A helluva place to lose a cow

Sunday May 18

Day off. Got caught up on email, blog, FB...all the busywork associated with money and communications. Won't get to check for responses for another day.

Finished up just in time to go watch Cheryl give a geology presentation at Sunset Point. Wind was strong and sent laminated paper visual aids flying everywhere. Fortunately a quick moving spectator gathered them all up before any ended up in the bottom of the Canyon...or no...as I now know, Bryce is not a Canyon...the park could more correctly be called Bryce Amphitheater. Canyons, like the Grand, Zion, and my hometown Little Cottonwood are deep gorges carved out by rivers or glaciers. Bryce is a high plateau whose defining features have instead been carved by seasonal effects of freezing and thawing—so technically not a Canyon. The canyon designation was just a nickname given by early Mormon settlers who called this maze of hoodoos that existed behind Ebenezer Bryce's land “Bryce's Canyon.” “A hell of a place to lose a cow.” according to Ebenezer.

The sediment that makes up Bryce's layers was laid down by millions of years of sea, desert, and lake. Uplift raised the plateau to its present height. As periodic rains gush down its walls and uncover harder layers of rock, those newly exposed layers are sculpted into fins by a process known as frost wedging. Water seeps into cracks, freezes and expands. Pieces of rock are pushed away from their parent body and fall into the depths. Fins, windows, arches, and finally hoodoos are left behind...well, that, or the greedy Legend People were turned to stone by Coyote for their selfish avarice. A beautiful morality tale told by ancient tribes of native Americans who lived in this area.

I got another roommate today. Kara, an intern for the Geological Society of America, arrived this afternoon. Remembering how lost I felt when I first got here, I resolved to share everything I know about how the program runs, and where stuff is. Though there are still a few gaps for me, at least she knows the layout of the VC, she's got most of her uniform (minus the hat), and now knows how to read the schedule. 

As this is her first visit to Bryce, and indeed the southwest in general, we also toured the lower Amphitheaters, and hiked to Mossy Cave, a short trail accessed outside the Park's main entrance. I just realized that I didn't take any pictures of the cave. Oops. I did catch some views of the lovely stream running along the trail...

A waterfall...

A nice row of windows...

And a red rock formation I thought resembled a barking dog...

 After dinner and a couple games of “Eight Minute Empire: Legends,” we drove out to the rim at Fairyland Point to (on advice from our supervisor Geoff, who will be arriving in June) weep over Bryce Canyon's unbelievable night sky. My first great night out as well, we were both giddily stunned by the sheer numbers of stars. As it is spring, the main swath of Milky Way—from Cygnus to Sagittarius—that most people adore for the grand north to south arch it makes in summer, was just starting to rise in the east. A little lost in the thicker atmosphere on the horizon, we only caught hints of the glory that is soon to come. I pointed out a few prominent constellations. Though with so many stars it was “hard to see the trees for the forest” so to speak. Not a problem I'm likely to complain about too much! We also caught some beautiful binocular views of M4 and M13—both globular clusters. 

All in all a satisfyingly full day.

Monday May 19

Found a copy of “Track of the Cat,” the first Anna Pigeon novel, among a collection of donated books in the laundry room this morning. Before leaving for Bryce two people recommended that I check out this series. Each novel is set in a different national park and the protagonist, Ranger Anna Pigeon, encounters mysteries—in this first book, a supposed mountain lion kill in the Guadalupe Mountains of Texas which Anna believes is actually a murder. I've never read mysteries in the past, but have been enjoying this one so far. Perhaps a nice stand-in for the mystery tv shows Rob and I have gotten into recently: Morse, Lewis, Luther, Sherlock...

Checked in with Jan Stock and Kevin Poe at the VC this morning. Got a stack of helpful reference books about Bryce Canyon to increase our knowledge of the park, its history, geology, flora, and fauna. Instead of doing our regular solar observing tomorrow, we've been asked to walk the main trails in uniform making visitor contacts when possible. ”Roving” I guess it's called.

