew up on Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart
and Gene Kelly movies where the heroes had impeccable character and spent whole
reams of film chasing the girl and in the end, all they usually got was a kiss
and dreamy-eyed adoration. And the girl who was so desperately pursued? She was
never a tramp. Of course, itâs more complicated than that. </div>
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<o:p></o:p>When my parents divorced and I found myself yanked out of
the bubble and thrown into a world of chaos, I had to learn fast. I had to
learn to watch my fatherâs every expression for signs he was about to derail
and learn how to deflect him if things started going badly. When I ended up on
my own, I had to watch out for and âmanageâ would-be predators. Living under
such circumstances, I heard the whisperings of friendâs parents that, poor
thing, Iâd end up dead or pregnant within a year or two. I also read about kids
in my situation in child development class in high school who fell exactly as
those parents predicted I would. Somehow (inspiring books, a strong belief in
God, a higher-power, and an above-average dose of idealism, etc.), I believed it
didnât have to go that way for me and Iâd do my damnedest to keep it from
happening. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Not surprisingly, I did end up getting into a lot of
trouble, but the trouble I got into was on my own terms, and possibly trying to
wrest control of my own life. I skipped school, I drank as much as I could, I smoked
pot. I sought thrills. I climbed the outside of multi-storied buildings, danced
til dawn and jumped on moving trains. But I kept celibate. For longer than
could have been predicted anyway, despite the fact that some friends called me
a prude and despite many clever predators.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And there are many predators out there and they seem to be
adept at sniffing out vulnerable people. Somehow I was generally able to spot
them before it was too late and learned to evade or deflect them. I watched and
I learned and I read. One of the most important things I learned, a lesson that
I would love to share with more young women, is both a protective precaution and
a path to true love: The way to a manâs
heart is not through his stomach and, perhaps more surprisingly, nor through his
penis. It actually is <i>through</i> his
heart. At least for a man of quality. Hereâs something else I learned: A man of
quality would be willing to wait (for sex) for the right time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was a most valuable lesson for me: You could rule out
dangerous jerks by simply not sleeping with them. They wonât wait. They
self-select out. See ya! I knew I was in danger of making bad choices because Iâd
read books about abused kids growing up to marry abusers and get involved in
all sorts of destructive relationships. I knew I couldnât necessarily be
trusted to make the right decision in these circumstances. But I could develop
safeguards, tests for my suitors. Anyway, by the time Iâd actually decided toâŚindulge,
I mistrusted <i>everybody</i>, yet at the
same time, I was a passionate woman who dreamed of true love, of a hero that
would be willing to ârun the gauntlet and slay dragonsâ for the sake of love. My
love. Literally, spiritually and emotionally, I needed a dragon slayer. And that
man would be willing to wait for when I was ready, when I trusted, whether that
took a month or a year. I have no doubt that philosophy has saved me a LOT of
trouble and was so ingrained it held up under the tipsiest of circumstancesâŚ<i>mostly</i>.
And I did find TRUE LOVE, so yay me! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Don't misunderstand and go voting for sainthood status for me or anything. Iâm
no saint. Iâm human and Iâve made mistakes. <i>Doozies</i>.
But I can go into those another time. But now that you know a little more about
from whence my strength derived, maybe with this little context you can see how
a woman traveling alone would be able to abstain even when the heat was on
high? Maybe now you can just accept it as truth? If not, maybe you should ask
yourself why it bothers you so much? <o:p></o:p></div>
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P.S. If you happen to know Francisco and are wondering, know
this: A perfect gentleman with a noble heart. A definite dragon-slayer. Just not mine. <o:p></o:p></div>
Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-12161889673860430402017-06-13T07:47:00.001-07:002017-06-13T08:14:11.229-07:00Lightning Strike on Bear Peak (Part II)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gwI4vfixsvg/WT_7ANxbgTI/AAAAAAAAIZQ/0-SS09jX5c00kaJWfpi0g-LLSHTxNTlEACLcB/s1600/IMG_9805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gwI4vfixsvg/WT_7ANxbgTI/AAAAAAAAIZQ/0-SS09jX5c00kaJWfpi0g-LLSHTxNTlEACLcB/s320/IMG_9805.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
(continuned)<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To reach the summit, you had to scramble across, and ever up, a talus field. The field was a steep
slope of craggy boulders and rocks, jumbled and piled precariously to a sharp point. I made the final traverse gingerly testing each rock before I put my weight on it. Towards the top, the vertigo effect had my head swimming so I chose to move on all fours for the largest part. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Here I
found a handful of scattered hiking parties taking in the view, drinking water
and snacking on Kind bars and packets of trail mix. Again I was struck by how
everyone seemed to take no notice of the clouds that were pushing
together right over their heads. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Personally, Iâve heard way too many lightning
stories to be comfortable being the tallest object when clouds are about. Why
was I the only one concerned? There was a family over there with two children
around nine or ten years old, but Mom and Dad looked like they should know what
theyâre doing, whatever that means. Thereâs some trail running dudes over there, with iron legs, who
probably do this every week. Surely they know, right? No one seemed to care and
I was even more confused. Is lightening not as big a deal at this elevation as
opposed to the 10,000+ ft. peaks I had been climbing around Durango? I made a
mental note to look into this next time I was parked in front of âthe box.â <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I decided to keep my own counsel, and that of my daughter, Nila, who had made me promise not to have my snack until I
was back down safe in the car. The air was thick with moisture, something you
can really notice if youâve been living in the desert for 15 years, and I felt
at the very least, a downpour was imminent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Boulders shifted as I crawled across them to snap my
summit photos. Later this day, one of those boulders
would roll out from under and then on top of Dave Mackey, a world renowned elite
ultra-runner. The boulder was said to weigh 400 lbs and took rescue workers
hours to get it off of him. His tibia and fibula were shattered, but heâs
alive. He was later quoted as saying, âIâve been so
lucky in 20 years of doing this stuff that Iâm actually OK with it,â Mackey
told a news station.â<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/darre/Downloads/Bear%20Peak%2052415.docx#_ftn1" title="">[1]</a> An incredible man with an incredible <a href="http://running.competitor.com/2016/10/news/trail-runner-dave-mackey-decides-to-amputate-injured-left-leg_157809">story.</a></span></span></span> But thatâs not my story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I got my pics and turned to hurry down to where there
was something taller than me besides that guy. As I came down, I passed the
gentleman from India who looked surprised to see me heading down so soon and I
pointed up and said simply, âStorm.â I wanted to say it to everyone, especially
the family with the children. I wanted to shout, âHey! Itâs time to get down,
ya idjits!â I passed the family Iâd already coached about falling rock and was
on the verge of telling them, but stopped myself, still wondering if I was over
reacting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A few rain drops fell on the trail in front of me when
I saw a woman coming up the trail. I couldnât help saying, âAm I the only one
concerned about lightning?â The upcoming hiker said, âI donât think thereâs
going to be lightning.â To which I said, âReally? Why not?â She stopped hiking,
looked up to the sky, and said, âOh.â Then she shrugged and said, âI donât
think there will be lightning.â I was incredulous. Was the air too thin up
here? WTF? Then I shrugged, âOkey Dokey.â and turned to hurry down the trail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was maybe five minutes before the clouds unleashed.
