Jasper Forest - a photo documentary

What a good gig I have, working 32 hours a week for free RV space in one of the country's most beautiful neighborhoods. Considering that most of the time the job is rewarding, challenging, and fun, how could it be any better than this? 

Today, on my day off, when the rest of the working world was clock-watching, I drove to the Jasper Forest, once upon a time called the First Forest because it was the first large accumulation of petrified wood reached when traveling from Adamana, a stop on the Santa Fe railroad. Adam Hanna, entrepreneur and capitalist, conducted tours to the First Forest (Jasper), the Second Forest (Crystal Forest), and the Third Forest (Rainbow Forest). I've been to all three forests and Jasper is, in my opinion, the most spectacular. It has the most impressive concentration of petrified wood and the most colorful.

Bill the paleontologist led a group there early on in my sojourn here. It's been on my repeat list and today was the day. All I wanted to do was document the variety of wood found there so here is a sample:

 

OD green. Kind of unusual.

I just came across a 1950s visitor brochure called Agatized Rainbows. I see where someone would call it that.

It looks like regular wood, doesn't it?

This is the kind of rock I'd choose if I was in the market for arrowhead-making material.

This had tiny crystals that sparkled in the light.

Doesn't this look like wood chips from a chopping block? It's called "lithic scatter."

Lots of crystals on this one. Very pretty.

 

Soil legs will eventually wash away.

A close up of a larger piece.

There are many of these larger pieces around, most of them being about hip-high on me.

It's nearly impossible to walk without stepping on a dozen pieces.

I know visitors don't get all they can from the park. They have agendas. Vacation time is limited. There are other priorities. I was at Painted Desert Inn one day and a man was shouting at his family to hurry up. "We have to get to the Grand Canyon!" It really is a shame, and Jasper Forest is a case in point. There's an overlook that people spend maybe five minutes at, snapping pictures like this,

when this is what the Forest looks like on the ground, and anyone can go down into the valley to see it first hand. Every one of those dimensional items is petrified wood, and you've seen what it looks like when you're walking all over it.

[edited 8/10 to add this:]

The colors of the petrified wood are determined by the minerals present when the wood was undergoing the long process of petrification.

Red, tan, orange, purple, pink, and yellow - iron in a ferric state. 

Green - copper, chromium, and iron in a ferrous state.

Blue - copper and iron in a ferrous state.

Black and gray - carbon and manganese.

The difference between ferric and ferrous has to do with the oxidation state. That's the extent of my knowledge, with thanks to Wikipedia.

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Thought of the day:

Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living. (Miriam Beard)

The speed of time

When the calendar ticked over another page to August, suddenly I was aware of fleeting time. The signs have been there, ever since the monsoons started and the weather changed dramatically. Gone were the relentlessly sunny skies, replaced by overcast depressingly similar to Pacific Northwest gloom. The low humidity in the neighborhood of 7% (my hair dried on its own in minutes, bread became toast simply by leaving it uncovered for 5 minutes, and mildew is unknown) increased seemingly overnight to high in the double digits where absolutely nothing dries on its own. The brutally hot temperatures have dropped to comfortable 80s but the air conditioner is still running because of the humidity.

The light has also changed. I went for a walk after work today and noticed a discernible softening, a lower slant, a cooler tint in the afternoon light washing over the Painted Desert. It's lovely but it's a bittersweet lovely. Fall is coming. Time goes by.

The five months that were a wide-open landscape in May have narrowed to fewer than two and it seems the remaining time here is disappearing much more quickly the closer it comes to being gone altogether. I also became alarmingly aware that all the places I'd circled on the map, places I thought I had all the time in the world to see, had not yet been checked off, so the last two weekends have been a flurry of going here and there, wherever I could go on a day trip. 

I made another trip to Canyon de Chelly to hike into the canyon to White House. I drove to Flagstaff to see the Museum of Northern Arizona, devoted to the culture of the Colorado Plateau. I made trips to Wupatki National Monument, north of Flagstaff, home to beautiful pueblo ruins, and to Homol'ovi State Park, near Winslow, to see more ruins. These have turned out to be my favorite. There is nothing spectacular about them; they're just a couple of sites with minimal ruins:

But this is the thing: they truly rely on the honor system. There are no roving rangers, no cameras, no policing of any kind. This is the extent of the law enforcement I saw:

All other ruins I've visited have been sanitized; every pottery shard, every arrowhead, every artifact has been removed, but that's not happened here, and it's astonishing what's been left. Every shard I saw, lovingly placed in a collection by someone in what seemed to me to be in a sacred manner, was picked up by that someone, looked at closely, maybe meditated on a bit, and then put back down.

