Every eleven minutes someone dies by suicide, even more alarming is that two people attempt suicide every minute. Statistics don’t put a human face to the pain of those that suffer from depression resulting in suicide and for those that are left to unravel the questions and deal with the guilt.
So, what can we do? How do we reach out in a meaningful way and let them know they are not alone? How can we show them that we value them, and understand them, and help them get professional help when they need it (https://safeut.org)?
There is a greeting in South Africa that the Zulu use. It is a word for hello but with a much broader deeper meaning. Sawubona means “I see you.” Sawubona conveys the idea of seeing someone beyond the physical. It means understanding who they are. Saying “Sawubona” to someone indicates that you get what they are going through. It conveys that you not only understand how they feel but who they are. Upon meeting them when you say “sawubona” you are essentially telling them they are important…and I see you. More than a greeting, sawubona carries the importance of recognizing the worth and dignity of each person.
When you have lost someone to suicide you hope that time will heal things. Time does make the pain softer, the “daily-ness” of grief is less intense, but trying to understand how someone can hurt so bad that suicide seemed like their best path forward is an ongoing painful journey. But the hurt and confusion and how much you miss the person that is gone, never leave, soften, or go away. Spend too much time by yourself and your mind finds dark places to go and soon anguish and hurt engulf you like a heavy cloak. “Hello darkness my old friend. I’ve come to talk to you again.” Nothing makes sense.
There is no single cause for depression nor are the symptoms or signs easy to see or detect. Often people hide in plain sight, they can hide behind smiles, politeness, social convention, routines, over dedication to work or play, and hollow laughter. Generally, we are not trained to recognize the symptoms.
As we live vicariously through social media, often we are so detached that we believe their public facing overachieving happy Facebook lives. We don’t want to get involved in a complicated painful discussion, so we take people at face value when they say they are doing fine. How do we know when they are not? How do we practice the spirit of sawubona?
Depression doesn’t always lead to suicide but sometimes the dark hole they find themselves in is so daunting that they convince themselves that people would be better off without them.
Of course, depression and suicide cross all racial, social, and gender groups. The seemingly most successful people are as likely as any of us to suffer. Brilliant people like Robin Williams won every award and accolade a comedian/actor could aspire to. He made us all laugh and forget our problems, but he fought demons only he could see and eventually he took his own life.
Let me tell you about Tanner. He took his life five days before his 23rd birthday. He was such a kind, bigger than life kid with green mischievous eyes. He was dating the love of his life and adored by family and friends. He had been a star athlete, played collegiate ball and seemingly had it all. Yet one cold and dark day he ended his life. His parents are dear friends and even now 11 years later they miss him every day and wonder what they missed, what they could have done differently. Their pain of him not being there is as big as the Grand Canyon. His sister said, “There are so many things I want to ask him, show him, and tell him.” Nothing will ever fill the void. No parent should ever have to bury their child.
The saddest of all phrases for man is “It might have been.” A life cut short begs the question of what might have been. Which of life’s choice experiences would he have been able to enjoy and given him purpose and a reason to live?
Now that I am older, I would tell young people struggling with depression, to give it a few more days…a few more years. Nothing you have done in your short life is so bad that you can’t move forward and find beautiful sunrises, fall in love, feel the warmth of the sun, and stand in awe of the Milky Way, and realize there are reasons that will make all the struggles worth it.
Life won’t be stress free and your struggles, worries and anxieties are real. But cling to life. Give life a chance. Life is messy and confusing at times; but good eventually wins. Mistakes, unsure feelings, confusion, darkness, depression, and anxiety can be within your ability to deal with. Reach out to friends and loved ones, get professional help.
Given a few more years of experience and you will see that life is still worth it. Give yourself the chance to know that what you see today as insurmountable will be possible in a future better stronger version of yourself. People love you as you are.
The older I get, the more I understand that having people you love and care for is paid for by hard work and worry. If your child is two days old or twenty you worry about them. Later, you start to worry about your grandkids. It is hard because it matters to you. You worry because you are the parents and there is no one more committed, more hopeful, prouder, or more worried because you want to be there for them.
You never want them to feel alone in the dark. Your heart breaks when they suffer, whether it was because of poor choices or natural calamity. You want to help them at every stage, you want to give them good advice, you want them to know how much you love them. Incredibly even though you worry and pray and hope for them as life rages on around them you would still choose your role as their parent, you would still choose them, you would do anything for them. You never want to let them go, you just want to hold them and love them.
