If you’d like to make a gesture of rememberance, please do something nice for the earth that Phil loved so much.  Perhaps you could take a walk or bike ride instead of driving, pick up a random piece of trash on your way across the parking lot or adopt a stray animal.

So, pack your trash, take nothing but pictures and leave nothing but footprints.  It’s what he would have wanted.  While he may no longer be with us, he’s certainly doing what he loves the most.  When I think of Phil, I imagine him hiking up a mountain on a warm summer day, telling campfire stories, communing with the spirits and once again walking the trails as he dances with Louie.

Happy trails.

  March brought Spring time to the high desert, taking us from winter snow to spring winds. Weather change of the season required the entire month. The snow cover receded slowly, the moisture sinking into the soil. The landscape is slightly green now, especially in the long light at sunset. The high desert is open again, only bound by far distant horizons. Winter seemed to drag on but it really did stay mostly within its allotted celestial time. And that was enough.

  The vernal equinox was a typical early spring day: clear, cold, with a breeze. The sun is tracking noticeably farther north. Shadow on the  clock demonstrates the intricate workings of the solar system. Set the sun beside the year’s first fire. The night sky defined the horizon by starlight.

  Recent times have connected me to people from way out of the past, some for the first time. I would never have guessed. But with the happiness of new-found past, came news of recent loss. A childhood friend passed away, killed in a fire. Long time ago we learned to canoe on lakes and rivers of Pennsylvania. The sister of my mother passed on, known to everyone as a sweet and gentle soul. She was a true part of the American way, descended from an immigrant couple to New Amsterdam in an unbroken line. Life, like knees, becomes much more realistically appreciated as we grow older.

   The dogs are of course enjoying the spring weather and all the delights of the season. But they seemed just a little reluctant to let go of winter, and enjoyed it to the very end.  Except Jo; she seems inclined to warm weather. Summer is on its way. Sometimes we all dance in the warm sun of morning or evening. Lately each dog has developed their own style of dancing, ambushing me around the ranch for a dance of joy.

  A new season of roaming and wandering under an enchanted sun. The transition that is spring is short-lived here on the high desert and some sights will go away quick. The sun brings about most of the changes, from snowmelt in the mountains to solar dust collecting on the planetary plane, or some such thing.

  Not too far out on the prairie are some small volcanic hills. On the summit of one hill is a small, crescent-shaped shelter-wall. Exactly due south a couple hundred yards on the next summit is a rock cairn. Surrounding the cairn is a small area of disturbed rock. The structures appear very old; even the 4^th generation rancher-lady that runs cattle on the allotment does not know the story. Sitting in the shelter gives an incredible feeling of being in the middle. The landscape runs relatively flat to the distant horizons of hills and mesas. The sky was a cloudless blue dome. And I was in the middle of it all, sitting on a rock put there a long time ago for just such a purpose. Probably just a coincidence. The more I learn of the ancient ways, the more I come to understand that most of the coincidences have a reason.

  Sunset horizon, with ravens, for you.

        February possesses its own style of winter, separate from that of January. This year the month was a series of winter storms, slowly subsiding and warming by month’s end. Snow-pack on the ground is receding, melting away under the warming sun quicker than the recent storms could replace. Now is mud season. February’s winter brought amazing skies and enjoyable, for winter, weather conditions. By the end of the month spring began to feel like an actual possibility. Winter is not finished, but we are getting closer to the end.

     The last day of the month saw a snow-storm blow across the land of enchantment.

Clouds and snow, mists and fog, rode the leading edge. Hills, mesas, and prairie vanished, and then reappeared with the wind. Some of the cells contained lightning and thunder as they dropped pellet-snow on the landscape. Occasionally the sky would clear partially and the sun would shine, and then clouds returned again, horizon to horizon. After sunset the full moon of February floated in the cloudless dark.

