Monthly Archives: August 2015

NeoTribal The Gathering: The People Next Door

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I arrived at the site of NeoTribal The Gathering by 8am. Later that morning, two women arrived and set up right the fuck next to me. The weird part is that they didn’t talk to me, didn’t say hello, much less we realize we are way closer to you than is normal or polite, but we are trying to utilize the shade, or whatever their reasoning was. They just set up their sleeping tent right next to my tent and went on with their lives.

The second thing they did to piss me off was tie a bag of trash to the leg of my pop up tent, again with no communication. At some point I moved my canvas bags I had stored in that corner and found a grocery store bag of trash tied there. I didn’t tie the bag of trash there, and I doubt someone walked over from some other area to tie on that bag of trash.  Who thinks it’s ok to tie trash to the tent of someone they’ve never even spoken to? Who does that?

I heard through the grapevine that the older (in her mid to late 60s) of the two women was a Native American Shaman and a Reiki Master. People were saying her name as if she were someone really special. I don’t think she was special enough to be allowed to tie her trash wherever she wanted. But maybe the other woman was the trash bag lady.

The second woman was younger, probably in her 40s, and was selling orgonite pieces that she and a relative had made.

If you don’t know what orgonite pieces are, don’t feel bad. I’d never heard of them until Sweet L gave me one during our Autumn 2012 Tour. According to http://www.soul-guidance.com/orgonite/#What%20is%20orgonite,

Orgonite is a mixture of catalyzed fiberglass resin with metal shavings, particles or powders, poured into molds. It is said to attract aetheric energy similarly to Reich’s accumulators. Some people also add a couple of crystals to the mixture for their ability to make the energy more coherent or to enhance the working the the orgonite. Thus orgonite basically is a substance which functions as a self-driven, continuously-operating, highly efficient energy transmutation device, drawing in negative life energy and transmuting it into positive energy. The resin in orgonite shrinks during the curing process, permanently squeezing the quartz crystal inside which creates a well-known piezoelectric effect inside the crystal, meaning its end-points become polarized electrically, this apparently causes it to function more effectively as a positive energy generator. Although crystals improve the function of orgonite, they are not necessary for the orgonite to work.

     Anyone can build these devices with easy to find materials. Orgonite is simply a mix (approx. 50/50 ratio) of metal and resin (polyester, urethane or epoxy). It can be poured into all kinds of shapes: pyramids, cones, disks, cylinders and pendants, to name a few. Some people use it to combat pollution and cell tower radiation. Others use it for clearing or purifying energies in their houses, or to enhance the growth of plants in their garden. It seems to work also really well in various kinds of  spiritual healing work. Energy sensitive people have given me various comments on how orgonite affected them. They have shown me that it really does work. You can also interact with it and use it for specific purposes.

I overheard the orgonite woman telling a potential customer that she was “a money magnet.” How nice for you, I said in my head in a snarky tone of thought. Who says that? Ok, a Wall Street tycoon, maybe. Who says that at a spiritual and healing gathering?

The third thing they did to piss me off was to hang out in the tiny area between my tent and theirs late into the night (and I don’t mean at 8:30) on Saturday. Couldn’t they have hung out on the other side of their tent? Couldn’t they have hung out at someone else’s tent? They weren’t being rowdy, but there was talking, and it did disturb me.

The older woman considered herself an intuitive healer, I guess, because she was doing tarot card readings throughout the weekend. She didn’t seem to realize (or maybe she just didn’t care) that she had her table parked so close to my tent that not only was there no space to walk between the two, but I could hear every word she and her client were saying. So much for privacy.

The first thing I overheard that I thought was worth writing down was a client saying that when she dances, “I’m trying to tap into the life force of the universe.” I’m going to keep my comments about that one to myself, because when the woman uttered those words, she probably did not realize that there was a snarky blogger in the tent next door hearing (and possibly noting) every word she said. (Although as close as her intuitive healer had her sitting to that tent, she probably should have thought to whisper.)

The second thing I overheard (and then pulled out my notebook and wrote down verbatim) was something the “healer” said to a different client. The client was very upset, crying, seemed to feel as if she had no real path in life, was just kind of stumbling around from one adventure to another. (I can relate, honey, I really can.) The woman also seemed to be feeling and taking on a lot of pain from other spirits and wanting to help those others heal. (I can relate to that too.) In addition to whatever else the “healer” said (I swear, I was not sitting there trying to listen), what I heard her clearly tell the client was “Release all concepts that you should be anything but what you are.”

Really? All concepts? I get accepting oneself as one is. I get forgiving oneself for what one has done in the past. But releasing ALL concepts that one should be ANYTHING but what one is? That seems like a little much.