Often when people are depressed, they feel isolated, alone, and in a dark place. Sometimes it’s hard for them to remember our love. It is so important that you keep telling them and showing them your love is unconditional.
Perhaps if we all practice the concept of sawubona, and not just one person, but fifty people greet them with love and respect and we say “I see you” then collectively our village will provide a bright enough light to pierce the darkest places in the mind of those that suffer depression.
Another young friend, Joey, has had his own battles with depression. As you read his journal it cries for understanding and help. “All of the failures, the mistakes, bad memories, and the heartbreaks could be gone in just a few moments or less. But how sad I would leave everyone who cares for me. Maybe hang on for another day or two. What is joy without sorrow? What is the past without tomorrow.” Perhaps on his darkest day a friend or stranger greeted him with the spirit of sawubona…you are important and I see you…I recognize your dignity and worth.
Joey struggled with his own demons but offered this advice. “Learn to mourn with those that mourn. Don’t try to give them a pep-talk. Don’t try to fix it. Don’t ignore them. The important thing is to listen. You must listen and be present and “mourn with those that mourn.”
We can’t really connect with them by responding with a meme or a thumbs up on Facebook. To have connection we must be engaged, listen, and understand.
Luckily Joey found a lifeline that day and now has a sense of purpose raising awareness for suicide prevention. He is working on a project to combine music and video and spreading the word that we the little people of the world can make a difference.
This is a call to action, we must practice sawubona and connect with people around us. Let’s commit this day to learn to listen with our hearts and really “mourn with those that mourn”. Sometimes we are uncomfortable because we don’t know what to say. Well then, take them a plate of cookies, smile, and greet them with a sincere salutation of “sawubona”…I see you, I value you, I respect you.
You know I am getting old enough that my idea of a good time is to raise a garden. I go out and water things with a hose just because it takes longer. I have had too much time to think lately, and I am kind of missing the good old days.
Forty years from now will be the good old days for my grandkids. They will reminisce about how rough it was because they had to know what question to ask their smart phone. And how much easier it was when they all got AI-chips planted in their head that just told them what they were thinking and what questions to ask.
Yup, I remember the good old days when if you wanted a trophy, you actually had to win it. I know! It was terrible for our self-esteem. Back in my days, when I got a red ribbon, it accurately reflected that indeed I had crossed the finish line after the guy who got the blue ribbon. Then, if I won a trophy it used to mean that I had ran faster, jumped higher, or out wrestled some other kid. It is likely the other kid went home with his second-place trophy and adjusted his self-esteem, developed some resilience, and moved on by realizing that he was still a good person capable of great things. I always felt like “playground rules” were just preparing us for real life and the fact that life demands results not just participation.
There were things that I practiced and practiced, and to be sure I got a little better, but come race day it didn’t guarantee I got a trophy. It was society that decided that we all needed trophies just for showing up. In my “good old days” way of thinking it cheapened the trophy for those that didn’t deserve it and robbed the ones that did.
Don’t get me wrong, I miss the good old days, but I wouldn’t trade my old weathered experienced soul just to have my young healthy body. Oh sure, it is tempting, because there are days when I forget things I shouldn’t, and I can’t do some of things I used to do. But now I feel love deeper, appreciate family and friends more, and can watch a sunset in a way my younger version of myself never could or would.
I am older and sometimes I exchange fashion for comfort and function when it comes to clothes. But I am hoping that my too kind and loving wife does not let me out of the house with my pants pulled up to my nipples. I admit wearing running shoes and white socks pulled smartly up when I shouldn’t.
I remember growing up and sleeping in the back window of the car all the way to Moab to see my uncle. I rode in the back of the truck without a seat belt anywhere to be found, just to feel the wind in my hair and to be able to fight and argue with my siblings without adult supervision. It was a win-win situation, they got peace and quiet and a chance to talk to each other and we got freedom to be kids, use potty words and call each other “stupid” without adults trying to fix us.
I miss the good old days, but not the avocado green- and gold-colored appliances and shag carpet, fluorescent posters, and black-n-white TVs. Our TV always had tin foil on the antenna, and we used needle-nose plyers to switch channels because the knob was broken.
I do not miss using an “out-house”. My grandmother had a two-seater out-house. I am not sure why there were two seats as I never recall going to the bathroom and wanting to bring a friend along so we could chat. Nowadays I have been known to take my smart phone into the bathroom and read the news or text, hmmm. Think about that word picture next time I send you a text…you just won’t know for sure.