Kara and I hiked the entire rim portion of the Fairyland Loop trail this afternoon. Only 2.7 miles one way (5.4 for us since we went out and back), but with a lot of up and down, so we both got pretty tired. The sun feels VERY close here. Just a little too easy to get burnt. The high altitude that contributes so nicely to a pristine night sky makes extra vigilance necessary during the day. Water. Sunscreen. Rest. The environment is beautiful though. At this point I feel I can easily recognize some of the most common members. Ubiquitous Manzanita, Utah Juniper, Ponderosa Pine, Limber Pine, Uinta Chipmunk, Stellar's Jay. We also saw lizards, a vulture, raven, and some kind of amazing ant that was covered in bright red fur. I think I've heard of something called a velvet ant?

In the evening, not too long after the sun had set, I drove a little ways south in the park. Stopped along the way to check out a couple viewpoints and trailheads. Coming back in the deep twilight, expansive meadows along the road were filled with Pronghorn. I could see their gray forms darting around in playful circles. A game of chase? Clocked at 55 mph, these animals are the fastest in the world next to cheetahs. One was perched right at the edge of the road standing tall and still in my headlights as I inched by. I said silent prayers that he wouldn't decide to dart in front of me at the last minute. Hitting a Pronghorn would NOT be the best way to star off the season.

Tuesday May 20

A hummingbird at my window this morning!

Roving the Queen's/Navajo Loop trail proved a delightful four hours of work. From the VC shuttle stop to the trailhead then down among the hoodoos and back, we encountered 88 people. Hailing from all over the world, some wanted directions, or asked advice on what else they should do later in the day, some had questions about the local geology or wildlife (thank goodness for our handy field guide), some were curious about our position as volunteers—where we'd come from and how we'd gotten involved—and some just wanted assistance with photos—sometimes requesting photos of us two “charming Ranger-ettes.” 

And thanks to a gusty wind at my back for adding 30 lbs around my mid-section. 

Our mini conversations often allowed for brief mentions of Bryce's superlative night sky, and some interesting things that may be observed there...a chance to advertize the astronomy programs taking place later that evening. We climbed up to the rim along the steep switchbacks of Navajo, and finished the 3 mile trail dusty, a little out of breath, and really needing a bathroom! But who can complain about such things with a job like this?

After a brief lunch, we headed back in to the VC for project time and, in my case, front desk duty.

A sad bit of news. There was a heart attack today—the man passed away. Bryce averages less than one death per year, but heart attack is the leading cause. It's followed by falling off cliffs, lightning, and vehicle accidents. Unpleasant statistics that should remind us all to behave more safely—wear good footwear, head indoors in a storm, drive the speed limit...oh, and DON'T drive your motorcycle out onto Inspiration Point, like some wholly OBNOXIOUS risk-taker did today. I heard that a few onlookers captured photos. Hopefully the NPS will be able to extract his plate # and issue a citation.

A partly cloudy and windy day gave way to a spectacular night of observing! Best night so far in my opinion. As the night deepened we treated loooooong lines of spectators to views of the planets, star clusters (I claimed my old favorite the “Beehive”), planetary nebula (the Ring), and at least 3 galaxies. I first went to M51: the “Whilrpool.” The large member of this pair of interacting galaxies showed off some striking spiral structure—something I'd NEVER been able to see in a galaxy until tonight! I was blown away! Couldn't stop exclaiming that “Bryce is AWESOME!” I also helped the other operators get the “Sombrero” , M104, into Thor's aview. They'd been struggling to find it for a few minutes, but as M104 has been a recent favorite of mine, I was able to locate it in seconds. “Wanna know how to find M104?” I asked, planning to show them “Jaws,” the helpful little asterism that points right to the galaxy like an arrow. “Just call Kelly!” came the response before I could say anything. My little head swelled just a bit too much with that one.

Don't worry. I was sufficiently humbled later when I tried going back to M51and was totally unable to relocate it. How is that even possible?! After being so easy the first time, I discovered when I got home that I was aiming just a little off course. Ugh! How embarrassing. With the preponderance of computerized go-to scopes, I've remained an advocate of learning the sky and navigating to objects manually. I've always found it quicker and easier than trying to get everything aligned and waiting for a slow motor to slew to the vicinity of an object that you later have to locate precisely yourself anyway. Easier, that is, until you have a major brain fart, like I did in this case. Sigh. Better luck next time. I'm gonna get this one down so it's second nature.