I mean, should murders, rapists, and Dick Chaney release all concepts that they should be anything but what they are? Should I just accept that sometimes I am a snarky asshole and never try to do better? (Perhaps my father long ago released all concepts that he should be anything but what his is…which is a guy who thinks he’s funny when he makes jokes at other people’s expense. He is, in fact, an asshole.)

Shouldn’t we want to be better than who we are at the moment? Shouldn’t we want to be kinder, more loving, more compassionate? Maybe the Dalai Lam gets to release the concept that he should be anything but what he is, but the rest of us? I don’t know. I’m skeptical that it’s a good idea for the rest of us.

The way I know I should be something other than what I am? When I left the gathering, I untied that bag of trash from my tent tent leg and left it in front of the neighbor’s tent. It was childish, I know. A mature person would have just walked it over to a trash can. A better person would not have held a grudge. Next time I’m faced with a similar situation, I’ll work on being something different from what I actually am.

NeoTribal the Gathering: You Kids Get Off My Lawn

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It was early in the morning; the air was still cool. Children were running around the festival, fed recently enough to have lots of energy, not yet sapped by the heat. I heard the sounds of their voices change as they ran through the Healing Garden.

Then the voices seemed to congregate in one place. I heard the door of a Porta Potty slam repeatedly, as well as what sounded like thumping on its walls. I walked to the front of my vending area and saw a group (five? six?) of kids standing in front of one of the portable toilets. There was more slamming of the door and general squealing of children.

I walked over calmly. The kids looked at me skeptically. I spoke in a low voice and said to them that the Porta Potty was not a place to play. I asked them if they could find another place to play.

They started talking over each other, trying to explain what had been going on. One boy said he hadn’t been playing, he’d been trying to use the restroom, and the other kids had been kicking the walls of the Porta-John while he was in there!

I again requested they find another place to play, and added, We’re all going to be sad if that porta potty gets tipped over.

Especially me if I’m in there, the boy added.

The kids wandered away, and I went back to my jewelry and my shiny rocks.

NeoTribal The Gathering: Mukunda

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I was in my vending space when a little tiny person toddled in. The bit of hair fluff he had was white blond, and his eyes were huge and blue. He smiled and laughed and his mom followed him in.

We chatted a bit, and I said I thought her little friend was cute. (I try not to assume an adult and kid in public together are parent and child, although in this case they were.) I asked his name, and she said, Mukunda.

She explained breathlessly that it’s one of the names of Krishna and added that she and the kid’s dad named him Makunda Ram Das. I didn’t say anything more than Oh! while nodding and smiling.

According to https://krishnasmercy.wordpress.com/2010/06/22/mukunda/, [o]ne of Lord Krishna’s names is Mukunda, meaning “one who grants liberation”. According to Wikipedia,“Ram Dass is an American spiritual teacher and the author of the seminal[2][3] 1971 book Be Here Now.”

 

I will admit right here: I didn’t know much about the followers of Krishna. I thought they wore robes and handed out flowers while asking for donations. (Do I have totally 1977 ideas about the followers of Krishna?) This woman and her husband (whom I met later) looked and acted like other mainstream early 21st century white people. This couple certainly looked more “normal” than most of the other people at the festival: no visible tattoos, no dreadlocks, no tie dye, the man was clean shaven and wore shorts and a t-shirt, the woman did not have on a flowy skirt or flowers in her hair. Maybe followers of Krishna blend in now and I didn’t get the memo. If I had guessed a religion for this little family, I’d have speculated Mormon or maybe Lutheran.

I’m not even trying to be snarky here. I just think it’s a little weird to give your kid one of Krishna’s names if Krishna isn’t your deity.

Maybe I’m the asshole for assuming the family does not hold Krishna in a religious place of honor. (My dad always said, When you assume, you make an ass of you and me.) Now that I have internet access, I Googled “do followers of Krishna dress a certain way?” and found “An introduction on how to be a devotee of Krishna.” According to that website,

The devotees you may have seen distributing books like Bhagavad-Gita, or chanting the Hare Krishna Mantra with traditional Indian instruments, or dancing and chanting dressed in traditional Indian robes, are for the most part full-time monks of the Hare Krishna movement. The vast majority of Krishna devotees, however, live and work in the general community, practicing Krishna consciousness in their homes and may sometimes visit Krishna temples for inspiration and prayer.

Oh. I guess I am the asshole. My apologies. I was holding 1977 ideas about the followers of Krisha. Now I see that it’s quite likely that Mukunda’s parents are devotees of Krishna. I should have just asked, but sometimes my brain is quick to jump to conclusions and slow to ask polite, well-meaning questions.