 The dogs living here with me enjoy the winter snows and cold; they adapt well to their environment. Reduced snow-cover and warming soil really does seem to agree with them: sleeping in the sunshine, digging for mice and marauding gophers, their world is expanding. For all their excitement in snow, even the dogs seem to have acquired their own form of ‘cabin-fever’. We are all glad to be closer to the end of winter. The dance changes with time and adapts to the season. Sometimes the traditional morning biscuit dance; sometimes a dance in the warmth, and mud, of afternoon.    An eternal expression of joy, happy just to be here.

  We are under no delusion; winter is not finished in the land of enchantment; there will be more snow, but the last storms of the season. The winter of December and January is not forgotten; the evidence is everywhere. But it’s just a memory now. The spring seed catalogs are piled on the table, a reminder of the approaching season. The sun is undeniably moving north towards the equinox, to make it official.

  February seems sort of just a ‘place-holder’, getting us from one place to another, not really important once it’s behind us. Glad to see it begin, much more so to see it end, but never wishing away time.

  Unexpected winter flowers on the high desert, for you.

    Just a few days short of mid-winter, and so it has been. Snow on the ground for most of two months, but every day the sun provides a little more heat, setting a little farther north. At this time of year comes a more accepting attitude of the season, fatalistic but not victimized. Some days are snow-bound; some days travel is more bother than it is worth. We are deep in winter, just get over it; and so we do.

   The winter has been a series of storms; El Nino or just winter? Clouds, wind, snow, rain and then sunny blue skies move across the region; weather systems from the Pacific customized for the land of enchantment. These atmospheric events are a visualization of time moving on by. Winter imposes its own sort of clock and calendar; here in the hinterlands we are forced to adjust. Neighbor friends from out where the road ends were snow-bound for two weeks. On their way finally into town, they stopped by to help get my truck onto the road and then visit awhile. Time takes on new forms.

 The dogs are enjoying the winter, each in their own way. The two original ranch-dogs accept it as the natural cycle of life. For Jo, this is her first winter. Like a little kid she enjoys the snow but is ready for a snack and warm nap when it’s time. Spook plays hard, especially attacking cuffs and heels as his ancestry demands. And then sleeping on the couch. Commonly used paths around the house are worn into the snow by boots and paws; easiest places to walk. Across the prairie or into the pine hills, snow-shoes make the trek less difficult. The same snow that slows and limits my world retains a temporary record of who passed this way: tracks tell a true story.

  These winter days of isolation provide for thought and consideration: almost a limitless amount of time and place. I wonder at why choose this place when there are so many locations of an easier life-style. We all have our reasons, nearly so numerous as the people that live here. For me, I suspect at least parts of the answers are in the words and photographs I post here. Time will sort it all out and the reasons will fade.

  Winter has altered the dance as only seems appropriate. Chaco likes to burrow and make her version of snow-angels; Hook rolls over and slides on snow-drifts and ice; Spook is teaching Jo to move in rhythm with pants-cuffs and soft boots. The dance evolves with time and the seasons.

   The enchantment of fire and ice, for you.

     Winter on the high desert; still an enchanting place, just a different set of conditions. The daylight is too short and the nights too cold. But every day is a little longer than yesterday and the sun rises and sets just a little farther north. The weather of the season brings along its own kind of beauty only seen under the cold skies. Spring is on the way, just a matter of time, but winter is to be enjoyed now.

    Some say time is like a river: an attempt to define and visualize a force so intangible, but so powerful. As good a comparison as any other. Always moving: sometimes fishing the slack water, sometimes running the whitewater where the shoreline is a slightly noticed blur. There are days of up-valley winds when the current needs help to move you downstream. No matter what you do, it keeps flowing to someplace you can’t yet see.

    Just before winter closed down the back-country and many of the roads, I visited a couple of places that seem to hold on to another time. A ways down the highway is Fence Lake: in another time it was a booming metropolis, relatively speaking. The town was an important center of ranches, farms, logging, and some mining. Very little remains, but it doesn’t seem unexpected: someone appears to have understood the force of time, at least a little bit.

     Under the warm autumnal sun in a far-away canyon I discovered, for me, a series of prehistoric structures. They were built into various topographical spots depending on their particular purpose. The evidence tells an amazing story, over time from back in time. At a natural ‘gate’ in the rimrock, reinforced stones still remain after 700 years or so.