People have the mistaken notion that we are all equal, but that is not true. I firmly believe we should have equal opportunity to access. We have equal opportunities to try, to work, to train and to enter the race. But I can assure you that equal access and opportunity do not equal results. I tried for years to dunk a basketball, but my short stature and leaping ability of an English Bulldog ensured that it wasn’t going to happen. I would have felt ridiculous if my coach had given me a trophy for dunking the basketball, when clearly, I had not.
I miss the good old days when eating dinner together was expected and if someone called during dinner time my mother would say, “No he can’t talk right now, he is eating dinner.” Now I look around and everyone around the table is texting. Sometimes my grandkids are texting their sibling sitting right next to them. I dunno. I need to go watch my garden grow.
The best thing about living in San Juan County are the people and the landscape. Being retired has some perks, it’s not all about predicting the weather with my hip. I wake up and can’t remember what day it is, so I call it Saturday. The only day that is a workday now is Sunday. I had no idea it took that many meetings to run a church. I was pretty content to show up for church, complain about the speakers and how hungry I was, and go home and watch the game.
Sure, occasionally I would try out for the church choir, but I can’t keep time, know nothing about rhythm, apparently, I am tone deaf, and can’t read music all of which make the choir director suggest in no uncertain terms that perhaps the building maintenance department would be a better fit. I volunteered once to play Stairway to Heaven on my guitar which I had memorized for a contest when my chosen career path was Rock Star. It is the only tune I know that talks about heaven. The Bishop wanted to meet with my too kind and loving wife to help her help me.
But I was talking about people and landscape and got sidetracked. This is exactly how my too kind and loving wife and Editor feel. They both keep trying to focus my efforts into something of value and I love them for their efforts but that is like telling Jello not to wiggle.
I have an old friend, and in this case, I don’t mean we have been friends a long time, I mean he is older than me and I am old, so if you do the math he is going to fall into the “old” category. We will call him Paul, but you can call him John, Ringo, or George if you like. He is 85, but is in excellent shape as he hikes, bikes, and eats rights every day and somehow can hike and explore like Lewis and Clark and jumps around from rock to rock like a monkey.
Paul offered to act as guide and take me somewhere in San Juan County and look at some rock art that I had never seen before. Allegedly, there is a Spanish horse with a Papal ferula (staff the Pope usually packs around) so he has me interested because me and my too kind and loving wife often debate about whose ancestors got here first. I assure her that my ancestors were robbing and plundering long before hers were.
He was shown this rock panel by Kent Frost, Daniel Boone or Porter Rockwell I don’t remember because every time he told me the story it changed a little bit, and because I can’t listen for more than five seconds, and because I am already starting to think about what I am going to say. I filed his ramblings in my brain under pioneer stories, that is where I put all the stories my too kind and loving wife tells me about her ancestors when they invaded or discovered this country, depending on who is telling the story.
We head north from Monticello for a long way, but I am pretty sure we are still in San Juan County. I am a little worried as Paul keeps talking and giving directions, but it is hard to tell which it is. I listen closely, not sure if it is fact, fiction, or memories that got jumbled up with some other memory. “Well, I think there is a road near here that goes sorta parallel to this road, but it doesn’t really look like a road, and if you follow this road, there are some cool potholes the size of a swimming pool, but don’t fall in because it is too steep and you won’t be able to crawl out and probably you will die, and the buzzards will eat you because as far as I know, no one ever goes out there, but anyway the Spanish horse is really larger than you might expect and located in this canyon that is really hard to find and there is only one way down, and Oh yeah, we should have turned back there about a mile.”
Eventually we park precariously close to a canyon edge, and I can see the Blue Mountains to the south and we get out to start our hike. I have running shoes and an old running shirt on. He has a backpack, two waters, first aid kit, two walking sticks, map, and a satellite phone. He looks at me in dismay and remarks, “I thought you said you were an experienced hiker?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and is halfway down the trail with his miniature dog Foo Foo, Zippy, or Zappy, I can’t remember which. I am scrambling to find some Hi-Chews to throw in my pocket in case I have to spend the night.