 

NeoTribal The Gathering Part 2

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Photo I took in the Healing Garden.

Photo I took in the Healing Garden.

Even before my tent was totally set up the way I wanted it, people were stopping by to chat and to buy things. Before the day was over, I’d paid my vending fee, plus a tiny profit. It’s nice to make enough to cover the vending fee on the first day of a multi-day event so I can quit worrying about my expenses and just bask in the profits.

I took this photo of my vending setup at NeoTribal The Gathering. I put up the curtain walls to block the sun, but they also gave me a tiny bit of privacy at night.

I took this photo of my vending setup at NeoTribal The Gathering. I put up the curtain walls to block the sun, but they also gave me a tiny bit of privacy when I slept in the tent at night.

I quit trying to sell as soon as the sun set. I don’t have a generator, and there were no electrical outlets nearby, so even if I had brought electric lights, I couldn’t have used them. I didn’t try make any sales by the light of my two small lanterns.By the time I closed up the tent and had some dinner (which consisted of mashed potatoes so I wouldn’t lose my crown which was held in with temporary adhesive), I was too tired to think about partying.

I wasn’t sure about where to sleep. I knew I’d probably be more physically comfortable in the van, but I wasn’t 100% confident that my merchandise would be safe if I left it alone. I decided to sleep in my vending tent, so I schlepped over Nolagirl’s plastic tarp and one of my layers of memory foam, my pillow, my sheet, and my new Ikea blanket. I folded the tarp in two, laid it on the ground, then put my memory foam on top. Such comfort!

I didn’t even have to go anywhere to hear music. I was situated between two stages, so I spent the night in the middle of a perpetual electronic dance music mashup. Both my body and mind were tired, and I slipped into something of a trance state between sleep and wakefulness. It was sort of like being high without any of the problems of being on drugs.

I can’t say I slept well. Sleeping on the ground would have been more comfortable with two layers of memory foam between it and me. I was a little bit too warm too. At some point after the music stopped, I woke up to some guy yelling. I don’t remember what nonsense he was shouting, but I sighed and rolled over, thinking what a relief it was to be unaffiliated with the man losing his shit and screaming in the darkness. Later, the wind picked up and the side curtains repeatedly blew in my face. I worried about the stability of the pop up, but it held up fine. All ended well, and I got a few more hours of sleep.

Saturday was much of the same, although I (thankfully) didn’t have to haul, unpack, and set up all of my merchandise again. Being able to stay set up was such a blessing.

I took this photo of my rock table at NeoTribal The Gathering.

My rock table at NeoTribal The Gathering.

No way were there 500 people at the event. I think an estimate of 200 would be a generous exaggeration of the actual head count. I did well for the number of people who passed by my booth (and most people who passed by did stop and take a look at least once), but I did not do as well as I expect I would have done with a crowd of 500. Actually, it’s probably a good thing 500 people didn’t attend the festival. I don’t know if the four flush toilets (two in the women’s restroom and–I presume– two in the men’s), plus the five portable toilets could have comfortablly accommodated 500 people.

I think because I was in my tent with curtains closed by 8pm on both nights, I didn’t see much drug use. A couple of ladies came into my tent early on Saturday afternoon, and they were acting just a little strangely, and I wondered if they were high.They might have been just a little socially awkward. On Friday night, I heard some guys right outside my tent talking about “molly,” and I don’t think they were discussing a female friend.

However, a woman I’d gotten friendly with over the weekend told me early on Sunday morning that she’d been woken up in the wee hours of the morning by a couple she was confident was high on ecstasy fucking (her word) right outside of her tent. She said their heads were hitting the side of her tent. She said another ecstasy couple was also fucking (her word again) very close to her tent. The ridiculousness of the whole situation was that there was so much open space nearby but not close to any tents where these couples could have gone and not bothered anyone.

On Sunday afternoon, a fellow did ask me if I traded for “herbal medicine.” I told him no, I don’t use it.  Then I felt I had to explain that although I don’t use it, I don’t think it’s wrong, but in fact I don’t use it, and no one in my immediate vicinity uses it, so I really have no desire to trade for it. He seemed to understand, even though my explanation felt really clumsy to me.

The one other time I knew drugs were around was when I went up to the amphitheater because I had been told the closing ceremony was about to happen there. When I got up there, a reggae band started playing instead. The band’s front man immediately started singing about Israel and I got a huge whiff of weed. I realized the closing ceremony was not about to happen up there, so I left to finish packing up to leave. I’m not surprised (or even offended) by smelling ganja or hearing about Israel at a reggae show, but it’s not what I wanted to be doing at that moment.