  A new dog has come to live here on the ranch: Spook, a retired cattle dog from Arizona. He out-lived the old cowboy and so my son adopted him. The son is now serving his country and Spook is a resident of the Dog Lake region.  We still dance, at no particular time in no specified way. The dance has changed with the flow of time and we adapt. ‘Don’t push the river, it flows by itself’. There is always a reason to dance, and there is always time.

    Winter is not just a season, but a state of mind. Results vary from exhilaration to cabin-fever, sometimes in the same individual in the same day. Spring is out there, but the journey is first through winter. Enjoy the trek, and the destination will be achieved in good time, Grasshopper.

  Enchanted diamonds,  for you.

     The beautiful security of the seasonal changes go by, bringing a new but familiar perspective to this enchanted land. The landscape and the sky above appear autumnal, if you have been watching throughout the year. The sun is moving into the southern sky and the shadows grow longer. Autumn seems to bring along quicker, more dramatic changes than other seasons.   My second year here in the ranch house, and so I recognize the patterns.  

        The first real winter storm invaded the region yesterday and left a few inches of snow in its wake. The sky is clearing behind the weather: tonight will be cold. The first snowfall of the season brings about abrupt change, even when predicted. Just the variance of the light coming through the windows shifts my perspective of the year. The dogs were ecstatic at this morning’s snow-dance. Jo the new dog seemed especially surprised.

    Uninterrupted, uncommitted days at the ranch-house are lately hard to come by and so are really appreciated and enjoyed. A day full of absolutely whatever happens is precious. A local, out-the-door walk has become  a day-off tradition and a sort of mental floss. Recently along the hillside, far places and old friends came into mind. Farther into the junipers I found evidence of an ancient hunter that in another time walked soft across the hillside, among the junipers.

    On a trek in Arizona a few weeks ago, a long-time deer-hunter friend guided me into a site he had discovered. On several acres of sandy mesa-top were low, eroded mounds surrounded by incredible amounts of flint in various stages of work. The nodules are still washing out of one of the strata making up the mesa. The place was very old, even for that part of Arizona.

    Sometimes way too early in the morning you wake up; using all your senses to figure out why. Most of the stars have faded, whether by high clouds or first high altitude light is not clear. Sleep won’t return but it’s still dark. Reheat the coffee and make a plan; rebuild the fire or light up the Svea stove? No hurry; the day happens on its own time. The fire-building ritual opens paths across millennia. The back-trail through my time shows up  clear in the pre-dawn darkness: a collection of images, sensations, and visions; souvenirs of the journey. Before I become lost in the wilderness, the coffee pot boils and calls me back. I know the way and will probably go there again. Hot coffee and a soft sunrise glow in the east remind me of where I am.

     We still dance, mostly in the morning, and sometimes in the afternoon if I have been away. This morning we danced a brand new dance in the snow. Some mornings we dance in the light of sunrise. On my mornings with a schedule, the dance centers around my attempts to put on my shoes. Boots and socks walk away, carried by one dog or another. The third one runs interference. The dogs tell me that the best days start with a laugh. And so we do.

  A silent sunset, painted with the songs of Saint Margarita, the Barefooted.

     An exceptional month was August, hardly a memory, gone by so quickly. One of those times when I hope I took enough photographs, through the lens and through my eyes, to remember a thousand moments strung together like a necklace of stones, or a string of firecrackers.  A month that began in deep summer and ended precariously close to autumn. The slow beginning belying the quickness of the end. Events piled into themselves and then came a request for assistance: a task I couldn’t refuse. And so my summer vacation came to an abrupt and unexpected end and I went back to school.  

  The summer monsoon continued sporadically throughout August with fantastic displays in the sky, but dropping little rain. Nearly every day storm clouds would gather somewhere between horizons. Rain would fall somewhere in the distance, much of the time evaporating before hitting the ground.  Staying dry even with rain all around: ways of the high desert.

       I am away from my ranch-house home on a continuous and scheduled time frame. Most of the day’s quiet and entertainments are a little distant now. But it is all still there; just a little time is needed to find it. Find the time, save some time, bide your time: a cosmic river flowing on by.