We zig and zag and have a few false starts as he tries to remember the easy way down through a slot that is hidden by shrubs and rocks. Occasionally, we cross a old well weathered track, and he turns to me and says, “That is probably Jim’s track. I know people can get good at tracking, but I could never imagine being able to identify the man’s actual name using just an old, weathered shoe print. I respond “Jim????” He replies, “Jim Muhlestein, he hikes all over the damn place.” Well, that would have been my second guess. I turn around to my too kind and loving wife and say with complete confidence, “That is Jim’s footprint.” I don’t explain how I know this.
After miles of meandering with Paul and Foo Foo we finally arrive and sure enough there is a Spanish Horse larger than life up on a cliff wall with a Papal ferula and a sun, moon and star pecked into the rock.
I am so please as this is proof to my too kind and loving wife that my ancestors were here robbing and plundering way before hers.
I am really quite beside myself this morning. After my run, I hopped in the shower and went to grab the no-name shampoo that you can also use to clean the garage floor with; but it was gone. So I started looking around and found myself surrounded by my too kind and loving wife’s cutesy fruity bottles of shampoo and soaps.
I know I shouldn’t let my curiosity go, but I did need to wash my hair so I grabbed a bottle of some purple stuff called Sauve Shampoo – Lavender. First, I am always suspicious about shampoo that is colored trying to clean your hair. But, the bottle of Lavender claimed it had “Passion Flower & Vitamin B5″ and that it “maintains natural health and shine of normal hair.” I liked the sound of that “passion” stuff, so I decided that might be the one for me.
But then, I started wondering if I had “normal” hair. So decided to study my options and looked at the other bottles in the shower.
I picked up the “NEW VO5″ it said that it was “IMPROVED” and was called Vanilla Blossom. It claimed you could “Lose yourself in a fragrant field of sweet vanilla, honeysuckle and chamomile.” I was getting so excited thinking about “sweet vanilla” that I decided I had better check and make sure the door was locked. The bottle claimed, that it “revitalizes colored hair.” Well this got me a little concerned because I didn’t know exactly what color of hair it revitalized. So I read the directions, “wet hair, lather and rinse thoroughly.” Sounded easy enough.
Then I spotted the Thermasilk Heat activated shampoo. It said that it “volumizes and improves condition of fine or limp hair.” Apparently it is “activated by the heat of your blow dryer or curling iron” or a blow torch if you operate one of them at work. For men, size counts, so volumizing sounded like a good thing!
But, I was really in a pickle. I didn’t know if I had “normal hair, colored hair, or fine or limp hair.” So I just used a dab of each of them.
I felt pretty good about my decision until I saw another bottle called Clairol Daily Defense Shampoo. It claimed that it “Protects from everyday stress.” Well, my too kind and loving wife is always saying that I am too stressed so I added a dab. I could almost feel the stress float down the drain as I was lost in the fragrant field of sweet vanilla, honeysuckle and chamomile.
I don’t normally use four shampoos in one shower so I decided I had better condition my hair. Fortunately, I found a bottle of Pantene Pro-V and it didn’t say anything about fruit or avocados so I used it. Besides, it must be serious stuff because it says “Pro” Daily Treatment Conditioner, for fine hair. Well I think my hair is pretty fine. And besides it says, “condition your hair all the way to the tips, without weighing hair down. You get hair that’s so healthy it shines.” Well I kinda wanted shiny hair, besides it seemed that heavy hair would give you a head ache. Maybe, this is why my too kind and loving wife always has a headache.
I decided to continue my walk on the wild side. I grabbed a bottle of St. Ives Invigorating Apricot Scrub with Soothing Elder Flower. I like to eat apricots as they keep me “regular” so I thought this was probably a good one for someone my age. I just wasn’t sure where I wanted to start applying it, because it said that it, “Gently exfoliates dull surface cells to reveal flowing, fresh, healthy skin.” I wasn’t sure what “exfoliates” was…I mean it sounds like a medical term. I wasn’t even sure that it was legal to “exfoliate” in Utah. However, since I was in the privacy of my own home, I figured it would be hard to prove that I had been exfoliating by myself so I decided to push the envelope and get exfoliated in my own private fragrant field of sweet vanilla, honeysuckle and chamomile! I re-checked the door.
I was feeling pretty good after lathering up and exfoliating for some time, but there in the corner was one last bottle; Smoothing Shower Scrub. I wasn’t sure if it was to be used to wash the tub or for use as a personal hygiene product; but I was feeling a little fruity anyway and the “Tangerine Spice” was more than I could resist. Besides it said that it “cleanses and polishes skin” and I thought after my being exfoliated I might want to cleanse and polish things a bit as that would remove any trace of the exfoliation that I participated in…just in case it was illegal.