Sign in the Healing Garden. Photo by me.

Sign in the Healing Garden.

One thing that was really cool about the event was the age diversity of the folks who attended. There were families with babies and little kids, and much of the time, those kids were running around playing together. There were, of course, lots of young adult there for the music and dancing (and the sex and drugs too, for some of them.) I saw older couples and met a few women (probably in the 45 to 55 age range) going through divorces who had come for a day of healing away from their (soon to be) ex husbands. Several of my customers (including the young man who offered to trade for herbal medicine) were hanging out with their moms. Many festivals I’ve been to have been attended mostly by very young adults, so it was good to be somewhere with a wider range of ages. I think the age diversity was at least partially due to older folks coming to give and receive healing in the Healing Garden, as well as older folks coming for the drumming in the Heartbeat Village.

According the the NeoTribal The Gathering website information on Heartbeat Village (http://neotribalthegathering.com/heartbeat/),

It is said that the drum is the heartbeat of mother earth  and those that have lost their rhythm, have lost their connection to the planet…

For some there is a need to find that rhythm again for others there is a hunger to deepen that relationship to the earth  but for all there is a connection to each other and the planet through the Drum. Join us in the HEARTBEAT of Neotribal a space to create learn and experience healing through music dance and sharing. Instruments Drums and percussion will be provided by Neotribal free of charge for all that attend our workshops…

The ethnic diversity of NeoTribal The Gathering was a bit better than some of the festivals I’ve been to where all I saw were white people. As is typical in the Southwest, in addition to all the ostensibly white people, there were quite a few Latino/as. In addition there were some native Americans and a few African Americans in attendance. Again, I think it was the drumming circles and workshops that brought much of that diversity to the festival.

Overall, I’m glad I attended NeoTribal The Gathering, especially since I didn’t have to pay to park or camp. I made just about the amount of money I wanted to make. It’s always nice to meet my goal.

IMG_2414     IMG_2415

When Ms. Reiki tried to give me postcards to hand out before the festival, I told her that I don’t really know people in the area. She told me I’d make 40 new friends at the gathering. That was an exaggeration too, although I did have some good conversations with people (and shared a couple of nice hugs). I gave me card to folks I suspect I’ll never hear from again (and no one have his/her card to me.)

I don’t pretend to understand how the Universe works or why I end up at any particular place at any particular time. Maybe I was at NeoTribal The Gathering just to give a guy with dreadlocks and tattoos a good price on a piece of danburite that I’d been hauling around and putting out on my table for months. Or maybe I was there to listen to the older Navajo women attending the event with her son; I suspect I might have been the only other person there she felt she could relate to. Maybe my role was to offer my ear to the woman who needed to vent about the couple fucking against her tent. Maybe I was needed simply to provide a bag of ice for the elders’ luncheon when the organizers forgot to buy some.

I can’t really say why I was there, but I hope I did my part.

Bracelets and necklaces decorated with beads, baubles, and trinkets.

Bracelets and necklaces decorated with beads, baubles, and trinkets.

Pendants of wire wrapped stones by James Smith. Hemp work by me.

Pendants of wire wrapped stones by James Smith. Hemp work by me.

Necklace with pendant of skull carved from smoked yak bone and turquoise.

Necklace with pendant of skull carved from smoked yak bone with turquoise accent bead.

All photos in this post were taken by me.

NeoTribal The Gathering Part 1

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I was selling my hemp jewelry and a few shiny rocks at a weekday urban farmers’ market. A busload of junior high school kids on a field trip were deposited there for some reason, and I had several 8th grade ladies at my table. Suddenly, there was an energetic woman on my left, halfway behind my table with me, telling me she loved my work and handing me a postcard about an event she was coordinating. She said vending cost $235, but she’d give me a better deal. Cool, thanks, I said and assured her we’d talk soon. I didn’t want to be rude, but I wanted to get back to my customers. Eighth grade ladies are my bread and butter.

When I got back to the host family’s house (after visiting the local IRS office and then the drug store where I had to buy temporary dental adhesive for my crown that had fallen out again), I took a look at the postcard the woman had given me. The event was called NeoTribal The Gathering and was bill as “3 days of camping & ceremonial bliss surrounded by the transformative energy of art, music, and dance.”

After doing some poking around on the internet and looking at the gathering’s website and the website of the Reiki healing studio of the woman who’d approached me, I decided they both seemed on the up-and-up. I sent Ms. Reiki an email saying I was interested and asking to talk soon.