Little altars were everywhere. If there was a flat surface it had been adorned with these jewels. Some celebrants added petrified wood or pretty stones, but it was all part of the offering. I stopped several times myself to search around the ground and easily found a dozen shards within minutes. It's a powerful thing to touch something that had been made by a woman a thousand years ago, someone not so different from me, and then leave it behind. A powerful, powerful connection.


The sky put on a distant show for me that day. I've heard that the great walls of water dumping out of a dark cloud are called dragons' bellies. I was treated to a double. Awesome, huh?

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Thought of the day:

There's just some magic in truth and honesty and openness. (Frank Ocean)

La Posada - Winslow, Arizona

La Posada in Winslow, Arizona is a treasure that fortunately has weathered earnest attempts to tear it down. Designed by Mary Colter, named the chief architect for the Fred Harvey company in 1910, in the Spanish hacienda style, its construction costs were more than $1 million in 1929. She had full design authority over the architecture, furnishings, gardens, and construction.

The original hotel was the jewel of Route 66 and the Santa Fe rail line, when Winslow was a larger town than Prescott or Flagstaff. But when Route 66 was bypassed and trains no longer made regular stops in Winslow, La Posada closed and was nearly torn down in the late 1950s. In the 1960s it was gutted and made into offices; in the late 1990s the current owners bought it and have been restoring it ever since. 

I've been to The Turquoise Room, the hotel's dining room, three times since I've been at Petrified Forest. The first time I went for lunch, after hearing people at the park talking about it. When I got back and told them I'd gone, the first thing I was asked was if I had the soup, and the second thing I was asked was if I had bread pudding for dessert. Yes and yes. The soup is actually two soups, a bean and a corn, poured into the bowl at the same time so they meet in the middle. It comes with some of the best corn bread I've ever had, and really, what bad thing can you say about bread pudding? 

The day I went for lunch I also went to have my picture taken standin' on the corner in Winslow, Arizona. If you look in the glass behind me you can see the girl in the flatbed Ford. The place was packed with bikers that day, and is probably the same every day. If you want a Route 66 t-shirt, the store on the opposite corner is the place to get one. Or a POW-MIA shirt, although I haven't yet figured out what that has to do with Winslow.

Then I was off to La Posada. 

The entrance courtyard.

A gate patterned with corn plants, a popular southwest theme.

A camel, you say? What does a camel have to do with Arizona? Some day I'll tell you about Uncle Sam's camels, which came right through this part of the country. I'd never heard of them either.

The doorway into the gift shop.

One of just a few remaining floral murals by artist Earl Altaire. His work was once in all public spaces and in every guest room, but only three survived the conversion to offices in the 1960s.

The Spanish southwest caters to my love of religious art.

But then I also love this art.

A peek into the truly awesome gift shop from a half-opened window.

Ceiling detail in a stairway.

Want one, just like this.

The other two times I've gone to The Turquoise Room have been for dinner. The first time the food was so gorgeous and I was sorry I didn't take pictures, so the second time I restrained myself until I got a few shots.

Squash blossoms stuffed with sweet corn tamale and Oaxaca cheese, beer batter-dipped and deep fried. Served with a green chili salsa and a grilled squash and roasted corn salsa. It is every bit as good as you think. I had this both times I went for dinner.

Oregon sea bass with a crabmeat, mango, and avocado salsa with lemon basil and tomatoes in a citrus vinaigrette, on a bed of polenta, with broccolini. Yes, fantastic.

And then there's dessert. Have to have dessert.

Arizona cheesecake pie with pine-nuts and roasted corn in a blue corn crust. Drizzled with mesquite syrup and prickly pear syrup and a little cream. Not a great picture but an amazing, different, dessert. 

And a prickly pear margarita to sip throughout the wonderful meal.

No, thank YOU, La Posada.

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Thought of the day:

Food is an important part of a balanced diet. (Fran Lebowitz)

The Triassic Library is finito

DONE with the second big project tossed in my path. This week I finished all the scanning and converting to searchable PDFs of 811 articles, theses, manuscripts, journals, and books, not counting how many paper jams I cleared from the copier.  It's done. And here are the fruits of my labors:
 

Twenty-four boxes crammed full. I also found a couple of fragile and important originals that are being sent to the archives for safe keeping. Listen to a big sigh of satisfaction for another good job completed.


They're not letting me rest, though. I have almost two months left and my boss went to what I call a storage closet, but everyone else calls the morgue, and dragged out six banker's boxes of records to search though for purge candidates. One of the first folders she pulled out had a brochure for a flag company from when the park was thinking about replacing the flag pole. The brochure might be a nice piece of ephemera for the flag company, but a Petrified Forest record it ain't. It now resides in the recycle bin.

