Palomi-nuh-ooooo-no

Waxing Crescent Moon

I am now part cow.

On Thursday morning I was given an anesthetic and was operated on to install a dental implant in tooth position #3, where one of my upper molars had been removed two years ago. The bone in that part of my head had deteriorated a little bit. It was in need of restoration in order to hold the implanted post. So my superstar periodontist first jammed a little cow bone up there to do the trick. Then he screwed in the post and his assistants mopped up the blood and gore (I guess).

The next thing I knew I heard a voice inside my head. It was the doc saying we're all done now, Jim, we're going to raise you back upright now and then boink, I was awake. I didn't feel anything. No pain or discomfort. No disorientation. I was not swollen or discolored. I was simply back from wherever that awesome dope had sent me. I've been a little woozy and sleepy for the past few days, but mostly I'm a-okay.

I do, however, feel a little odd knowing that I am now part cow. You see, for about the past twenty-some years I have harbored negative feelings about cows. So negative that whenever I am walking or bicycling along a country road where cows are grazing, I yell horrible things at them. Things much too horrible to repeat here. I will spare you that indignation. But I will say that it is ironic or karmic or cosmically coincidental (dental!) that cow bone is now in my head.

By way of explanation, here is a little history from my Pacific Crest Trail journal.

Yelling at Cows

I once returned from a day hike near Bird Spring Pass to witness a cow standing on its hind legs with its front hooves planted squarely on the front of my truck, licking something that apparently tasted very good from the center of the truck's hood. Or maybe it was in love, I don't know which. I started yelling at cows that day and I have been yelling at them ever since.

April, 2001

One of my favorite mini-hikes on the PCT is the short northbound walk between Barrel Spring and the town of Warner Springs. Maybe you're relieved that you made it unscathed over the San Felipe Hills or maybe you know you're close to some R&R at the Warner Springs Ranch or maybe it's the presence of surface water in San Isidro Creek, or maybe it's just because the hike is easy and grassy and relaxing. Whatever. I like my experience of it. So instead of grinding the miles out at the end of an exhausting day, I walked part of the way, camped in a pasture, and saved the rest of it for morning. I slept like the proverbial log.

Proverbial log sleep is the best medicine in the world. I awoke famished but refreshed and jazzed for walking to town. I was snacking my way along the creek imagining the menu at the grill and wondering if I could actually eat every single thing on it when I came up behind a huge black cow grazing on tall green grass along a barb wire fence. There were lots of cows and calves on the other side of the fence. It seemed fairly obvious that this one had run way from home.

"You're on the wrong side of the fence, you big dummy!" I yelled. This communique had no effect. As with children, with cows it is sometimes helpful to present a selection of options for them to choose an appropriate action.

"You're right in the middle of the trail! So what are you gonna do? Are you gonna stand there and make me go around you or are you gonna move? What's it gonna be?"

The cow swung its head toward me, revealing a hairy gob of grass protruding from its lips as it chewed on the rest of a recent bite. Then it pooped. Then it urinated on its poop. All the while staring at me and chewing. Infuriating.

"Yaaaah!" I yelled. "No pooping on the PCT!" I think it was the yaaah that did it, not the leave-no-trace pooping restrictions. The yaaah seemed to bungle around through the concentric fat folds in the cow's head until it eventually bumped up against a pecan-sized brain.

It trotted seven steps and stopped. Great. I stepped around the poop.

"Yaaah, you freakin' idiot! Yaaah!" It trotted seven more steps and stopped. Terrific. More yelling ensued.

This annoying process repeated itself for about ten frustrating minutes until suddenly, without warning, the huge black cow made a big decision. It turned around so it was facing toward me and then it stared at the fence for a while, no longer chewing.

I took this as my cue to pass and I jammed around it, cutting through the knee-high grass just off the trail, staying a hiking pole's length away. Just as I returned to the trail, the cow decided to do a little yelling of its own.

"Nuh-ooooo!" it cried. "Nuh-ooooo! Nuh-ooooo! Nuh-ooooo!"

You may not know this, but real cows never say "moo." Real cows reach way back in the back of the backy back back of the seventh sack of their seventh stomach to squeeze out sound and it ain't no measly "moo" that comes out, brothers and sisters. It's a gusty, gut-hard "Nuh-ooooo!"

In an instant, from the other side of the barb wire fence, came a chorus of supportive replies, "Nuh-ooooo! Nuh-ooooo! Nuh-ooooo!" Soon the whole countryside was nuh-oooooing! I halted in my tracks and turned to face the cacophony.