Rain started coming down, hard. The sky went dark, despite being the middle of
the day. Then hail mixed with the rain. I had a hood on my jacket, but I didnât
want it up because I wanted to be able to see all around me. Then BOOM!
Lightening streaked across the sky and touched down way too close. It was so
close I ransacked those mental boxes trying to remember what to do in the event
you were caught on a mountain in a lightning storm. I could only remember a few
things: Donât be the tallest thing. Donât stand near or under tall trees. If
worse comes to worse, squat with your heels up and donât let anything else
touch the ground. But was this old advice or new? Do you stand under rocks?
Should you just run? Stand near a giant boulder or get far away from it? And
what about the other people up there, the ones who didnât even think this would
happen? Should I go back for them? If I did, what would I do? It didnât help
that weâd just seen The Avengers last night, though my husband pointed out
later: I wasnât an Avenger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">A lightning
bolt hit the ground less than fifty feet away. At that point, my limbic
system told my rational mind to just shut up and run. So thatâs what I did. The
rocky stairs Iâd just climbed up, quickly filled with water, making one long,
slick waterfall flowing down hill. My limbic system shouted, âOut of the trail!
Water conducts electricity! If lightning strikes near here again, youâre
fried!â Or maybe it just said âYipes!â But I jumped out of the trail and ran
alongside it, jumping rocks and logs, sliding down mudslicked slopes, catching
myself, up and running again, driving in my heels to keep some traction, eyes
glued to the ground to give my feet warning of holes, rocks, drop offs,
slipping on little piles of hail accumulating everywhere. When I had to stop to
catch my breath, I did so in the lightning strike squat method, then got
spurred on by another bolt of lightning, and sent running again. Talk about
Crossfit! I admit it. Part of me was loving this. In a lot of ways, it was just
what I needed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">As I tore
down the hillside I was counting seconds between thunder claps to determine how
close to the eye of the storm. Legs burning. For most of the run, it was only a
second or less. Then as suddenly as it broke, the thunder and lightning was
moving away. The rain was slowing, and I felt like I could too. It had taken me
three hours to hike up, but it only took me 30 minutes to get down to the main
trail.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is
where it gets surreal. I came out of the woods and onto the main trail and it
was as if I stepped out of this world of chaos into another dimension. A herd
of deer grazed peaceably a little further downhill. It was still raining, but
now the rain was soft. I heard feet hitting packed earth and a lone runner
rounded the bend, smiled and said Hello, as he ran passed. It was Dave Mackey, on his way to the top of Bear Peak.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then I heard voices
behind me and turned to see a couple of spotlessly clean trail runners who were
talking about the latest coffee shop to open near Pearl Street as they ran past
me, without a second glance, at this terribly muddy woman stumbling out of the
trees, still shaking. I saw two other figures come out of the trees in front of
me. It was two guys Iâd seen on the hike and they looked just as shaken. We
fell in together walking back to the cars, talking about our experiences, and
how weird it was to come out of the woods back into basically a City Park, everything
calm and safe. We exchanged lightning etiquette, none of us sure we had done
any of the right things. When I came to the parking lot, I paused just before
the trail turned to parking lot, and looked back up at Bear Peak, now swathed
in a peaceful gauze of low hanging clouds. Again, I wondered if I should have
gone back to see if anyone needed help. Iâm still wondering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Post
Script: I checked the news and to my relief, the only casualty was Mr. Mackey,
who overturned the boulder on top of his leg. Not that that isnât tragic, but I
was relieved to see no listing of children struck by lightning, or people
tumbling down slick cliffs to their death.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I looked up
what should be done if one is caught in a mountain lightning storm and all of
the sites basically said, just donât be there. Apparently, if you hear thunder,
youâre already in danger of lightning that can strike ten miles from the clouds
where they originate. The definite donâts: donât stand under or near tall
trees. Donât be the tallest thing in your area, DONâT stand under rocks or
boulders. Donât take shelter under a picnic shelter or any building that isnât
grounded. The safest place to be is a grounded building or a car. Stay out of
water. RUN until you find good shelter, unless you might tumble down a cliff.