This is the new project in the raw:

Luckily, we have already hit paydirt. Lots of what's in the boxes are boring and useless administrative records that should have been tossed long ago, but at least one box has enough treasures to keep me smiling and getting to work early for the rest of my time here. We've already found the original certificates from when six historic sites in the park were named to the National Register of Historic Places; the proposal, including photos, from a road off Route 66, down into the Painted Desert, and up to the tap room entrance of the Painted Desert Inn; and almost two dozen photos from a Civilian Conservation Corps exhibit, five of which I have not yet been able to locate duplicates of in the photo archives. I created a folder on the shared drive, which anyone at work can access, called Good Stuff Found in Boxes. As I get these things scanned they will go into that folder and I'll choose some to post here. Have I said that I love my job?

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Thought of the day:

When you cease to make a contribution, you begin to die. (Eleanor Roosevelt)

Gilbert Thomas Stocker, end of watch 07/31/72

Today is the 41st anniversary of our brother Tom's death. He was a Detroit police officer who was killed in the line of duty. He was a devoted husband, a loving father, and a cherished son, brother, and friend. He left behind his wife and three children. He was 31 years old.

Tom's Police Academy graduation photo.

From the National Law Enforcement Memorial in Washington, DC.

 

Tom was known to everyone at work as Gil. Here are some comments about him that have been made on the Officer Down Memorial Page:

"Gil was my partner and close friend. He was very devoted to his family. He loved his wife and children very much. He had a passion about serving the City of Detroit and helping others. No one was more proud to be a police officer than Gil. He was very quick witted and always kept others laughing. Gil had a great influence on others to better themselves. He was one of the first officers at our Precinct to attend college and encouraged others to do so. His influence resulted in my achievement of a college education that enabled me to greatly enhance my career. Gil is still missed by those who had the pleasure to know him."

"He was the most quick witted person that I have ever known. He once responded to an individual who was expressing his uncertainty about submitting to being placed under arrest, 'you talk like a man who has a choice'."

"There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of you, glance at the picture of you that still remains in my wallet , miss your stinky little Italian cigars, your quick wit comments, the things we did together as partners, friends & families. Dora, Tommy, Annmarie & Jimmy he loved you more than life itself !! I miss my FRIEND & PARTNER still to this day !!!!!"

"I was proud to have known and served with Gil, your husband and father. I served with him at the 2nd precinct from Jan. 1968 until my transfer to the Motor Division in 1971. I was on routine freeway patrol on July 31, 1972. I was one of several motor vehicles that escorted Gil to Detroit Receiving Hospital where I discovered the wounded officer was Gil Stocker. The loss touched me deeply and I have never ceased remembering and prayering for all of you on the anniversary of his passing. Gil was an unforgetable kind of guy. Much love to his family."

"I met Gil while attended Police classes at Macomb County Community College. Gil had a great sense of humor and was always in the face of the liberal college Prof, Erick Beckman. Gil would get me into hockey games at Olympia Stadium. I remember he worked the Big 4, which was a kick butt assignment back then. He was a great guy. I attended his funeral as did Prof. Beckman and thousands of others. After all these years I still think of him. He helped shape me and be the officer I was for thirty years. To the family, I am so sorry for your loss. Gil was a cops cop and a man's man."

Our aunt had this memory of him: her oldest child, Frank, was newly ill with MS and was in the hospital. Tom and some of his police buddies went to the hospital where Frank was on the ground floor. These reprobate Detroit cops pried the screen off the window, got the patient out of bed, put a robe and slippers on him, and took him to a bar. They brought him back later that night and replaced the screen. The next morning, when Frank had some lab work done, the doctors couldn't fathom why his test results were so cockeyed. Better yet, they returned another time and went to Frank's room where they handcuffed him and took him out the front door, telling the nurse that he was under arrest. 

This is the kind of man Tom was - big-hearted, light-hearted, and devoted to his work and his family. He was one of those rare individuals who leaves a lasting influence wherever they go. We miss him still.

Tom and his daughter AnnMarie. I don't know the date of his photo but judging from AnnMarie's size, it may have been 1971. If that's so, he died the next year.

Tom's name engraved on the wall at the National Law Enforcement Memorial.

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Thoughts of the day. Yes, my brother was and remains my hero.