"I've got nuh-ooooos for you, moo-rons! I can nuh-ooooo, too!" And with that, I reached way back in the back of the backy back back of my single-sack, skinny-scrawny hiker trash stomach and pumped out the biggest, baddest "nuh-ooooo!" of them all! It silenced the herd and rumbled through the pasture like the roar of a jet ski engine. All their heads were facing me, staring stares that only cows can stare.

"That's right, cows!" I yelled. "I'm nuh-oooooing at YOU!"

Peace, Love, and a Nuh-ooooo Tooth,

Jim

Earth Day March for Science

Waning Crescent Moon

My favorite international celebration day every year is April 22, Earth Day. We used to hold a "Party for the Planet" at lunchtime on the Friday closest to Earth Day at the last school where I taught before I retired. The kids made up races and games to play with recycled materials, we had music blaring, and anybody, including faculty and staff, could just show up and play. Afterwards, we would plant a tree on campus and dedicate it to that year's Senior class. I have no idea whether any of the participants remembers these things or if they learned anything from the "parties" but I know I had fun.

For Earth Day this year, I joined up with my friends Robin and Dave to scoot over to Santa Cruz for the combination March for Science and Earth Day celebration. The march, which was super-mellow and well attended, went from City Hall to Lorenzo Park next to the Lorenzo River.

My favorite sign read "Mr. President: if it wasn't for science, there would be no spray tan." Hahahaha.

This guy had a strong opinion shared by many. It could be applied to just about anyone in Washington D.C. who is trying to slash funding for environmental safety and scientific research/education. When you're in a hole, you should stop digging, duh. And figure out a sane way to climb out. Scientists and a better-educated public can help.

We walked through town in a very orderly procession. There was hardly any chanting in this march - it was mostly quiet except for:  "What do we want? Evidence based science. When do we want it? After peer review." Hahahahahaha. Nerds. Gotta love 'em.

After a while we crossed a bridge over the river and we could see the long line of folks behind us - a very good turnout in a relatively small town. There were lots of families with kids, college students and professors from U.C. Santa Cruz, and the usual boomer-age, peaceful, hairy, Earth-loving, Birkenstock-and-patchouli-oil wearing, eternal-smile-smiling Santa Cruz hippies.

The march ended in Lorenzo Park where there were tens of booths set up with cool soap and candle stuff in shapes and scents you never dreamed of and really practical futuristic items as well. There was one booth where a rather handsome forty something year old Earth princess was giving away free hugs. Nothing for sale. Just free hugs. I thought she was beautiful, probably for all the wrong reasons. Men. We are such pigs.

Dave was really into the Tesla electric cars. Robin (superstar yoga instructor) pointed out a yoga swing where one of the giant butterfly princesses on stilts was hanging upside down.  Sorry, folks, I was too enchanted by the suspended butterfly beauty to take a picture. Men. We are such pigs.

I did capture the colorful butterfly made from recycled plastic bottle caps, though. Good idea!

A group of school kids made a sort of quilt with their Earth Day slogans and sentiments. I love stuff like this and I am always stoked when teachers go to the trouble of creating projects for students to make something positive together. Kudos to all.

I also liked the grown-up environmental art work on display, like these waves created from old bicycle chains. That combines practically all my favorite things! Thanks, Santa Cruz! Great day!

Love your Mother.

Peace, Love, and the Whole Dang Earth Catalog,

Jim

A Very Good Friday

Waning Crescent Moon

I have probably passed by Brigantino Park several thousand times coming into Hollister from San Juan Bautista. The park is located just west of the 4^th Street Bridge off the Highway 156 Business route leading into town, but until last Friday, I had never stopped to check it out. Guess what, folks? It’s a jewel!

I had about thirty minutes to kill in between appointments in town and I really felt like stretching my legs, so I pulled into the parking area to see what the park had to offer. From the road, it appears to be just a large, undeveloped green space. I was looking for a walking path, hopefully with some nice views. Brigantino Park did not disappoint.

Looping around multiple acres of thick, freshly mown green grass atop an elevated, level river terrace, is a wide, crushed-gravel trail about a mile in length. It offers long views of the Diablo Range to the east and a glimpse of the San Benito River between town and the park. The trail steps up to another elevated river terrace on the west side of the park, flanking the base of the oak-covered Flint Hills. On a brilliant, sunny Good Friday afternoon, I saw just three other small groups of walkers enjoying the scenery and getting in their exercise. This was exactly what the doctor ordered, a chance to walk and breathe and soak in the quiet, peaceful beauty of a perfect San Benito County Spring day.