7 great reasons for shoveling !#*%

Every Wednesday and Thursday I hurry out of bed and head over to the Oasis Animal Shelter where I spend the morning helping another volunteer clean kennels. My part of the job consists of shoveling big piles of poop out from the outdoor portions of each dog's run, while my coworker disinfects and hoses down the insides, sets down food, and fills each pail with fresh water. We coordinate our movements while allowing each dog some good quality run-around-the-yard, play-with-the-ball, sniff-around-the-fence, and bark-at-the-cats time (don't worry, the cats are outside the fence...and we put food and water out for them too).

This job has equipped me with a nuanced understanding of a range of canine excretions and how best to deal with them. Whisking up the really soft stuff on a humid July day requires a whole different set of techniques, for instance, than does scraping up frozen piles in sub-zero wind chill (the latter often helped along by a good kick from a heavy boot). All the "material" I remove from the pens is piled into a big plastic poop bucket and later washed down an outdoor drain in a soupy swirl of pungent goo. No bones about it: it's all pretty repulsive. When I start scooping I stop breathing through my nose, and generally don't start again until I'm out walking dogs. It's amazing the disgusting things you can handle if you eliminate their smell!

Despite what you might think from this description, the Oasis dogs are really well cared for. Their pens, which have space to move both inside and out, are cleaned three times daily. They do not go hungry or thirsty, they are warm in the winter, and music is left on for them when we leave. Veterinary care is given when needed. And unless the weather is REALLY bad, in addition to yard time, they get walked at least twice a week. Their lives would improve a lot with adoption, but until then they make do just fine.

Well that is all fine and good, but what really compels ME to return every week just to shovel more of their stinking !#*% for no pay? Ha!

Today I found 7 reasons:

#1. Chloe...

Quiet, intelligent, patient, disciplined, and great on a walk. When Chloe jumps up to give you loves, you know she really means it.

#2. Paddy.

A dedicated and exuberant player, she LOVES diving through the powdery snow.

#3. Buddy.

A booming voice and tough exterior belie a heart tender as a puppy's. Buddy is the perfect name for this big guy.

#4. Herbie.

Total sucker for a good belly rub...especially when it means he can also roll around in the snow!

#5. Ronnie.

A bit intense on a lead...especially when the ground is laced with deer track! You can always tell this girl means business.

#6. Sassy.

Scruffy little ball of fluff and affection...what's not to love? 

#7. Blade.

A big heart in a little body. When this feisty little chihuahua finally warmed up to me...transforming in weeks from a nervous introvert snarling in the corner, to my most eager and devoted Oasis friend...I was a goner. I ADORE this little guy!

There are lots more dogs at Oasis, and every single one provides another reason for me to put up with the early alarm, and the joyful need to scoop little piles of steaming !#*% for a couple of blessed mornings each week.

Utah Visit, July 2013, #2 ...Puppies!

This morning I woke up early and drove over to the Oasis Animal Shelter, where I've been working as a volunteer walker and kennel cleaner for several months. I generally go in twice a week: Wednesdays for walking, and Thursdays to clean. The work can be dirty, noisy, and smelly...and it often breaks my heart to think about each resident's hard-luck story, but on the whole, knowing I'm helping provide a degree of comfort, entertainment, and affection for these wonderful animals is very rewarding.

Every week it seems like I come home with a new favorite. I'll walk in the door and announce to Rob that "If we ever get to adopt one of these guys, I think I want..." and then fill in the blank with Herbie (who loves to play in snow and puddles, and rolls over for a tummy rub the minute I start scratching his neck), or Suzie (who is old, but so full of life, and affection), or Shyla (who's had a hard time being cooped up, but has the most beautiful loving eyes...AND WHO JUST GOT ADOPTED...YAY!), or Hershey (who's about as good natured as they come)...and the list goes on. Just about every Oasis dog has worked his or her way into my heart...I just can't help loving them all.

Just before heading out to Utah, I settled on a new "favorite." Izzy is a little black and white terrier (maybe a rat terrier mix) who came in, along with one other dog, from another shelter that wasn't caring for its animals very well. She is gentle and curious and has plenty of energy for walking, but not so much that she's difficult to handle. The week before I left, I stopped along our walk and crouched down to give her some scratching (an activity I indulge in with some of the dogs...as much for my own enjoyment as theirs). When she came over and looked into my eyes, I noticed for the first time how much she resembles Rusty (my mom's Jack Russell, whom I've missed terribly these past three years). They both have similar facial coloring, and big perky ears, though Izzy's build is more delicate, not quite as muscular as Rusty's. She reached up and gave me a little kiss on the cheek. I melted. If Rob and I were in a place that allowed animals, I'd have taken her home right then and there.