DONâT use the lightning squat method.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This was just a day hike up the hill from a big
city, but isnât it marvelous how easily adventure can find you? </span></span><span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">âItâs a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You
step onto the road and, if you donât keep your feet, thereâs no knowing where
you might be swept off to.â<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div>
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<!--[endif]-->
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/darre/Downloads/Bear%20Peak%2052415.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Runnerâs world. http://www.runnersworld.com/general-interest/ultrarunner-dave-mackey-recovering-after-serious-fall<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-906728991980745562017-06-07T10:57:00.002-07:002017-06-07T15:16:39.426-07:00<b>Lightning Strike on Bear Peak (Part I)</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pPXswYIBM3Q/WTg3CEkOFPI/AAAAAAAAIYc/-n7_9jjXidQzS44_fWwQaqXXz2yj61ewQCLcB/s1600/layne-lawson-101816%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="918" data-original-width="1600" height="183" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pPXswYIBM3Q/WTg3CEkOFPI/AAAAAAAAIYc/-n7_9jjXidQzS44_fWwQaqXXz2yj61ewQCLcB/s320/layne-lawson-101816%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Photo Courtesy of Layne Lawson <a href="https://unsplash.com/@laynelawson">https://unsplash.com/@laynelawson</a><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hadnât thought much about what Iâd set out to do,
but getting struck by lightning certainly hadnât been part of the plan. Recently
relocated to the Denver/Boulder area from the wilds of Durango, Co., mainly I
just had to get into the woods, alone, and feel ground stretch out beneath my
feet. The clouds were already hanging over the peak, and if I were in Durango,
I would have resigned myself to a coffee shop with a good book.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Unfortunately, my
opportunities for woods were a lot less on the Front Range and the wilds were definitely more urban in nature, so to speak. But, seeing as how I was already at the trail head with a
bottle of water, my down jacket, and a rarely-issued full dayâs pass from Mommy duty...off we go!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Since the move, all of
my wilderness survival knowledge had been packed away in various mental boxes (like many other items gone MIA after the move),
de-prioritized as less important to the challenges I now faced in the Big City.
Besides, there seemed to be plenty of outdoorsy, and I thought therefore, hip
to mountain ways, heading up, despite the clouds. Maybe they were just a thin
band on the brink of breaking up?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Since I was
alone, I moved at my own pace, head down, driving ever upwards and, I hoped,
away from the crowds. If there was one thing Iâd learned in Boulder, you can
drop most of the crowds by just picking something steepâŚunless theyâre the
Boulder diehards, and there are plenty of them to fill the trails, too. Mt.
Sanitas, for example, is a nightmare for the trail hound that hopes to enjoy
the sounds of the birds. If you donât keep your head down and your decision to
summit that hill ASAP as your priority then you have to deal with this sound
incessantly: âExcuse me, on your left.â âon your right,â as the âBorn to Runâ
converts charge up to plant their flag and compare their latest footware
purchase with that of other âconquerers.â Dear God, itâs maddening. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Anyway, so
the crowd heading up Bear Peak was both lighter and seemed less poser, more
appreciator, even though itâs a steep ass climb and about 4 or 5
hoursâŚdepending on who you is. I just wanted to get up into what actually felt
like real woods, and not just a pretty city park. I wanted the raw, and Iâd
heard that if I hiked up there, Iâd be in it, just a short 30 minute drive from
my house. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was pretty resolute. And it happened. I slowed my
pace not only because it got steeper, but because I came to a place in the
trail where I had that feeling I so enjoy about the wilderness, like I was in a
place so pure I could breathe it through my pores. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">My eyes stopped studying the
terrain just in front of my feet looking for ankle twisters, and wandered over
the lush green hills I was walking within, electrically sighing under the powerful neural massage. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">There
were a couple of other hikers I leapfrogged with over the day; a couple who
recently moved from New Hampshire, and another solo hiker, a gentleman
from India. I lost the New Hampshire couple early on, but me and the fellow from India
walked through the woods, he either 100 yards in front of me, or a hundred
yards behind, depending on who needed to pee, both of us staring awed into the
world in which we walked. I can only assume
that being in this place, at this time, must feel like a spiritual homage to
everyone who makes the traverse, but maybe itâs just me. I felt I was walking
within a holy place. Huge boulders, some two stories high, glowing green with
mosses and ferns, mingled with the sweet smell of rich earth and the lushness
of the trees, bushes and flowers. I felt like brushing myself gently against
everything, gathering the scent as an infusion I wanted to have move right into
my heart. Then the climb got steeper.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At one point, I
gazed straight up and caught a glimpse of another hiker's heels disappearing over the
crest and, realizing the trail was to get steeper yet, I surprised myself with
an excited squeal. I wanted as much challenge as the trail was obliged to
bestow and seeing the trajectory of the trail through the disappearing hem of a
fellow hikers shorts, I was a kid seeing her favorite ride at the park.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This is the benefit of not being able to get into the
woods any ole time I had a hankering for them: When I did get into the wild, be
it pine, pinyon or sandstone, I was euphoric, and as you may have noticed, euphoria is hard to come by. Itâs
no wonder I didnât notice the darker hue of gray on the under belly of the
clouds building over head, nor heard the distant rumble of thunder rolling
through the canyons, or that earthy scent in the air you smell just before it
rains. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What did finally catch my eye was the number of decapitated trees and a whole
swath of forest reduced to ghostly charred spikes, most likely from lightning-caused fires. It was at this point I started asking people coming down if theyâd
seen any signs of lightning. Most of them seemed surprised by the question, and
answered, âWell, no, but I wasnât looking either.â This was very confusing to
me, because the dark clouds over head were almost within finger-brushing
distance from the peak, if you were tall. Around Durango, no one probably would have been here as most people are well
versed on wilderness safety out of sheer necessity and generally if it looks like a storm, stay down. Most wouldnât have risked a
summit, even on a little 8,500 ft peak like this one, with storm clouds like
that overhead. Why didnât I know better? Well, Iâd been having some
adjustment issues to moving to a city and I was confused by what I was witnessing around me. I wondered if maybe the same rules didn't apply here because the actions of so many of my
peers ran contrary. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And yea, I wanted to tag the peak. Iâd been climbing for 3
hours and didnât want to turn back just at the summit. Actually, I believe thatâs a
familiar line in outdoor literature. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I came to
another steep face where you could see the trail switchbacking, when a boulder, followed by an
end-over-end log, thundered down the mountain past me, slinging rocks and mud
in all directions. I heard the people above remark, âOh! I guess it was there