I didn’t hear from her Thursday, so I called her and left a message on Friday. When we finally talked, she said I could vend for the three days of the event for $75. Then it came out that camping would be extra, payable directly to the park where the event was being held upon arrival. But Ms. Reiki said I was welcome to camp in the Healing Garden, the area she was organizing. She told me I would sell there too.

According to the NeoTribal website,

Healing is the art of restoration. The “Neotribal” Healing Garden offers Holistic Health & Healing for all participants of the gathering! Experience natural healing in many different forms. Our healing energy is a vehicle that will bring positive transformation to our families and our planet at large. Join us for hands on healing, bodywork, energy balancing, yoga, meditation, prayer and wisdom talks. Experience positive self care through spiritual & holistic education and cultural development.

I wasn’t really satisfied with all of the answers Ms. Reiki was giving me. I felt like she just wasn’t answering all of the questions I asked, or at least wasn’t answering my questions in ways that left me feeling I understood what exactly was going on. I wasn’t sure if she was somewhat unorganized or simply blissfully sure the Universe would somehow take care of everything. In hindsight, I think she was sure of the Universe and a bit awkward with verbal communication.

Ms. Reiki invited me to go to her house on Saturday after four when folks would be over painting signs for the event. I told her I’d be working on Saturday maybe until 5pm, so I’d decide depending on how tired I was. I ended up working until almost seven o’clock and not making it back to where I was staying until after 7:30. I was too exhausted to contemplate keeping my eyes open, much less driving, then meeting new people.

I went to Ms. Reiki’s house Sunday evening to drop off my vending fee. Even after I paid my money, I still wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing. By that point I was in, no turning back, but I wasn’t sure I’d make the right decision. But in some way I can’t explain, I felt as if I were supposed to be at the event.

I was a little nervous when Ms. Reiki said this was the first time NeoTribal The Gathering would be happening. She pointed out that over 600 people on Facebook said they’d be attending, with another 400 people saying maybe. She thought about 500 people would actually show.

I spent the next four days preparing for the weekend. After leaving Ms. Reiki’s house, I went to Nolagirl’s house and picked up her pop up tent. Of course, I also used the time to express all my concerns and doubts.

On Sunday, I also implemented my five necklace a day plan. 5 necklaces a day x 5 days = 25 new necklaces to sell at the event. I stayed up late and cranked out the five.

On Monday I went to the thriftiest of thrift stores to find colorful curtains to hang around the sides of the tent to block as much sun as possible.

Later in the week, I got The Lady and The Boy to help me set up the pop up tent so I’d have an idea of how to get it to work. I hung up the side curtains too, so I could get a feel for the whole setup.

I made my five necklaces every day (and some bracelets too), and I was well equipped for the festival.

I arrived at the venue, Estrella Mountain Regional Park in Goodyear, Arizona, before 8am on Friday. When I stopped at the pay station at the park’s entrance, I told the woman working that I was a vendor, there for the NeoTribal gathering. (I don’t remember exactly how I phrased it.) She said, I can tell…, and I thought she meant I can tell by that hippie van you’re driving that you’re here for the event. What she really said was, I can tell you where to find them.

She did tell me where to find them, and she handed me a pass to hang from my (nonexistent) review mirror. She never asked for money, and I noticed she had written VOL (volunteer) on the pass. Score!

I found the Healing Garden and found a close-ish parking space. There were already several tents set up and a few people moving round. It seemed like people were just waking up.

Some of the tents in the NeoTribal The Gathering Healing Garden Photo by me.

Some of the tents in the NeoTribal The Gathering Healing Garden. Photo by me.

More tents in the Healing Garden. Another photo by me.

More tents in the Healing Garden. Photo by me.

I spotted Ms. Reiki, already busy, and walked up to say hello, good morning. We talked a bit about where I should set up. Then I was on my own to make trip after trip to and from the van  to unload the pop up tent and the side curtains and three tables and my chair and all of my merchandise. (I did ask for–and get–help to carry my large tub of rocks.)

I was mostly set up by 10:30, when everyone gathered for the ceremony honoring elders. The elders were a multicultural bunch: Latino/as, Native Americans, East Indians, people from Burundi and Bhutan, and white folks too. Little kids and adults joined together in singing “We’re a Rainbow Made of Children,” then people offered blankets to the elders.

There were way more blankets than elders, so several people were left holding blankets with no one to offer them to. A young woman (late teens or early 20s) came up to me and asked if I would accept a blanket. Awkward! I said, Oh Sweetie, I’m not that old, but thank you anyway. I think in that situation “elder” meant “person old enough to be your grandparent,” and I was NOT old enough to be that young lady’s granny.

The ceremony honoring the elders seemed very sincere, not about making the organizers look cool, but about giving love and respect to the older folks. I was moved to tear several times during the ceremony.