Still, as much as I love all the Oasis dogs, I could hardly wait to get back to Utah and see Rusty and George again. I worried that after three years they might not remember me; that even after all the playing, and snuggling, and walking I'd done with both, I'd come in the door like a stranger and we'd have to get reacquainted from scratch...which for a suspicious little chihuahua like Georgie, takes a bit of patience. Fortunately, those fears were unfounded. A moment after I walked through the door I was smothered in canine affection...and a minute later had so much hair on my clothes I might have passed for a dog myself.

Rusty slept next to me that night, and in the morning George and I joined him and my mom for their daily 6 mile trek around the neighborhood (George got a free ride in my arms for about half of that!). Rusty's 11 years are beginning to show. His face is graying, eyes a tad milky, and though he still pulls at the leash like a miniature sled dog, he does seem to tire a bit more quickly than before.

We got a few great walks in before I left, and whenever I was at their house, either Rusty or George...or both...would find a way up onto my lap in no time at all. This, of course, made it really difficult for me to say goodbye. On my way out the door to the airport Rusty glimpsed the suitcase slung over my shoulders and peered up at me like a dejected little puppy. He reached out a paw and placed it in my hand. Mom looked over and said, "Awww...he knows."

I'm sorry Rusty. I hope it doesn't take another three years for me to come back for another visit...

Mind Games

What could be better than a large enclosed space where everyone is free to run, chase, and sniff their neighbors butts unassailed? A large enclosed space where you can do all that...and THEN jump into the water! Welcome to Dog Beach: the urban canine's paradise. I love walking past this place and watching the antics of dogs as they frolic in the waves, run along the sand dripping wet, and then walk right up to their owners and exuberantly shake themselves dry...or rather: redistribute the moisture from their sloppy hides to the clothes of their humans.

This morning the place was crowded, but my attention was drawn to one couple in particular who were evidently having some communication issues. Ms. Owner was standing in front of her happy-go-lucky companion holding a tennis ball in one of those fluorescent launchers that can extend the range of each throw to olympic proportions. Fido was prancing around in front of her with that "gimmie the ball! gimmie the ball!" look plastered all over his face. Ms. Owner stood by unperturbed and pointed commandingly to the south--indicating that she planned to fling the ball far down the beach and parallel to the water line. Assuming Fido had received and processed that message she wound up and threw! Upon seeing that beloved of all movements: the release of energy that unequivocally means the object of play has been released into the universe, Fido bounded away from his owner...and gleefully jumped straight into the water following a path precisely perpendicular to where the ball had been thrown.

Ms. Owner cocked a hip and looked on with exasperation as Fido realized he'd missed the ball and paddled back to shore.

My step-dad Rod believes that dogs communicate with each other telepathically and that they try to do the same with their humans. You know what I mean. Like those times the family's sitting down for a meal and Rusty walks politely up to someone, cocks his head, and with a tiny flick of his little pink tongue sits back on his haunches to beg. According to Rod he's attempting to place this thought in the head of his human: "Hey lady...I ain't e't in days...please gimmie just a little somethin' would ya?"

So on the beach this morning one of three things could've happened to create the drama I witnessed:

1. Ms. Owner had assumed she'd read Fido's message clearly and simply as: "gimmie the ball! gimmie the ball!" but had instead missed the full intent of his communication which was rather: "gimmie the ball in the water! I wanna get wet!"

2. Ms. Owner had indeed understood that Fido wanted to jump in the water again, but was determined to make him follow her instructions rather than his own inclinations. Though she physically gestured her intent properly, she neglected the necessary telepathic reinforcement of the idea--causing her well meaning Fido to misread orders.

3. Fido knew exactly what Ms. Owner was asking of him, but thought to himself, "Why in the world would you EVER not want to throw the ball into the water? I mean, that's way more fun than just chasing it on the sand?" So Fido then decided he'd remind Ms. Owner of the only reasonable direction for a ball to go when it's thrown from Dog Beach...what could be more obvious?