to keep us from going this way.â I made a Marge Simpson groan and stepped up my
speed so I might have a word with the hikers whoâd just sent a bludgeon
practically down on top of me without so much as a âHeads up!â I wasnât mad,
just fully aware of what could have happened had I been fifteen feet further
along the trail. I hated to be âthatâ hiker but I felt an obligation to let
them know the proper etiquette in this situation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It didnât take me long to catch up to them: A middle
aged couple with their teen-aged daughters, all of them outfitted as if theyâd
just had their wallets hijacked at REI. I smiled and said, hello, then
explained how I didnât want to be âthatâ person, but that I felt obligated because what just happened could have really gotten someoneâme--hurt or
killed, and I wanted to let them know what to do if it happened again. I
explained that if you send rocks, even small ones, down a steep mountain like that
with a switch-backing trail, that you needed to yell, and I mean <u>YELL</u>,
âROCK!â They were nice about my meddling and even said, thank you, and I hiked
on up the trail feeling like the biggest ninny on the planet. If we all earn
trail names, as we learned about in Cheryl Strayed's <i>Wild</i>, then I just earned the nickname of Trail Ninny. I canât help it. A born
risk-taker, ever since my daughter was born the world has filled with sharp pointy
objects, and Iâve had difficulty learning how to turn off the monitor. Was it
my business to say anything? Yea, I stand by that. Sharing that info may just
save a life some day. But I still feel like a big ninny. Anyway, onward Ho. (to be continued)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-17412577803055601942017-06-01T20:05:00.002-07:002017-06-01T20:21:33.129-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<b>Solar Power: Who Thought of THAT??</b> Find out by reading my guest blog post to San Juan Citizens Alliance Here: <a href="http://www.sanjuancitizens.org/climate-change/solar-power-came/">http://www.sanjuancitizens.org/climate-change/solar-power-came/</a>Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-40941850683034934762017-05-24T12:20:00.001-07:002017-05-25T08:10:26.308-07:00Chaco Canyon Bound (Part IV)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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(continued)</div>
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Nila stirred slightly, shifting her weight in the backpack
as I set off towards Jackson Stairway, another marvel of Chacoan engineering
where an ancient road, following some unknown goal, chose to carve a steep stair
straight from the side of a cliff, rather than winding round to find a more
gentle path down into the Canyon.<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly, there was a sound of a most explosive nature. A monstrous sized fart rent the air, the
sound of which seemed impossible to have come from the 20 pound bundle of sleeping
cuteness on my back.<br />
<br />
Not wanting to wake her, I struggled to contain my
laughter. Until I realized that it twas not just sound, but also
substance. A warm, putrid gel oozed down
my back and my eyes grew wide as I remembered placing the wet wipes and diapers
on the front seat where Iâd be sure to grab themâŚexcept I didnât. I turned around and sped back to
the car, hoping to reach it before she awoke cold, wet and sticky. We both know I didnât make it; that I ran
back to the car with a toddler screaming in my ear and cold, sticky poo sliding
down my back. You can really get a feel
for living primitive cleaning poo off of two people, without running water,
while one of those people flails about, flinging it everywhere. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I swabbed us up as best I could, then sang a lullaby til she
fell asleep. Stepping outside the camper, I closed my eyes, and turned my face
towards the sun. Then the dam broke. Exhausted, I dropped to my knees in the
dirt, clutching my arms around me to keep my frustrated fists from pounding the
ground. Tears started down my cheeks and my face burned red as I fought to
stifle the sound of my sobs. âI canât do this!
I canât live tethered to another person no matter how much I love them.â
Could I? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first time I came to Chaco Canyon I was arrested, yet I
had never felt more fully bound than I did at that very moment. It wasnât that
I didnât want to be a mother. I just
wanted to be a Mother <i>And</i>. Because I
was <i>still</i>. But we were doing this
alone. I didnât have family eager to care for my child while I went off frolicking
and no one else we trusted was volunteering. Try as I might, I just couldnât
figure out how to reconcile the dichotomous pull between dedicating my every atom to the well being of my family and my own ambitions. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wondered if I should just give up, move on out to the
burbs and join the PTA. Many people do. Iâve met dozens of parents who tell me how
they used to feed their wild spirits, their big dreams. Sometimes, I see a
brief flicker of fire in their eyes as they remember who they were. Then
thereâs this look of acceptance, sometimes serine and satisfied, but sometimes
full of longing, as they tell me that this was all before they had kids. And when they tell me this, I know they chose
to give up, that they will never be wild again. And thatâs okay, as long as theyâre
happy about it. But Iâm pretty sure I
canât be. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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I peeked in the camper window at the sweet, sleeping face of
my daughter. Thereâs something magical
about gazing on the face of your sleeping child. It makes you want to do anything for her. There was no question that she was worth
giving up everything for, but I sincerely believed if I could just figure out
the right formula, I wouldnât have to. Leaning on all fours, I clutched handfuls of sand in my hands and declared, âI can do this.â<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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The next day, the wind blew cold and hard, but I bundled up
and set out for Jackson Stairway under a bright blue sky. The wind blew sand so
hard it stung my cheeks so I cinched my hood tightly around my face and kept my
nose below a neck gator. The sole hiker on the trail, I was practically strutting,
under the comfy encasement of <i>my</i> down
coat and mittens, as I reached the edge of the canyon. I looked across to Jackson
Stairway, etched like a treacherous ladder down the sheer wall. Thatâs all I needed.
Like Armstrong planting the flag on the moon, I snapped a picture and headed
back to camp, the wind at my back.<br />
<br />
After that everything changed. Most mommies
I know prefer the spa for regeneration, but over the next year and a half I
managed to travel down that crazy Chaco road more times than Iâd go to Walmart,
and for a woman with a babe still in diapers, that really says something. A place that almost landed me in jail, became where
I most felt free.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A year later, I took a solo camping trip down that bumpy
road for one of the parkâs âstar talksâ that utilize Chacoâs impressive
telescope collection. Because of its
remote location, Chaco Canyon offers some of the best stargazing in North
America. Periodically, Joe Public can view
spectacles far out in space normally only viewed by professional astronomers
and God. It was a no-moon night and the stars dazzled
while bats flit about the sky like dark butterflies. We gazed into the center of Lyra, the twins,
and other far flung galaxies, barely scratching the surface of whatâs out
there. I was suddenly struck by how much this place, dedicated to the
preservation of the past, could teach us about the present, and even the
future. About how much I had learned here for my own life.<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Did
I gain enough of Lehrerâs psychological distance to reconcile the desires of my
heart? I want to tell you unequivocally yes and then explain eloquently in
exactly what transformative ways that is true.