Brigantino Park, which opened just in the last decade, is in the early stages of development by the City of Hollister. Currently, there are clean porta-cans and picnic tables spaced evenly around the perimeter, a large, fenced parking area, benches and shade trees along the path, and adequate signage to let you know where your boundaries are and what you need to be aware of. Future plans call for construction of soccer and softball fields in the park.

This is a perfect place to go for a walk or a run on your lunch hour or to take the family for a picnic and playtime. The benefits of unscheduled, uncrowded free play for children have been well documented. Bring a soccer ball or a Frisbee for instant fresh-air fun, romping in the lush, green grass. Let them organize themselves and see what happens or get in there yourself to mix it up with them. The point of having a park is to recreate. Go get some sunshine. Run out of breath. Fall down, get up, laugh, and shout for joy, get some grass stains on your britches. That’s what parks are for.

Brigantino Park, at 2037 San Juan Road in Hollister, is open from 8 a.m. to sundown every day. The fenced-in parking lot is locked at night and overnight camping is not permitted. Pets should be leashed in the park. Waste bags for pets are provided at the parking lot. Currently, the water in the park is not potable, so bring your own drinking water. And please my friends, do not litter.

Peace, Love, and Pocket Parks,

Jim

Location Map:

https://goo.gl/maps/HKwKiVDAubm

Activity vs Achievement

Full Moon

You can blog about it. You can tweet about it. You can post all kinds of moody memes on Facebook about it. You can sign righteous online petitions and "like" your "friend's" rants until the fattest cows come moseying home. But unless you step out your door and do something about it, something concrete and measurable, something pure and real and decisive, you haven't really accomplished anything. 

What is "it" you might ask? "It" can be just about anything that concerns you, but in this case, for me,"it" is litter. I hate litter and, even more, I passionately hate litterbugs. People who leave trash on the ground to blow all over creation and get into rivers and streams or, worst of all, into the ocean, are the scum of the Earth. I'd like to spray them with industrial strength Round-Up and watch them squirm.

Is there really a place called Hell? Clearly I don't know, but if there is, litterbugs deserve an especially hot seat down there. Searing. Blazing. Roasting. Thermonuclearly blistering hot.

I am a Caltrans Adopt-a-Highway volunteer. Once every month I tackle a monumental cleanup of my local highways, about ten miles of rolling, grass-covered hills that lead to my home in San Juan Bautista. I like the process, actually. I get some great exercise and I normally run into something unusual that either makes me laugh (an abandoned bag of adult sex toys) or brings me some kind of natural joy (blackbirds, lizards, snakes, snails). I think of my county as my own huge beautiful park and keeping it clean gives me a sense of pride. 

Today I collected twenty-one bags of icky, sticky, yucky, mucky garbage and left them on the side of the road for the Caltrans crew to pick up and haul to the landfill. The stretch of highway I worked looks much, much better. Now I am pleasantly and thoroughly exhausted, but by tomorrow morning, I will be recovered and ready to get back out to do it again.  I won't be finished until some time on Wednesday. I won't quit until it's done.

Every month, I renew my determination to win this game, even though I know I never will, because there are many more litterbugs than there are highway volunteers. It's the same everywhere, which is really too bad for the planet - particularly bad for the people who live on it, eat food that is grown here, and drink water that circulates here. I have thought about this a lot and I see no acceptable reason for people who litter to behave this way. There is no justification other than sheer stupidity, laziness, and/or evilheartedness. Litterbugs simply suck at being human beings. In my opinion, they should go to Hell, the sooner the better.

So there. I have blogged about "it." Big damn deal. That's activity. Those twenty-one bags on the side of the road? That's achievement.

Peace, Love, and the Anti-Trash,

Jim

Easter Parade

Waxing Gibbous Moon

Maybe the best thing about living in San Juan Bautista, a town with less than 1,800 inhabitants, is the annual Easter parade. It's a special kind of no-frills, laid back fun that lasts about three minutes and requires very little commitment or concentration. Just show up and smile. Cheer and wave. Then go eat.

There was some doubt as to whether this year's parade was even going to happen. At 11:00 this morning, two hours before the parade's scheduled start, the sky turned a deep charcoal gray and cut loose with about thirty minutes of intense rainfall, accompanied by a cold, bullish wind.