When the elders moved to their luncheon, I moved back to my booth to finish setting up my rocks.

To be continued at http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/08/17/neotribal-the-gathering-part-2/.

Birth Control

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The family arrived first—Mom, Dad, and three kids, ages probably 11, 9, and 18 months. The little one was toddling, not talking. Mom and Dad spoke with accents I couldn’t place, but the kids sounded full-on American. The story I made up about the family was that Mom and Dad were immigrants, but the kids were born in the U.S.A. and learned to speak here.

I liked the family even though the parents had a lot of questions. The oldest child—a girl—was quiet and seemed shy, but the middle kid—a curly-haired blond boy—was friendly, with a ready smile. Mom was funny, while Dad was earnest. They all seemed to dote on the baby, who toddled around on his short, chunky legs all through the questioning and check-in.

The young couple arrived later. They’d made reservations in advance. They were both somewhere in their mid-20s to early 30s, and the man, thin with tattoos on his hands and forearms, was driving the car, a Lexus. The woman had short hair that was obviously bleached.

They immediately had needs. They’d hoped for a bit more privacy. Could they move to a different site? I did my best to accommodate them. I wanted to like them, but I really didn’t.

The arrivals were on Friday afternoon, after I’d finished working at the parking lot. After everyone was checked in, I ate my dinner and hunkered down in my van. As usual, I was asleep before 9pm.

Also as usual, I was awake and moving early the next morning. I’d already cleaned the restrooms and was cooking my breakfast when the young man with the tattoos strode into my campsite.

I said good morning and he said something along the lines of How ya doin’?

I said I was doing great, that I’d had a good night’s sleep…

He interrupted to say I was lucky, that he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep.

I ask him if the cold had kept him awake. (People from the hot lowlands aren’t always prepared for the chilly mountain nights.)

He said the baby had kept him up all night. He said the baby had cried for two hours straight. He said the baby had cried every half hour.

 

I hadn’t heard the baby cry even once, not even with the back and side windows of the van open all night.

The young man with the tattoos asked me if the family with the baby were staying another night. I told him they’d been undecided about how many nights they wanted to stay when they checked in, but I’d know their plans for the night later in the morning. He said if the baby were staying, he might find another place to sleep. I don‘t know if he was hoping I’d offer him a refund if he decided to leave or if he wanted me to tell him his reservation was transferable to another campground. (Reservations aren’t transferable between campgrounds, and I’m not authorized to give anyone a refund, EVER, so I didn’t make him either of those offers.) All I offered was to let him know if the family with the baby decided to stay another night.

After I’d eaten and cleaned up the breakfast dishes, I talked to the family with the baby about their plans. They had decided to stay another night. As soon as I left their campsite, I told the man with the tattoos of their decision.

When I got back from the parking lot around 3:30, the Lexus was parked on the campsite of the man with the tattoos, and the tent was still set up, two indications that they’d decided to stay.

I went about my life, did my paperwork, ate my dinner. There was a lot of activity in the campground, kids running around, music playing. It wasn’t dark out when I got in the van, and I was probably asleep before 9pm again.

Sometime later, I awoke to a light knock on my van. At first I thought I’d dreamed the knock, but when I said Yes? someone outside responded.

My solar lantern had run out of power before I fell asleep, so I had to grope around in the dark to find clothes to put on. When I opened my curtain, I saw the women with the short bleached hair standing outside my van.

She said they didn’t know what to do. The baby was crying again, and she and the man with the tattoos couldn’t sleep. (At no time during our conversation did I hear the baby cry.) She said the baby had kept them up the night before and was now keeping them awake again. She said they wanted to be polite, but didn’t know what to do.

I told her I wasn’t sure what to do either, as I’d never had a crying baby in my campground or in my personal life.

She said she and the man with the tattoos didn’t have kids either. As I suspected!

She suggested the parent(s) sit in the car with the crying baby.