     Explorations of the landscape have continued on, weather and time permitting, generally in the company of the Rojos outfit. We have discovered that the really technologically advanced GPS unit will get you just as ‘lost’ on the landscape as the less expensive kind but will tell you why. Ancient sites have been revealed, but require much more consideration to be understood. Sometimes just the distance to the horizon becomes more than the brain wants to easily accept. The wild places between where you stand and where you can see want to overwhelm you. The rock under your boots gives stability and a beginning of comprehension to what you see. Enchantment.

       The area around the east door has truly become the dog-yard. Dog-spots dug into the dirt, burrows under the juniper tree and trails worn by paws share the space with a kitchen garden, sunflowers, and Louie’s grave.  We always find time for a dance, romp, and biscuits in the morning sun as my schedule closes in. The days always begin well, and peaceful, with a morning dance.

                                     Flowers for you, silent music from the enchanted land.

    

    The enchanted land is in the middle of another beautiful summer; different than last just to make the world a little more interesting and unexpected. The summer monsoon began early and is still the weather pattern but rain is sporadic and intermittent. Many days I watch it fall in many places but not on the ranch house. Other times the water falls from the clouds only to evaporate in the dry atmosphere before hitting the earth.

    The slight shift in the weather pattern that produced the early monsoon resulted in changes to the seasonal schedule of the local life forms. We all have to adapt, but never complain about the rain.  

     Another stray dog was hanging on the fringe of the ranch for a few days, hiding or running away at any approach. Chaco and Hook brought her to dinner a couple of evenings and she has lived here ever since. She responds to “Jo”, usually, and is learning the necessary survival skills from Hook. The last stray on the ranch, Souvie, is adapting well to family life in the New England hills. I have heard that only occasionally do her ranch-roots make themselves known.

     Due to various but unrelated circumstances, I have been given access to new areas in the region: places that have changed very little in the last few hundred years. They have only grown older, covering up the ancient evidence. Like most somewhat incredible places, they require much time and miles in exploration. Every trek is a new journey to an unknown destination, unseen sights in all the canyons. Just may be that the ancient people believed this land to be enchanted. Just may be for the same reasons we still hold to that belief.

    We still dance in the morning sunlight, just a little different than previous times. Jo is a very active participant and maybe Louie watches from the other side. The dancers sometimes run across the sand of his grave: maybe he enjoys the company. After we dance, we rest and consider the day.

 A post card from a distant place

     Long time, long ways gone. Weather is beautiful, the land is enchanted…what I mean is ‘wish you were here’.

 The summer monsoon weather pattern has set up over the southwest, a couple of weeks earlier than the average July 4th arrival. The clouds and storms have created some amazing skies but only scattered and intermittent rain. But enough precipitation has fallen to ‘green up’ the landscape and grow the early wildflowers and cactus blossoms.
    

    The relatively temperate and wet spring has produced an abundance of bugs, lizards, and birds: life forms most quickly influenced by seasonal variations of the weather. It is a good year. Not enough rain has fallen yet to wash away the ‘no-see-ums’, a miniscule but voracious local predator that leaves exceptionally itchy welts. I almost look forward to mosquito season.
   

     I stayed at home on the summer solstice, watching sun and shadow here at the ranch house. The ancient time-keepers carved into the canyon walls would silently track the season without me as a witness.  Cloud shadows floated across the prairie and distant hills, sunlight flowed through the windows. Seemed only appropriate: this place on that day.
    

 We still dance in the morning, biscuits and sunshine, recognizing the empty space Louie left behind. We dance because there is life. Some days there is little to be said, but a world to be seen and understood and appreciated. Because there is life, and souvenirs. 
    

      A few days ago Louie passed on, as all old dogs do. We danced in the early morning sunshine and I laid him to his final rest under an afternoon sky of storms and sun.
     

 I found him five years ago in the high mountains of eastern Arizona. I never knew his story or his name. He became Louie and I have a hundred stories of our time together; adventure, road-trips, exploration, and home. Like all good dogs.