It was time to get out of the shower and leave my fragrant field of sweet vanilla, honeysuckle and chamomile. I was feeling so darn pretty that I just couldn’t help myself. I grabbed the Clariol Herbal Essence Styling Gel. Who wouldn’t die for “extra hold for shape and control.” I wasn’t sure if it was panty hose or hair gel, but the “Mallow Flower, Rose hips and Clover in mountain spring water” sold me and I added some of it to my hair too. And you know, I felt better just knowing that “the Fresh Herbal scent invigorates the senses.” Really, it made me go quite mad. Besides, at my age anything that can invigorate usually requires a prescription and is obtained at the pharmacy.
This is my second day in Tonga. I am here on a humanitarian mission and to teach people how to be resilient. I would like to share with you my first lesson.
We met a man and his wife. His name was Mosese Sa’afi. He was an eyewitness to the largest volcano recorded. He and his wife talked with us about losing their home when the volcano erupted and caused a tsunami. He did most of the talking, his wife mostly held his arm and wept quietly as he told their story. On January 15, 2022 at 5:10 p.m. he heard a loud sonic boom and saw a small plume rise above the blue ocean. Soon, other deafening sonic booms shook the air and a plume of ash rose 36 miles into the air. Unbeknownst to Mosese, the first sonic boom sent waves that would soon crash into his island and destroy his home and all the other homes along the beaches of this seemingly serine paradise island. Near the shoreline there is nothing left but sand, any evidence of human occupation was washed out to sea.
“I saw a large wave coming very fast and I tried to tell the people to get to higher ground that the wave didn’t look right. I have seen waves like this before, but the people didn’t listen. A few went toward the ocean to look. My neighbor grabbed her mother and aunt and held their hands, she tried to get them to move, but they are old. The water drug them under the house (built on stilts) and they got separated. After the water rushed back, she moved to higher ground because there were more waves coming. She wasn’t strong enough, they got separated, her mother survived, but her aunt did not.”
He told how he heard several large blasts as the volcano erupted and the volcano pushed up 2.4 cubic miles of rock, ash, and sediment. This great plume of smoke and ash rose 36 miles into the air and darkened the skies until the sun was blotted out. Astronauts in the International Space Station could see the plume rising into the sky. It was the largest recorded volcanic eruption, even larger than the history making Krakatoa eruption of 1883 that killed over 36,000 people and could be heard 1900 miles away.
The eruption sent a tsunami racing around the world and a sonic blast that circled the earth four times. In addition to the smoke and ash, the volcano pushed up enough water to affect the earth’s average global temperature. The amount of water increased the water in the earth’s atmosphere by 10%, about 60,000 Olympic size swimming pools. Volcanoes seldom push up water into the atmosphere, Tonga was unique because of the shape and depth of the bowl-shaped cauldron and shallow water.
It would be hard to imagine a sound this loud since the earth’s atmosphere can only sustain 194 decibels (loudest sound possible in air) which was what was recorded; loud enough to break ear drums. Nearly 40 miles away A British ship captain reported that half of his crew had shattered ear drums and he wrote, “My last thoughts are with my dear wife. I am convinced that the Day of Judgment has come.” The sonic boom was heard 6000 miles away in Alaska. The sound was the loudest sound on earth since 1883 and the Krakatau volcano. Mosese and many of the simple faithful natives thought it was the end of the world as the sky was darkened and wave after wave inundated the island as the tsunami rushed inland. Mosese said, “I climbed to the top of the hill. It looked like the end of the world. Soon I couldn’t breathe. I thought Jesus was coming. I wasn’t scared. I was worried for my people.”
The deafening noise, ash falling blotting out the afternoon sun, and the tsunami were not all that occurred. During the peak of the blast volcanoes create their own weather system and an astonishing lightning storm ensued. Space satellites recorded over 2600 lightning strikes a minute inside the volcanic plume. It was estimated that nearly 200,000 lightning strikes lit up the sky over an eleven-hour period.
For comparison look at the description found in the scriptures. “And it came to pass that I saw a mist of darkness on the face of the land of promise; and I saw lightnings, and I heard thunderings, and earthquakes, and all manner of tumultuous noises; and I saw the earth and the rocks, that they rent; and I saw mountains tumbling into pieces; and I saw the plains of the earth, that they were broken up; and I saw many cities that they were sunk; and I saw many that they were burned with fire; and I saw many that did tumble to the earth, because of the quaking thereof.”