Let's hope this pair eventually reaches an understanding.

What a Tease

Yay! The sun is back! You can see that Rusty has already started to beg for his walk...

...and George has found his spot in the sunshine by the back door--I think it's still a hair too chilly for him to want to be outside, but I'm guessing that will change in an hour or so and he'll be scratching eagerly at the glass to be let out.

By 11:00 yesterday we had about 2 inches of snow on the ground, but then it had all melted by 2:00. Though the air stayed a bit nippy, the sun was shining, neighborhood lawns were green, and flowers were blooming as radiantly as ever. I think that if you'd slept in past noon you may have missed any sign of our little blizzard entirely.

Ok. I must head out to the "woodshed". I think I'm about as eager to go for a walk in the sun as Rusty is!

Spring?

Hey! So where did spring go?! When I left for work this morning it was raining, but by the time I finished up, there was an inch of snow on the ground with more still falling heavily. Rusty has never seemed to mind the cold or snow, but he'll be disappointed when he has to forego his usual walk.

Last night I played 3rd trumpet in an Artie Shaw Centennial concert with the New Deal Swing Band. It was held at the Kol Ami Synagogue as part of their regular concert series and was absolutely packed! Last year's Benny Goodman Centennial was the same way.

The auditorium was decked out in flowers and featured a spiffy black-and-white-checked dance floor brought in for the occasion. Before we started our program, free dancing lessons were offered by the Salt Lake Jitterbugs (a local swing dance troupe) and then on the first half of the show, they performed a few numbers with us.

The New Deal Swing Band was put together by Utah Symphony clarinetist Tad Calcara, and originally featured primarily USO musicians. Since its inception in 2003, its evolved to include more local jazz players than USO, but there are still a couple of hold outs. I've played with the group for the past 3 or 4 years and generally we end up doing 4-5 concerts per year. It's always a fun challenge for me to try to imitate the big band style of the 30s and 40s. On a couple of occasions I've had to play lead in the group (an adventure lemmie tell ya), but fortunately last night the trumpet section was led by two players more suited to the style: Keith Davis on lead and Reed LeCheminant on solos. I think we made up a pretty hot section--it's always a blast for me to play with those guys!

Tad Calcara is an incredible musician. He sounds amazing in the USO of course, but is really well versed in swing as well. He spent years digging through archives to obtain original charts and our book is chock full of great, if sometimes nearly illegible, music. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of the swing era's music and musicians, plays the clarinet parts flawlessly--and with as much flare as Shaw or Goodman--and can hold his own at the keyboard to boot. I am always in awe of musicians with such diversity of skill.

The first half of the show was as much a history lesson as a concert and incorporated archival video of Shaw's bands alongside more recent interviews done with him. In a couple of cases, the original band would start out a tune on the video and then Tad would bring us all in to finish it out. It was a bonafide miracle that the video syncing worked last night! In rehearsal a week before it was stubborn as a mule and nearly made Tad loose his cool several times.

Tad, as someone in the band remarked, "is better than Wikipedia", can expound eternally on swing, and related some pretty interesting stories last night. Here's one that I remember:

When Shaw was young, he was turned on to music after hearing a saxophone player performing on Vaudeville. He worked for months at a deli to save up the $40 he needed to buy a used C melody saxophone and instantly got to work listening to records and imitating what he heard. After a while he felt proficient enough to audition for a local dance band. The director was thrilled with his ability until he put a piece of sheet music on the stand. "What do you want me to do with that?" Shaw asked. The director replied that unfortunately he couldn't give him the gig unless he could read music. Shaw asked him to hold the position for a month and wowed everyone by coming back in said amount of time able to read anything put in front of him. He was only 14 at this time!

On the second half of the program, the dance floor was opened to everyone in attendance and a surprisingly large crowd stayed out on the floor, some trying out their newly learned moves and others showing off more substantial amounts of time spent in formal training.

It was an enjoyable evening, but I was eager to get home and into bed...it'll be another week of early mornings. I was supposed to be working only part time at Cannonball this month, but a shipment arrived and there are a TON of horns that need engraving. For now they still need me to do the bulk of the engraving, and I'm mainly doing what I can to prevent Ryan from getting too overwhelmed. I guess it's good to be needed, but I hope they're able to get things going without me at least by the end of the month.