I said I would speak to the parents, although I had no idea what I was going to say. I was fairly certain

  1. The parents knew the baby was crying
  2. The parents didn’t enjoy being kept awake by the baby’s crying
  3. The parents were doing everything in their power to stop the baby’s crying and get him to sleep

I had no idea if it were within my rights as a camp host to ask the parents to shut their crying baby in a car because he was keeping other campers awake. The whole situation reminded me of that episode of M*A*S*H where Hawkeye is on a packed bus and they’re in danger of the enemy finding them and one lady has a noisy chicken and Hawkeye pressures her to silence it so she smothers it, only it wasn’t a chicken, it was a baby, but Hawkeye represses the truth until the kindly psychiatrist gets Hawkeye to face the truth so his healing can begin. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goodbye,_Farewell_and_Amen)

In any case, the woman with the short bleached hair left, and I put on my uniform. (I’m not big on uniforms, but nothing says official business like brown polyester blend pants.) When I looked at my watch, it was 12:40 in the morning. I dug around and found a flashlight so I could find my way in the dark. At no time during my preparations did I hear the baby make any noise.

astronomy, comet, constellationWhen I stepped out of m van, the sky was lovely. Within the frame made by the tops of the tall trees, I saw stars filling the heavens. As I looked up, a meteor shot across the sky. Wow! I don’t think I’d been outside late at night since I got to my campground, so it was a real blessing to be there at precisely the right moment to witness the shooting star.

 

I didn’t hear the baby crying, and I thought it would be silly to go onto the family’s campsite to ask them to quiet their silent baby. What if the baby had just passed out for the night, and I woke him? What if the young couple were crazy and hallucinating a baby crying? I didn’t think I should say anything unless I heard the baby cry with my own ears.

 

I sat down near the restrooms and listened while enjoying the starry sky. I didn’t hear a single sound coming from a human of any age. I sat there for fifteen minutes and listened to the silence of the night. Then I decided to go back to my van and go to bed.

I closed the door of the van as quietly as I could because I didn’t want to wake the (hopefully) sleeping baby. I got out of my uniform and back into my bed. Of course, I was wide awake, but I just lay there, waiting for the baby to cry.

It was so quiet, I could hear a car pass on the road on the other side of the trees surrounding the campground. affection, baby, birthThe baby must have heard it too, because he let out one long wail. Then he fell silent, and that was the last I heard of him until morning.

The baby did start howling, screaming, wailing, crying around seven in the morning. It wasn’t continual, but it was consistent. I thought I heard the young man with the tattoos shout his disbelief and frustration with the kid, but I could have misinterpreted what I heard, if it was actually the young man with the tattoos I heard shouting. I was supersensitive, afraid he was going to march over to me and accuse me of not having done anything the night before or demand I do something to stop the current baby noise. He didn’t come over, and he didn’t pack up and leave, so things must not have been too bad for him.

I went to the parking lot as early as I could, eager to escape any conflict that might be brewing. When I returned to the campground around three o’clock, I was met with blissful silence. Everyone had cleared out (check-out time is noon), except for the folks on site #1 who were staying over one more night.

As I was eating my dinner, the woman from site #1 came over to ask some questions about the route they should take to their next destination. I asked her if she’d heard the baby cry, and she said yes. She told me she is a nanny in Berkley, and while she loves the kids she works with, she had been looking forward to time away from children. She seemed to be taking a just my luck attitude to the inclusion of a crying baby during the first leg of her vacation. She wondered if she’d have to deal with kids during her whole trip.

I told her I didn’t think the crying baby had any sort of karmic retribution aimed at her. I told her I thought the universe had sent the crying baby as a means of birth control for the tattooed man and the short haired women, as they were obviously not ready to deal with being up all night with a child of their own. The nanny laughed, but I hope the crying baby did his job and kept those two from reproducing. They just didn’t seem ready for the annoyances of parenthood.

Images courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/astronomy-comet-constellation-cosmos-631477/ and https://www.pexels.com/photo/affection-baby-birth-black-and-white-266055/.

 

A Few More Trees

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If you haven’t seen enough giant sequoia trees in my last few posts, I will share a few more photos I took in the Sequoia National Park’s Giant Forest.

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These trees are called the Three Graces. They stand across and just down the way from the Giant Forest Museum.

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This tree grows near the path to the General Sherman tree. The large black area on the tree is a fire scar. The fire that left the scar may have happened hundreds or more than a thousand years ago.

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This is a fallen giant sequoia tree through which a passage has been cut away. I walked through without having to stoop.

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I like the bumpy texture of this tree’s bark.

Giant Forest Museum and the Sentinel Tree

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The shuttle I took from Visalia, CA to the Sequoia National Park dropped me and the other passengers at the Giant Forest Museum, so I decided to start my day there.

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This is the building which houses the Giant Forest Museum.

According to http://www.hikespeak.com/attractions/giant-forest-museum-sequoia/, “The rustic building that houses the museum was built in 1928 on a design by architect Gilbert Stanley Underwood.”

I think the museum is intended for people who don’t know anything about sequoias because the information presented seemed pretty basic to me. One exhibit I did find informative was the comparison of giant sequoias and coast redwoods to other trees and things like the Statue of Liberty and skyscrapers. I also enjoyed the pound of giant sequoia seeds in a large plastic jar. The sequoia seeds look so much like oat flakes that when I saw the jar, I thought Why did someone leave a jar of oatmeal there? Upon closer inspection, I realized I was actually looking at over 80,000 giant sequoia seeds.