I wasn't too optimistic to tell the truth. I seriously considered staying home and burying my nose in a book. But around 12:15, the Sun started to emerge, the wind died down, and by 1:00, everything was bunny ears perfect. Let the three minutes begin!

Around here, you can pretty much do whatever you want in terms of costume design. 

You can even go full on ranch-house pink-saddle-blanket Tournament of Roses equine style, sort of, kind of.

Or you can show off your Gigundo Fido. I suppose it is possible that this young lady was just walking the beast, saw the parade, and cut in line. Either way, Fido was digging it.

What Easter parade is complete without a royal blue custom dune buggie? Hey! Over here!

It's also okay to go rogue. This gal is proudly doing her own Easter bouquet-on-a-turquoise-scooter-float thing. Why not?

And, you know, there will always be guys with classic cars.

And guys with retro trucks.

And a guy with a classy Corvette.

And guys with funky old Fords.

But this bad ass girl was the best of show, hands down. 

Just her and her pygmy pony...and her Mom...and her Auntie.

It's not even Easter yet as far as I know. Not even that close, I don't think. I know it's not tomorrow and that's about as far ahead as I can imagine these days. If you asked the other seventy-odd spectators (or, more accurately, the other seventy odd spectators) when Easter is, you might not get one right answer from those blasphemous, distracted heathens either. Nonetheless, once again,  the San Juan Bautista Easter Parade was an enjoyable, uplifting, whimsically short, slapped-together community spectacle. Whenever Easter Sunday turns out to be, I'm sure someone will let us know. 

Personally, for three grinning minutes, I felt resurrected.

Peace, Love, Cheers, Waves, and Jellybeans,

Jim

The Byrne-Milliron Forest

Waxing Crescent Moon

Tucked back into the folded, twisted, faulted, redwood-covered Santa Cruz Mountains near Corralitos CA stands the Byrne-Milliron Forest, 402 acres of public land managed by the Land trust of Santa Cruz County. It's not easy to find. You have to pass through a gate to a nursery of some sort before you wind up at the entrance. But the sign there lets you know right away it's not your every day county park. But of course! This is Santa Cruz!

A matriarch stands guard, so you better behave.

There are more than 20 miles of hiking trails (no bikes or horses here, please), with a good bit of elevation gain and loss to work your heart, quads, and knees. The trails are laid out in a quasi-concentric manner, so if you want to go all day you can, but you can also loop back to the parking area at several points if you wish.

One steepish but beautiful trail leads to the "Great White Redwood Tree" over 600 years old and 233 feet tall. In the morning light, the redwood bark appears light-colored. Hence the name, I suppose. The tree is awe-inspiring and huggable and there is a wood-hewn little table and bench there where you can snack and rest.

Perhaps the most interesting features in this park, aside from the quiet natural setting, are the fascinating wood carvings found at intervals along the trail. The best place to see a bunch of them at once is at AJ's Point of View, an overlook stocked with drinking water and trinkets at the approximate center of the park.

From AJ's, you have a nice view towards Watsonville and Monterey Bay. I am partial to the howling coyote, but there is much to see here.

There are also journals with amusing, creative, and sometimes bizarre entries written by visitors over the years. Don't miss AJ's Point of View, with the dedication plaque for Jeff Helmer, a longtime caretaker of the forest.

If you haven't visited this park, do it, you will be glad you went and I know you'll be back for more.

Peace, Love, and Hard to Find Getaways,
Jim

Arts and Crafts

Waning Crescent Moon

The annual San Juan Bautista Arts and Crafts Fair is gracing Third Street today and tomorrow. The weather is trying its best to cooperate, so come on over and check it out. I bought a nifty bolo tie from SJB's own Artsy Chica and a scrumptious tri-tip sandwich from the Mansmith booth. I suppose I can now look fairly respectable with fire sauce dripping from my chin.

I don't have any room to hang art in my tiny home, but I like to look at art and to analyze, however briefly and amateurishly, the vibe coming from the art maker. Every artist is special in her or his own way - sometimes brash, sometimes subtle - always interesting, I think.

Things were just getting underway when I passed through, but already folks had begun to show up.

This little pony ride would have appealed to me when I was a pup.

If you're close to town this weekend, stop by. Lots of good food, some cool iconic crafts, and mostly it's a relaxing way to spend your time in the City of History.

Peace, Love, and Ponies-Go-Round,
Jim