The legacy of heroes is the memory of a great name and the inheritance of a great example. (Benjamin Disraeli)

It doesn't take a hero to order men into battle. It takes a hero to be one of those men who goes into battle.  (Norman Schwarzkopf)

Heroes may not be braver than anyone else. They're just braver 5 minutes longer. (Ronald Reagan)

I am of certain convinced that the greatest heroes are those who do their duty in the daily grind of domestic affairs whilst the world whirls as a maddening dreidel. (Florence Nightingale)

   Every society needs heroes. And every society has them. The reason we don't often see them is because we don't bother to look.
   There are two kinds of heroes. Heroes who shine in the face of great adversity, who perform an amazing feat in a difficult situation. And heroes who live among us, who do their work unceremoniously, unnoticed by many of us, but who make a difference in the lives of others.
   Heroes are selfless people who perform extraordinary acts. The mark of heroes is not necessarily the result of their action, but what they are willing to do for others and for their chosen cause. Even if they fail, their determination lives on for others to follow. The glory lies not in the achievement, but in the sacrifice. (Susilo Bambang Yudhoyone)

To be heroic does not have to mean possessing the ability to stand against the evils of the world, either well or successfully, but just that one is willing to stand. (Mike Alsford, Heroes and Villains)

Yes, there are plenty of heroes and heroines everywhere you look. They are not famous people. They are generally obscure and modest people doing useful work, keeping their families together and taking an active part in the health of their communities, opposing what is evil (in one way or another) and defending what is good. (Edward Abbey, Postcards from Ed: Dispatches and Salvos from an American Iconoclast)

It's just good, clean dirt

When I got here in late April and began to learn about all the research that goes on in the park, I started thinking along the old familiar path: oh, I wish I'd studied archeology/paleontology/biology/zoology/botany. But probably not entomology. Except for entomology, everything interests me and that can be kind of distracting. I'd be the first person to say it's never too late to go back to school for whatever turns you on. I went back for my masters degree when I was 50. My friend P, who traveled with me for a week in April, earned her masters when she was 50. But there's also reality and my peripatetic lifestyle may be an excuse but I don't see how formal education would work for me right now. I do, however, take whatever opportunity I can to observe, ask questions, and try to learn something new, but in a more informal manner.

This deep philosophy is leading me to talk a short while about archeology and show real-life examples of what their life is like around here. The archeology folks are the culture people as opposed to the fossil people that the paleontologists are. Archeologists are interested in the human ancestors, where they traveled, how they lived, what they produced, what their beliefs and ceremonies were. The study can be back to the beginning of human life or pretty darn recent. 

One day the archeologist led a group out to old Route 66, which parallels Interstate 40, inside park boundaries. Petrified Forest is the only national park to host a section of the mother road. The lesson that day was not just seeing objects, the trash that still exists along the remains of the road, but also putting them in context. How does this liquor bottle reflect changing times? Rusted Spam cans - what do they mean in the context of traveling this road? Check out the bottom of the soda bottle and see that the bottling plant was 45 miles from here, not in Atlanta. Think how interesting it is and you can see how I get pulled in this direction.

 So one day I happened to be looking out the window at work, just resting my eyes, I swear, and saw a truck full of archeology people pull into the parking lot. I'm aware of how cooped up my work keeps me, and am often envious of the teams that head out to the field day after day. But then, as I say, I saw the truck pull in. It was the day after one of the better monsoons and seeing this - mess - brought back all the times I've seen them and the paleontologists coming back from the field dragging, filthy, and exhausted.

 

Several people piled out and I don't know how some of them drew the short straws, but maybe four of them stayed behind to clean up the best they could. One of them dragged out the floor mats and rather dispiritedly dropped them in a puddle and kind of swished them around with her feet. They weren't going to be clean but she was trying to get the big chunks of mud off. 

Another one went to the recycle dumpster for cardboard boxes to reline the cargo area. I remember riding in this truck when it was brand new and everyone was afraid of breathing in it, they wanted it to stay so clean. Ha!

There is nowhere to wash it because of contaminating the ground water with possible oil drips, things like that. It's a park service thing and it's just not allowed. All they could hope for was a good hard rain.

But here's the really good one, the photo documenting what put them in the condition they returned in. This is my photo of their photo. All of a sudden, being a cooped-up librarian looked pretty appealing.

Last week we gathered for the annual staff, volunteer, intern, and seasonal employee photo - everyone in the Resource Management department, including one researcher. The tall guy in the back row is Bill the archeologist. The guy seated second from the right is Bill the paleontologist. My boss is next to me. All in all, a great group of people to be around and absorb from.

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Thought of the day:

I'm a dirt person. I trust the dirt. I don't trust diamonds and gold. (Eartha Kitt)