It is hard to overstate how terrified and life changing an event like this would be. Mosese told me, “We can’t get help from the government because his house was built on his wife’s land (via her brother) and in, Tonga women cannot own land.” So, they are rebuilding adjacent homes but not his. He now lives in a small shanty that his brother-in-law owns. He lost all his earthly possessions. His wife’s tears flow easily as she relives the nightmare that her husband tells.
He talks with gratitude in his heart that he and his wife are alive to try again, he wants to build a small house again, he wants to live again and grow his garden again and catch fish from the ocean again.
I didn’t teach the first lesson; I was the student. Mosese taught me today that man is resilient. Our ability to keep living and keep trying is astonishing to me. I have nothing to teach a man such as Mosese who lost everything but his faith; but he has taught me many lessons this day. I go away after listening to his story and I am more grateful for what I have. My love is more deep and sincere for those that are dear to me. Be generous with our material possessions; they really aren’t worth as much as we think. Many out there who suffer in secret practice being resilient just by waking up and trying again. So be kind and listen to our neighbor’s story with an open heart; maybe we can serve those less fortunate.
It is a sunny Wednesday morning, and I am boarding a 1948 Cessna 170 with my too kind and loving wife and a friend. He doesn’t like a lot of attention, so we will just call him Dakodta. First thing that comes to mind is that a 1948 plane is 75 years old, which is way older than me and trust me when I tell you, not all my parts work anymore. They also don’t make replacement parts for things as old as me or our plane. So, I start asking some questions, like “Dude. Are you crazy?”
My too kind and loving wife elbows me when she sees the old plane coming out from around behind the hangar. “Oh my! We probably shouldn’t do this…”
I restored a 1957 Chev Belair and so I know just how hard it is to find parts for old things and old people. And today, few people know anything about engines that don’t have a computer to tell them what is wrong. And I have a brand-new lawn mower that only starts every other time and I think it and the plane have the same size of engine. So, I usually like to panic first and get the facts later and have become so good at doing this some might think it is my superpower.
Hmmmm. I am not in complete panic yet, but my heart rate is probably faster than my doctor likes it to be. My pilot kicks the tires and says, “Oh don’t worry she’s got a few good flights left in her…probably.” One thing for sure, every knob and latch is necessary, utilitarian, and does not require a computer chip to operate. There are no warning lights; but there is a sticker that says, “If you can read this you are upside down.” Bush pilot humor I suppose.
These machines were built when the pilot had a vested interest in making sure the airplane kept working. There is no mindless computer giving you false assurances that everything is working fine. I am certain there is no calm female voice that says, “recalculating” when you see a mountain goat in your front windshield and you turn to the co-pilot and say, “What is that mountain goat doing up here in the clouds?” I don’t trust computers; just think how many times you have had to turn your computer off and on to magically get it to work.
And it doesn’t give me any confidence that I am in the co-pilot seat. If it comes down to me trying to save the day like in the movies, there is not going to be a sequel. Besides, I can’t believe he would let me near so many buttons, any one of which, could kill us. This may be the hardest trial of self-control I have ever had. I always want to know how to operate machines and my curiosity is legendary…so is my stupidity. I am that guy that when my too kind and loving wife says, “We probably shouldn’t do this…” I immediately want to do that very thing. I have no self-control. If a button says do not push, I always want to know what happens if I do. I am almost certain my too kind and loving wife is ready to smack me from the back seat if I so much as move towards the control panel. She hands me a fidget spinner hoping to keep my attention elsewhere.
We are off to see some of San Juan County from the air and we head south from Blanding towards Comb Ridge and Goose Neck State Park. I know I am always trying to explain to non-locals just how magnificent this county is, but this view has left me speechless, an event my too kind and loving wife is sure will coincide with the start of the millennia.
The real challenge is to capture the scale of the landscape and the jaw dropping beauty in every rock formation. Certainly, the Creator was at his best when he worked on San Juan County. From Monument Valley to Valley of the Gods and up around Bears Ears I am snapping pictures as quickly as I can. You can see clearly why it took so long for the pioneers to walk from Escalante to Bluff. There is no single stretch of land longer than a quarter mile that isn’t cut by deep canyons, staggering vertical cliff faces, and dry washes.