But I canât. Maybe someday. I can
only tell you that the bumpy roads are worth it. That Life is hard, but beautiful,
as Skeleton man said that it would be. Pa yuk polo (Hopi for): this is the end of this story. </span>Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-80990875224217528432017-05-19T08:24:00.003-07:002017-06-14T07:24:26.953-07:00Chaco Canyon Bound (Part III)<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Chaco Canyon Bound (Part III) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once into the canyon, thereâs a sharp turn and then an
abrupt transformation in the road. Here
at the tail end of 13 miles of hellishly ragged road the gravel disappears into
smooth pavement. The landscape changes. Where once we were ringed by an unbroken sagebrush
horizon in every direction, now four-hundred-foot sandstone cliffs rise from
the desert floor on either side of the road, and extend as far as the eye can
see, with only the park visitor center betraying the century. While my husband purchased our permits, I
perused the book collection. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I casually
picked up a book on the history of Chaco that featured a photo of a grizzled cowboy on the cover and I stood absently turning the pages.
Fifteen minutes later, my husband came over with our daughter to find me
plopped down on the floor scribbling madly in my journal, with several books
open in front of me. In those books, I'd found an incredible history, part real-life cowboy adventure, part wild mystery. Chaco Canyon just swallowed me whole. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later that day, I <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">hiked
on top of the sandstone cliffs with my daughter in the pack on my back. Through a bad hand of rock-paper-scissors, my
husband had dibs on the first solo hike of the weekend, but I was still heading
out. I was just bringing my sweet little
side-kick with me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It had taken some
doing to gather everything I might need for a hike with a two year-old. I put the diapers, wet wipes and change of
clothes on the front seat whereâd Iâd be sure to grab them before I left, then
grabbed water, snacks, travel toys, warm jackets, hats, sunscreen, and, of
course, my journal and camera. All of
this was done while she had a fairly intense meltdown. I considered bailing on the idea and just
waiting for my turn to go out alone tomorrow, but who knew if the weather would
hold, or what else might happen. This
could be my window not only for this weekend, but for God knew how long. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">So I pushed through and now we stood overlooking
the considerable ruins of the ancient city of Pueblo Bonito, arguably one of the
most impressive of 17 âGreat houseâ ruins in Chaco Canyon. Nila happily pressed
her pink lips together, blowing raspberries into my ear and giggled. As the wind blew my hair away from my face,
she laid her little head against my back, sighed contentedly and fell asleep. Ah Bliss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Well,
almost. I still wanted more. I loved my daughter, loved being here with
her. But I longed to move over the land
unencumbered; to scramble over the desert like a wild lioness, or spend all day
in the park library if that be my druther. I was still pining for my former life.
Somehow I hadnât grasped the scope and permanence when we started
talking about this parenthood thing. I
didnât know that parenthood was going to take everything but the crumbs of my
former life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But I was
here now, so there was a day to be seized.
I admired the engineering marvel below me. Thick walls of varying sizes of stones,
perfectly stacked so that the walls were remarkably stable and windproof, to
say nothing of their beauty. A mosaic of varying hues of roses and suedes(<span style="color: red;">photo</span>), the walls appear intended as much for art as function,
though, once constructed, the walls were covered with a protective mud veneer,
completely obscuring the beauty within.</span> Many of the buildings had
several floors supported by thick timbers that were hand carried from mountains
over 80 miles away. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I was
staring into the remnants of an ancient society that not only overcame
obstacles, but transcended them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">For a moment my eyes moved to the sky to tell
you-know-who he/she was right. I know. Iâm being a bit of a baby. There are far harsher
environments. I was looking at one.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Agriculturally, itâs a nightmare. For most crops to survive there usually
needs to be a minimum of 110-130 frost-free days, but the annual average of
frost-free nights in Chaco Canyon is less than 100 days.
At night, it can frost in July if the right circumstances develop. Temperatures
can fluctuate over 60 degrees in a single day with highs soaring to 118 F and
lows dropping to -38 F. And itâs dry.
Itâs very, very dry. Average annual precipitation is 8.5 inches and the wind blows
the topsoil all the way to Colorado. Itâs
been this way for thousands of years, no offense to Mr. Diamond, so no one was
lured here for the abundant milk and honey. Then why?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">On
an earlier tour, our guide had shared an emergence myth of how the Pueblo
people had come to this place, actually onto the surface of the Earth, escaping
from an underground existence through a crack in the earthâs crust. The story goes like this: When the Pueblo emerged from the underworld,
they found the earth dark and empty.
They saw only a giant sitting beside a fire. The giant was Skeleton Man, the Holy Person
in charge of death. Skeleton manâs face
was ghastly, but his manner was kind, so the people asked if he had any
objections to their living in his territory.
âNo,â Skeleton Man said. He told
them they were welcome and he would be glad to have neighbors but they should
understand that this land offered little food and water. If they sought material benefit, they should
seek elsewhere. Looking into the sky
they were awestruck by the dazzling, endless canopy of stars. They chose to stay and so the West is said to have been peopled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> I was captivated by this heroic idea of choosing
such a challenge, with no promise of reward other than to live free and bask in
rugged beauty under the open sky. Standing
on my cliffside perch, I thought of how resourceful one would need to be to
exist in this sun-scorched, crackling environment. It
almost seemed a curse for providence to place anyone here to play out the roles
of father-son-mother-daughter. But to purposely choose such an
existence? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
I looked across to the other side of the canyon where a gap
in the cliffs once allowed the ebb and flow of a primeval inland sea to shape
the land. Down to my genes I could somehow feel it, sense it, like something I
remembered from my own long distant past. I could hear an illusory sea, almost smell
the salty air despite the great lack of water now an inherent part of this area.