According to http://www.fs.fed.us/database/feis/plants/tree/seqgig/all.html

The average number of cleaned giant sequoia seeds per pound
is approximately 81,000 (200,070/kg).

The Sentinel Tree stands outside the Giant Forest Museum.

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The Forest Service schtick for the Sentinel Tree is how average the tree is. The informational sign goes something like this: You think this tree is big, don’t you? In fact, it’s just an average size giant sequoia. It weighs more than two fully loaded jumbo jet airplanes–700 tons–but it’s just average! Ha!Ha! Tricked you! This tree’s not so big after all. There are bigger trees around here.

According to http://www.hikespeak.com/attractions/giant-forest-museum-sequoia/, the Sentinel Tree is about half the size of the General Sherman Tree.

There are two lines on the ground outside the Giant Forest Museum representing the Sentinel Tree. One shows how wide the base of the tree is, and the other shows how tall the tree is. By walking along the line representing the height of the tree, a person can pretend s/he is climbing the Sentinel Tree. Every twenty or so feet, there is a metal tile with a drawing showing the height represented and the width of the tree at that height. I was walking that line, metaphorically climbing the tree, when the rain started coming down hard, sending me into the Giant Forest Museum for the second time that day.

After the museum closed and I was waiting outside for the shuttle to pick me up for the ride back to Visalia, tourists started hopping the fence around the Sentinel Tree so they could have their picture taken with it. The older couple who’d been working at the gift shop in the museum tried to tell the first group (teenage boys) why they should stay off the tree’s side of the fence, but the mother of the boys was the one with the camera, and she would not be swayed from getting the photo she wanted. Later, as the photo family walked near me to get to their car, I heard them laughing at the improbability of their actions killing the tree. Humans can be so short-sighted while imagining their own specialness.

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The whole view of the Sentinel Tree.

All of the photos in this post were taken by me.

Read more about giant sequoias.

Tharp’s Log

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IMG_3326After I left the Chimney Tree, I headed to Tharp’s Log. I’d read about this fallen sequoia turned into a cabin, and I wanted to see it too.

According to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tharp%27s_Log,

Tharp’s Log is a hollowed giant sequoia (Sequoiadendron giganteum) log at Log Meadow in the Giant Forest grove of Sequoia National Park that was used as a shelter by early pioneers. The log is named after Hale Tharp, who was described as the first Non-Native American to enter the Giant Forest.

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More of your tax dollars at work for signage. Beyond the sign is the cabin Tharp built in the fallen sequoia tree.

Tharp had arrived in 1852 in the goldfields around Placerville, becoming a cattleman rather than a miner. Tharp moved to the area of the Kaweah River in 1856, and with guides from the Potwisha people of the area he explored the mountains above. Tharp went back in 1860 with his two sons. They climbed Moro Rock and made an encampment near Crescent Meadows. It was not until 1869 that Tharp moved a cattle herd into the Giant Forest area.[2]

Tharp established a small summer cattle ranch at Giant Forest and used a fallen log as a cabin. The log was hollowed by fire through fifty-five feet of its seventy-foot length. A fireplace, door and window exist at the wider end, with a small shake-covered cabin extension.[3]

John Muir described it as a “noble den”.[4]

It was cool to see the fallen tree Tharp made into a cabin. A sign asked folks not to go all the way inside, so I didn’t. I think it would have been cooler if the cabin had been furnished with items similar to what Tharp had when he lived there, but I don’t think the Forest Service is in the business of historical reenactment.

In any case, it was very dark in the cabin, and fairly dark outside too, since the day was cloudy and giant trees were blocking the available light. My photos didn’t come out looking very good, but I’ll share with you what I’ve got.  (I kind of like that the photos look rather ghostly.)

Entrance to the Tharp's cabin.

Entrance to the Tharp’s cabin.

The interior of Tharp's cabin. I went as far inside as the sign allowed.

The interior of Tharp’s cabin. I went as far inside as the sign allowed.

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The side of the cabin tree. The light inside the cabin comes in from the window under those projecting boards.

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Tharp’s cabin’s side yard.

All photos in this post were taken by me, even the ghostly/shitty ones.

Newest Collages

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I made these two collages in July. Each one is a postcard that I sent through the mail to two different friends.

I made this one first:

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The words on this one read: “Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” It’s a quote from A. A. Milne, from one of the Winnie-the-Pooh books, I think.

I made this one second:

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