If someone wanted to create a boarder wall that says KEEP OUT, I think something like Comb Ridge would do the trick. It is a monocline roughly 120 miles long, has 400’ vertical walls, and goes from the Abajo mountains to Laguana Creek near Kayenta AZ.
But to the pioneer’s credit they kept moving slowly forward. If they had the advantage of an ariel view, they probably would never have attempted such a crazy route. Back then Google Maps consisted of a fir trapper and an elderly Ute man that pretty much told the pioneers they had been out in the sun too long and there were easier ways to die.
Our antique plane made the trip even more delightful, “Oh my! We probably shouldn’t do this,” had turned into that, “Oh my! I am going to miss this place when we are in Tonga.” I am once again grateful for good people, inspiring scenery and the chance to explore San Juan County.
I am literally standing on a corner in Winslow Arizona, and it is such a fine site to see. There is a girl my Lord, who I happened to be married to and she is not in a flatbed Ford, but is slowin down to take a look at me. Mostly, she is rolling her eyes as I insist on getting a picture with the statue of Glenn Frey of the Eagles.
And now my too kind and loving wife and I are on another adventure, and we are standing in another line at the train depot in Green River Utah, which may be as lonely as the loneliest road in America. This line is shorter, in fact we are the only people in the line. As far as I could see in any direction the train tracks were disappearing into a horizon that goes forever.
Since I retired, I seemed to be standing in a lot of lines in lots of lonely places. Standing in lines doesn’t bother me as much as it used to because it gives me time to listen to my song list that seems to be stuck in my brain. I can’t remember my too kind and loving wife’s name, but I can recite every word in the eight verses of Hotel California. Hmmm.
That’s why I call her my too kind and loving wife, because well it gets awkward when I call her by someone else’s name.
I have driven the loneliest road in America, Highway 50 from Delta UT through Nevada. The only thing I really ran into, or more accurately ran over, were Mormon crickets…millions of them. The black paved road was dyed red covered by red bug guts.
But now, we are going ride the train from Green River to Glenwood Springs to sit in the mineral hot springs, contemplate life, and eat our way across America…again.
I have read Harry Potter too many times so I keep looking for Platform 9-3/4 at Kings Cross Station because stepping into a world as strange as Hogwarts would be no less strange as standing at a lonely train platform in Green River. I find a “you are here” sign and go check it out because, well frankly, I would like to know where I am. I study the sign for a minute, but it doesn’t help me understand where I am and why I feel like I stepped back in time.
I am reminded of the bumper sticker that says, “All that wander are not lost.” But at this particular moment, I feel lost. And I wonder why I wander so much. My too kind and loving wife thinks my passion for adventure has gone past a healthy hobby and is closer to an obsession and my inability to sit still might be helped with chemicals.
You can tell when you are getting old because everywhere you go you hear old songs in your head. I am listening to an old folk song, “The City of New Orleans” that rambles on about a train that, “Rolls along past houses, farms and fields…and graveyards of rusted automobiles.”
As the real train approaches, we can hear the whistle and feel the rumble. Soon the conductor is asking for our tickets and showing us to our seats. The words from the song are like a prophecy as we chug along parallel to I-70 and along the Book Cliffs. Just past Grand Junction we see how big the Colorado River really is and start to see run down houses and farms and old cars strung along as reminders of better times and abandoned hopes and dreams.
The train is always an adventure. This trip is our way of experiencing a mode of travel time forgot and to see another part of the Colorado Plateau. We get into the rail car and the smell is ripe with sweat, body odor and day-old sushi; it reminds me of a turkey farm in June, a stock yard in July, and a pig farm in August. When we get settled in our seats, my wife snuggles up and sniffs me. I resent this, but she just wanted to make sure it wasn’t me that smelled like a pig farm in August. Either I don’t smell or her love for me is more than a farmer has for his baby piglet.
We find our seats and there is plenty of room. The person in front of us did not wake up during the stop and is snoring and drooling without a care in the world. The man to our side has one sock on and one sock off and laying sideways so as to take up two seats. He too does not appear to have moved during our boarding the train and for a moment I am not sure if he is dead asleep or just dead. But I am not even remotely tempted to try and rouse him without rubber gloves.
Both trips were off the beaten path, but well worth it. Standing on a corner or at a train depot doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. I suppose it makes others a little nervous that I am always singing old songs and have a faraway look in my eyes.