At my feet, the remnants of ancient
sea-beds confirmed these sensations with the fossilized remains of prehistoric
sea animals and clam shell beds (<span style="color: red;">photo</span>);
evidence of a world that can repeatedly undergo dramatic change and yet endure.
For such a barren place, there was so much here! (Continued)Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-67437802542733792032017-05-11T12:23:00.000-07:002017-05-25T08:11:13.849-07:00Chaco Canyon Bound Part II<div class="MsoNormal">
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<img alt="Related image" height="424" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-51fEdweBnww/T9mnYUEc2OI/AAAAAAAAFnw/K8vfAnxsKgE/s640/dreamless3.jpg" width="640" /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(continued from Part I)<br />
The thrill of trespassing on Federal property, <i>and</i> a UNESCO World Heritage Site-- a
site deemed to be of universal value--promised to keep me warm, and we left the
truck and set off towards the nearest ruin.
We only made it a quarter mile before we saw the jeep approaching, a
cloud of dust at its bumper. Fearing
jail time and fines, we ducked into the sagebrush, making our actions appear
far more sinister than they were. It was
stupid. They had already seen us. Now we looked like grave robbers. Over a loudspeaker the ranger demanded we
emerge with hands held high. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sheepishly
we rose from the sagebrush with hands obediently aloft and shuffled our feet to
the proper authorities. After we
convinced them we werenât looters, just stupid kids, they escorted us out of
the park, practically pulling us by our ears.
We spent another hour on the bumpy road, then three, frosty-silent hours
home and that was that. I never wanted
to go back. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So thatâs how Chaco and I met. Not like Romeo and Juliet, but more like
Harry and Sally. Despite all the
characteristics that should have had me rollicking through canyons, ruins and
books for years, instead I drew an invisible boundary around the place. While I
enthusiastically explored practically everywhere else in the Southwest, as if
the water was poisoned, I would not go to Chaco Canyon, a mere four hours from
my home. Maybe it was because that whole
day had been such a misery. More likely, it was because Iâm claustrophobic and
this place almost landed me in the pokey. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fifteen years later, the adolescent waif kicking and
scratching to survive had grown up, put herself through college and enjoyed a
life devoted to outdoor adventure sports, funded by a rewarding career as a
professional research writer. For a
little white girl from the hood of Memphis, Tennessee, Iâd broken expectations. Iâd met the man of my dreams and had the good
sense to marry him. I had fascinating
work and spent my free time scraping my belly against sandstone, rock climbing
sheer walls all over the Southwest, plunging down rocky trails on my mountain
bike or backpacking throughout Central America. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my anamolous life, I had survived homelessness, poverty,
drive by shootings, and sailing a Pontiac Trans-am under a parked semi,
watching in slow motion as the corner of the semi ripped through the glittering
silver hood, shattering the windshield before stopping a foot from my face. Out West, I survived belly-flopping from a 95
foot cliff dive at Navajo Lake in New Mexico, breaking the fall with my face, nose
and ribs. I broke my jaw and wrists falling
while freeclimbing on a crumbly rock wall in Durango, Colorado and wandered
lost in the Utah desert until my lips blistered from sun, wind and dehydration. I fought through red tape razor-wire and the
quagmire of self-doubt to put myself through college--then graduated with
honors.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somehow, I managed to make surprisingly good
decisions along my way: Accept the invitation to go backstage and party with
Metallica? No, and Iâll thank you to keep
your hands to yourself, if you please!
Try the really hard drugs like cocaine or meth? Hell no.
Travel across the country in a Volkswagen Beetle with a notebook, a tent
and $60 to my name? Hells Yes! Whether
surviving my own reckless ignorance or the caprices of fate, I felt like I was
really starting to figure this life thing out. Until.... </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I became a mother.
I became a mother and I had no idea how to be one, who to askâŚor who
to listen to amidst the clamor of free advice.
My mother-in-law offers advice by the bushel, but complained that I donât
listen to anyone but myself, to which I replied, âThatâs because I have an IQ of
146 and most people donât.â <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iâm usually not that snarky, but in the process of giving
birth I dislodged my sacrum (who even knew that could happen??) and I was
uncomfortable on the best days and in dramatic pain on the worst. Rock climbing and
mountain biking, which had served in lieu of drugs, alcohol, and psychotherapy,
were temporarily verboten, so my husband and I found ourselves dealing with the
newness of parenthood and recovery from a significant back injury, alone and
cut off from traditional coping mechanisms. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then there was the career derailment. Iâd been driving five hours to Grand Junction
to get my masterâs in psychology, and needless to say, that between back pain
and the lack of sleep or outside help, there was no driving five hours or
writing papers, so the masterâs program was put on hold. Without graduate school options in Durango,
unless I wanted to do an online degree, this meant indefinitely. So, sometimes I was grumpy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought of stories Iâd read or movies Iâd seen where a
mother abandons her children and that nose-wrinkling-repulsion at the heartless
harpy who could walk away from her own babies. Iâm not proud to say this, but I can see how
it could happen, how a woman could feel so terrified and rung dry as she watches
the picture of who she thought she was lose its color and dim, to be replaced
with someone she doesnât know and isnât sure she likes. Giving
up my rock climbing gear and career for baby wipes and breast pumps sometimes
felt like a demotion. Other times it
felt like a promotion I wasnât qualified for.