Quotidian

Last week I was listening to the radio and was introduced to the word "quotidian". It was surprising to me that such a fancy sounding word meant pretty much the opposite of anything out of the ordinary. Routine, normalcy, the mundane--even boring--details of everyday life: these are quotidian. I've had people tell me they think I have an exciting life and I guess I do go out for a spontaneous adventure now and then, but for the most part my days are pretty routine.

Where my routine differs from others' is maybe what surprises them. For whatever reason, I have always been a morning person and, especially lately, I've been living that in the extreme. My day begins when my alarm goes off at 3:47 am (yes, I intentionally avoid 5s and 0s when I set my alarm--don't ask why) and shift sleepily into work mode. I'm out the door in 20 minutes and at work by 4:30 in order to enjoy the next 3 1/2 hours of peace solitude that are the conditions under which I work best.

My current job, engraving saxophones and testing trumpets at Cannonball Musical instruments, takes a good deal of concentration. While working over the bell of a sax with a sharp metal tool intentionally scratching the surface in what eventually reveals itself as an intricate design, I am much more at ease not having to experience the hubub of a busy workplace right outside my door. I usually turn on the radio, classical 89.1 for music or KUER for news depending on my mood, and cocoon myself into the rhythm of my gravers zig zagging across the curved metal surfaces of the instruments. It was my request to keep such odd hours and though I have had a few issues with getting enough sleep, in general this schedule is, for me, ideal.

I leave the office every day just before 8:00 and head over to my Mom's house where I'm free to practice my trumpet without having to disturb neighbors or use a stuffy practice mute. After checking email and chit chatting with Mom for a half hour or so I hit the woodshed.

I'm pretty particular about my practicing and monitor my time on and off the horn in a way that some would describe as excessively anal. I plan out my practice session before hand--what techniques I'll address, what music I have to polish up for an upcoming gig, and how much time I can afford to keep the horn on my face that particular morning.

I do this for a couple of reasons. It is amazing how much more I accomplish when I address specific techniques rather than just going through a tired daily routine that tries to hit all the bases. If I target three or four issues per practice session, spend a specific amount of time devoted to each item (typically 10 minutes), and follow each segment by a required amount of rest (3 or more minutes--usually more), my practice efficiency goes WAY up. I improve much more quickly and preserve my chops much better overall compared to the more loose and general way I used to practice. The older I get, the more this proves to be a career saver. So, as ridiculous as it may appear to anyone else, I sit in my Mom's living room every day looking out over the valley to the west and, with a stopwatch and notebook, meticulously plan out and time my noise making.

Another habit I've gotten into is during each short rest period I'll get up and do some little chore around the house...take out the trash, start dishes, do laundry, play with the dogs... This helps pass the time and makes me feel less guilty about using someone else's house as a practice room, and shamelessly mooching some food out of the fridge for lunch.

After practicing I'll either take the dogs for a walk or head out for the gym. Now that the weather's been nice, the dog walking usually wins out. It's amazing to see how Rusty (my parent's Jack Russell) has totally figured out my routine. I'm convinced that he knows how my practice intervals are timed because whenever I finish a segment, he runs right into the living room and looks at me with head cocked inquiring, "so are you going to play with me now?" I've taught him the meaning of the phrase "I have to practice" and whenever I respond to his query with that phrase, he turns around and skulks out of the room until the next break. He hates the sound of my trumpet! However, George (the Chihuahua) doesn't seem to mind my horn at all and usually comes into the room while I'm practicing and curls up for a nap in my jacket while I work.

Rusty can also tell when I've finished my whole session and start my warm down. At that point he'll come in almost bursting at the seams and ask, "Ok, are we going for a walk now?" He's usually right on the money and I take him out for 3 or 4 miles first, then come home and take he and George (who doesn't seem to have the same desire to go for long walks) for a lap around the block. They're sweet puppies and I'm sure going to miss them when I take off in the fall.

By the time I make it through this routine it's usually about noon and I have the rest of the day to fill how I please (which these days usually includes a substantial nap!). I guess I thrive on structure and it makes me feel a ton better when I've been productive right off the bat. Getting that good start is everything.