After 200,000 years of Homo Sapien evolution, I was counting on
parenthood being fairly instinctual, but I learned through blistered nipples
that even knowing how to breastfeed properly doesnât emerge completely from
genetic code. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Itâs not always like that, but if youâre a parent, you knew
that. Or you just decided youâre never
having children. Actually, for most of
it weâve been running on the giddiness of creation and the lunacy of sleep
deprivation. Iâve spent hours gleefully playing âkissy-footyâand
peek-a-boo, or lying beside my daughter as she sleeps, listening to the
magnificence of her breath. At first we
barely noticed the things in our lives weâd dropped. But as we grew into our family, sleep deprivation
subsided, my neural pathways sputtered back to life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had always thought
of stay at home Moms as people who just had no outside interests. Now I understood the dichotomous pull between
dedicating every atom of your being to the health and happiness of your family
and the slightly more muted voices of your own ambitions. Those voices, though hard to hear over the
roar of motherhood, were vying for recognition and becoming more insistent. Intellectually,
I yearned for the stimulation my research work and masterâs program provided. My limbic system yearned for the endorphins
of hard exercise and little brushes with death that I never intended, but sure
were fun to survive. My entire being ached for travel, which had
often combined both. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In an article by neurologist and author of Why We Decide,
Jonah Lehrer, he said that we are a âmigratory speciesâ and that travel not
only stimulates human evolution, but that there is something âintellectually
liberating about distanceâ: It ignites a
mysterious âcognitive quirkâ that allows us to work through challenges more
objectively and creatively when we can attain some distance from them, whether
this distance is âphysical, temporal or even emotional.â While we donât fully understand this âquirkâ
it appears to be innate, a stimulus that has set humanity roving since first we
pulled our bellies onto the sand from out of our primordial ooze. Though, some of
us need to rove more than others.<br />
<br />
I found it comforting to know that we are
actually hard-wired to crave the open road and my deep need to ramble is
actually a psycho-biological form of grappling with lifeâs challenges . My husband is similarly inclined.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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After a year and a half of catastrophic attempts to take our
new baby tent camping, we finally bought and lovingly restored a 12 foot vintage
camper we christened Old Ironsides, after an 18<sup>th</sup> century naval
frigate said to be indestructible and still floating in Boston Harbor. What
better name for the ship we hoped would launch us back to the magical world of traveling? <o:p></o:p></div>
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As soon as she was ready, my husband suggested we give Chaco
Canyon a try given its close proximity. Yoga and physical therapy had nearly restored
my back and I was eager to try out a new child back carrier. Though the idea of Chaco was at first repellent,
fifteen years and one hell of a roller coaster ride later, I returned to Chaco Canyon for a weekend camping trip. </div>
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Other than the tragic loss of the voice of Ricardo
Mantolbahn as the parkâs radio spokesperson, little seemed to have changed. The road actually seemed worse. Below the thin veneer of gravel was clay that
turned treacherously to grease after rain, then dried hard, so that our tires
were guided and bounced in the grooves of any vehicle whose tires had trod
before. We tried to just speed through, until we turned a corner and almost
skidded off the road dodging a herd of free-range horses moseying down the
middle of the road, long tails sashaying back and forth. They were attended by the smartest dogs Iâve ever seen. One of them,
I swear, barked us the riot act as we passed. (<span style="color: red;">Photo).</span>
(Continued). <o:p></o:p></div>
Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2910616216746817679.post-83925694760454327732017-05-08T07:37:00.001-07:002017-05-25T08:03:03.775-07:00Chaco Canyon Bound Part I<img alt="Related image" src="http://www.stephen-weaver.com/images/xl/chacodoors.jpg" /><br />
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Chaco Canyon Bound<o:p></o:p><br />
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The first time I visited Chaco Canyon, I was arrested for trespassing.
Hidden under a smudge of thick black eyeliner and the smoldering remains of a blistering
adolescence, I looked more like a girl out for trouble, not a hike around 900
year-old Native American ruins. Iâd been
on my own since I was 16, and Iâd had to cultivate some rather roguish
qualities in order to survive, but I wasnât really<i> </i>trouble. I just wasnât
completely tame, either. For Chaco Canyon, I was just another errant bohemian
who got snagged while traveling through.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Strewn with the great ruins of an ancient civilization, and
grounded in the sandy sagebrush and Pinyon Pine country of Northwestern New
Mexico, Chaco Canyon has an unmistakable allure and a long history of drawing
mavericks, rogues and rascals to its brushy bottom. Apparently it used to be
Vegas. According to an old Navajo legend, the great rock âhousesâ scattered
throughout the canyon were actually built a millenia ago at the behest of a <i>divine</i> reprobate known as, Nohoilpi. Renegade
son to Tsohanoai, the sun god, Nohoilpi was an unscrupulous gambler who lured local
tribesmen into games only he could win. One by one they lost their freedom and were
set to work constructing the great houses whose ruins now dominate this canyon.
Or so one legend has it.<o:p></o:p><br />
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After nearly a thousand years, many of these structures remain
untouched, a fact owed, probably in no small part, to local tribal taboo of
entering a dwelling where someone may have died and their spirits may still be
milling about. With the stony skeletons of these ancient ruins standing against
the cliffs with their dark, empty windows and doors gaping, Chaco Canyon feels riddled
with ghosts. Just below the surface of
the loamy soil, more structures still lay buried under tons of sand, some of
them several stories deep, and as of yet, completely unexplored. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Aside from lingering spirits, we also owe these unspoiled
ruins to yet another rogueish character, the often vilified Richard Wetherill.
Wetherill was a self-educated archaeologist, cowboy and businessmanâŚor treasure
hunter, grave robber and cattle rustler, depending on who you ask. He followed
a rumor into the desert, stumbling upon the ruins in 1895. While opinions
quibble over his ethics, no one disputes that he had a clear set of them where the
excavation of Chaco Canyon was concerned.
After a brutal campaign waged by the Bureau of Indian Affairs and an
angry mob of historians, who declared he was destroying the site and the people
who lived around them, site inspections revealed that not only did Wetherill
excavate according to code, he exceeded them.
As to whether he cheated or corrupted the locals? Hard to say when it turned out most of his
accusers owed him money. Maybe, like me, he was judged more rascally than he
was, though, my story with Chaco Canyon is quite a bit different. <o:p></o:p><br />
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At the time, I had only recently transitioned from the role
of adrift, troubled teen, who graduated high school with the unseemly gpa of
1.7, to that of first-generation college student on the Deanâs Listâthe good
one. Before then, I had been a homeless teen who had plummeted through the
systemâs cracks, and I did what any girl my age with nothing to lose would have
done: I packed my few worldly
possessions into a â69 Volkswagen Beetle and left my hometown of Memphis,
Tennessee for the widely acclaimed wild, wild West. Let me tell you, being a
kid alone on the road with a really old car and hardly any money is just the
right combination for some truly character-building situations; Situations like
getting caught trespassing on a World Heritage site. <o:p></o:p><br />
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It was mid November, during the âgovernment shutdownâ of
â96. I was on a first âdateâ about to go
horribly wrong. It was one of those
cold, gray days that make you hunch your shoulders forward and tighten your
eyes, like enduring the day through the gauze of a hangover. Iâd just been driven four hours in a truck
with no heat, by a shaggy, would-be suitor whom weâll call âScott.â A barely-affording-college student from
Tennessee, I didnât have the right clothing for the cold winters of Northern
New Mexico. While I huddled in the passenger
seat, shivering in my second-hand army surplus jacket, my oblivious âdateâ
prattled on, (from the comfy encasement of his down coat, wool cap and mittens),
about Chacoâs ruins being built by crystal-wielding-Aliens from another solar
system.<o:p></o:p><br />
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I stared out the window at a sea of sage brush blurring by,
punctuated by the occasional sandstone formations that rose like great golden
ships on a sea. Scott blathered on. I ached to blurt out, âCould you please stop
talking?â But we were in the middle of nowhere and I didnât want to risk being
ejected from the truck. Instead, I went
with exaggerated eye rolling, which was more amusing anyway because, so full of
himself was this guy, that he didnât even notice. Annoyance
aside, I found myself marveling at that desertscape and how unaccountably beautiful
I found it. It was so stark and barren
with its short, scrubby brown brush interspersed with hyper-defensive cacti. Combined with the stories of rattlesnakes and
mountain lions Scott shared, it would seem to be most unwelcoming, yet I longed
to walk deliberately into it. <o:p></o:p><br />
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At the Highway turn-off, we passed a sign suggesting we tune
to AM 1610 for Chaco Canyon park information.
Hoping for a distraction from the cold, and a pause to Scott's monologue, I tuned us in. I remember being pleasantly surprised to hear
the Spanish-flecked voice of Ricardo Montalbahn, one-time steward of the
mythical âFantasy Island,â extolling the virtues and mysteries of Chaco
Canyon. Nobody can say âmysteryâ like
Ricardo. The story sparked my interest
in the adventure, even if I was less than excited about my date. As I remember it years later, according to
Ricardo, somewhere ahead of us in this wide expanse of desert, was a great gash
in the earth known as Chaco Canyon. There
stand the ruins of a grand civilization that dawned almost a thousand years ago,
thrived for two and a half centuries and then was abandoned--for reasons
unknown <span style="color: red;">(photo)</span>.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Seventeen great house ruins, some consisting of more than
700 rooms and rising four stories high, are scattered throughout the Canyon and
were designed and constructed by highly skilled engineers, architects, builders,
and, apparently, astronomers. Evidence
suggests the ancient Chacoans had an intimate relationship with the night sky,
using astronomical orientation in the alignment of several pueblos and kivas
and using special rock formations and pictographs to mark the path of the sun
and moon, not only throughout the year, but, in the case of the lunar
standstill, which takes 18 years for full traverse, over the course of decades. These masterminds engineered and constructed
over 200 miles of roads connecting them to 150 outlying communities, leaving
evidence of a powerful influence that reached across 25,000 square miles, yet
left no evidence of a written language or history except a few strategically
placed petroglyphs (<span style="color: red;">photo</span>); Far fewer than might
be expected for such a venerable civilization that built with such purposeful
grandeur. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Scientists have been studying the remains for over 100 years
and still have few conclusive answers about who lived here and why. Was this a place of worship or refuge? Utopia
Or fiefdom? Storage building or apartment complex? Today (and it would help if you could imagine
the voice of Ricardo for the rest of this passage), the place remains shrouded
in mystery. Who were the architects of this civilization? Why did they choose
such a dry, desolate location for their great cities? Where did they go and why? Scottâs UFO tales and New Age theories aside,
and there are plenty to this very day, this sounded worth making the trip and I
found myself leaning forward in my seat, anxious to catch the first distant
glimpse of an Ancestral Puebloan Great House ruin. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Leaning forward in my seat became distinctly uncomfortable,
however, as the last twenty two miles of the journey was at considerably
reduced speed over a potholed, wash-boarded, gravel road. If youâve never experienced a road with wash
boards, imagine driving over a deeply louvered surface in a car with no shocks to
absorb the perpetual bumps. Naturally,
the shocks on Scottâs truck had long since lost their spring. There was a good
side to that, though: Every bump was so jarring it was better if we didnât talk
lest our tongue be trampled by our teeth. <o:p></o:p><br />
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We bumped and tossed about on this road for over an hour,
all the while Ricardoâs enticing voice assured us Chaco Canyon was the
experience of a lifetime. He shared many
fascinating theories and facts that fired our imaginations . He spoke of parrot feathers and other treasures
still buried in the sand and hidden in clever rock caches <span style="color: red;">(photos from park service)</span>. He invited us to wonder what might have
caused the exodus of such an accomplished world. <o:p></o:p><br />
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But not <i>once</i> did
he mention the park being closed because of a congressional squabble. âScottâ and I stood with mouths indignantly
agape as we read the 8 X 10 sign <i>taped</i>
to the closed entrance gate, advising us of the closure and threatening hefty
fines and jail time for trespassers and treasure hunters. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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âWell, that would
have been a good sign to post back at the highway,â âScottâ said. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was thinking that making sure they were open might have
been a detail to confirm before asking a date to drive four hours in a car with
no heat on a cold November day, but Iâm Southern and apparently other norms
apply here. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Three freezing
highway hours, an hour on that bone-jarring road, Ricardoâs grand presentation
promising the experience of a lifetime and our fresh-out-of-high-school,
newly-adulted sense of morality and justiceâŚwell, the combination practically
mandated we explore the park in defiance of said closure. After all, if there were no staff left to
post a decent sign or update the radio info, then there probably wasnât staff
to ensure compliance. With hundreds of
unproven Chaco Canyon theories waiting decades for resolution, this one was
both formed and proven false in less than half an hour. (Continued)<o:p></o:p><br />
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Donna Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10996691185012514260noreply@blogger.com0