The Summer of Open Ended Possibilities …

"Our fear of death is like our fear that summer will be short, but when we have had our swing of pleasure, our fill of fruit, and our swelter of heat, we say we have had our day." -  Ralph Waldo Emerson

Some people live for their Christmas and Thanksgiving traditions, I suppose. I live for the year round ones. I feared (I always do) that this summer was too short, just about as much as I always fear the winter is too long. Humans. Are we ever pleased?  

Always a planner, I had lists of new things to do this summer and I left room for the ordinary and routine as well. The hand that was dealt gave us both but not in the quantity we would have liked (again: just being human and expecting), I suppose: not enough newness and not enough oldness, in the end. Maybe just as much as our time and tired bodies could handle.

Even the mainstays take a new shape or form every year, depending on what changes happen in the local landscape, or how old and decrepit I am becoming to be able to handle them (differently) every year.

Other than getting away to Wyoming and to Snowbird for two weekends, we spent the summer pretty much around our area, just taking in the smells, tastes and trails of the mountains and cities close by. I remember when, living in the South East, my one and only dream was to travel to The Rockies and explore. The time and cash were always limited and I never got to do it when living there. Now, that dream is my backyard, and I cannot ever stop being grateful for everything my surrounds offer.

Every year, I am more and more amazed, surprised, thankful for everything I get to do around here. The “same” yearly things are not really the same – every sunset has different colors in it, and every rainbow a different shape. And every year, my eyes get older, and perceive new shades or stop perceiving the old ones – not sure. All the summer foods taste different every year, depending on how much or how little rain we got that season.

The aspen trees and pines are eternal in their beauty. The rocks are still towering and somber, protecting us, as good soldiers do, from winds, and tougher weather. But the air smells different and the wind feels different on our skins, with every season. I didn’t miss the desert fires this year, truthfully!  

There are some things that will be this year’s alone: this will be the year of lazy afternoons of canceled plans, and not-too-hot weather, but hot enough to call it “summer”. It was the first year (after 4 years of living here), when we actually had grass in the backyard. Well, weeds, mostly – but the year we had “green”.

 The unusual year of a poor tomato crop, but an equally unusual time of a huge herb and onions crop. Even peppers are better this year. The year of fresh Alaskan salmon grilled in the Payson park – I can still smell it! The year of discovering the peace and serenity of Payson Lakes, and the year we conquered part of the Timpanogos mountain. This will be the summer of my first rodeo, and of my first visit to a Mormon temple.

If this summer taught me one thing, it is, just like the song says: “Summertime, and the livin’ is easy”.

Really. Just step outside your door. There is always a trail waiting, a piece of skin left un-tanned,  a tomato stand peeking around the corner, a rose bush needed to be trimmed, a fruity drink waiting to be sipped, a sunset waiting to be watched…

There will also be lots of things we left undone on our summer list. But those are just cocooned possibilities for a later date. No regrets. Just our lives, in the future.

 

Tired and sighing, the sun is retiring for the season. The sunsets will be gentler and paler from here out, more shy, in the shrinking temperatures of the fall and then winter.

Click on the picture to see a brief journey, in pictures, of our 2014 summertime.

The Closed In Summer

Have you ever felt so closed up in your own life and routine that you wanted to scream? You have a daily headache from it, and no matter the consequences, you just want to break free.

This was one summer that I had scores of plans for us to explore all the areas around us that we have not explored before. I had plans for countless camping weekends, and hikes we have not found yet but we have read about. Trips to Western cities – road trips and air trips as well …

But as plans go, sometimes they get changed as you keep walking. Weather, health and the health of our pets have kept us around here. We have been home bound for almost the entire month of August and even before then. We did focus more on the house and our daily routine, which would have been neglected if we did follow our original plans, but we are still longing for the open road.

Today, we decided to leave routine behind, and our pets to nap alone, without us obsessively watching them, and drive somewhere. Anywhere. We’ve been to Park City thousands of times (it seems), but that is the one close place we can always escape to and find something, anything, to clear our heads.

Sundays in the summer (and yes, it’s still summer!), it’s time for Park Silly – a street festival filling the streets of downtown Park City with arts, crafts, foods, fresh produce, music and even yoga mats. Always a good chance to people watch, play with random pups, and clean our retinas with local arts.The weather was beautiful up there, if almost chilly, at 66 degrees for a high! it made walking about very relaxing and refreshing.

These are the sights and some of the tastes of the day … 

  

The bikes in front of the No Name Saloon always seem to be the heartbeat of this very Western city

 

I sometimes feel like I live the whole year just to drive up to Park City and have the fried pickles at Bandits. They are hands down the best I have ever had, crispiest, most flavorful and most decadent in the whole wide world!

 

Also, on the patio, at Bandits: the potato skins. From here out, I'll call them "the cowboy potato skins": they have smoky bacon beans, pico de gallo and sour cream on top and are served in a cast iron skillet, as most everything in this joint. 

 

Silly Market is as much about people watching as it is about doggie watching. 

 

Downtown Park City during Silly Market - it's a party! Too bad you can't hear the music and you can't smell the kettle corn.

 

 This is my "Keep Park City Weird" shot. 

 

This restaurant side patio was so tranquil that I thought it was the most perfect metaphor for our weekend: a party waiting to happen, but has not happened yet. The wood, the stone, the outdoor oven, the twin fire pits (not pictured) just mirrored our souls and spelled "H-O-M-E". 

 

This was no replacement for all the canceled plans, but a quick, cold, refreshing shower of an escape from the everyday. Tomorrow, after all, is another day. And at the front end of this weekend, we didn’t’ see that quite clearly … Now, with new juices, we can regroup.

My First Rodeo

I grew up firmly believing America looks just like the movies. To me, The South-East looked like the life in Dallas, Los Angeles looked like Beverly Hills 90210 and the West looked just like any John Wayne movies, full of pistols, runaway rogues, horses and dirty bandanas. There was not much in between but open lands and people who hated all three of them.

I was firmly convinced Americans invented the peanut butter sandwich, the cookies and milk deal (who does that outside America?!) and the oven roasted turkey. And they, of course, invented … the rodeo.

Also growing up, I never took a social or political, or even a moral stance towards the rodeo. I just thought: well, Spanish people have the bull fights, Middle Easterners play soccer with the head of a dead sheep, and Americans have the rodeo. There you go! Better than Russians poisoning people with radioactive energy, I guess. And definitely tamer than the first two!

It was not till I came to America when I realized that although they invented it (or so I thought), you’re not supposed to really admit you went to the rodeo, or worse yet: that you would have any desire to go to the rodeo.  In America, now, people will wonder what a horrible person you must be to condone such a bestial, brutal, coarse and backwards custom that is simply not necessary in this day and age. An in-house tradition denied – this was news to me.

During most of my life in America, the rodeo was not an attraction, because it was not very popular, I guess, in the places I have lived. But living in South West America will draw you to what the South West still does. And let me tell you: life here, on the ranch, is very much like Dallas. More brutal. More coarse. And less glamorous, but just as American country as it gets. And the rodeo is not verboten! On the contrary.

Here, it’s still a family tradition: every summer, people take their whole families, for a whole week, sometimes, to see ranchers riding bucking horses and bulls, little kids riding sheep and big guys lasso-ing calves. Teen girls curl up their blonde locks and wear Daisy Duke shorts and cowboy boots to meet their paramours over the announcer’s screaming the names of the next contestant. Little kids lick icy cones and watch the show with noses dipped in ice-cream and eyes as big as onions. Some eat peanuts, but corn dogs, funnel cake and cotton candy is what’s for dinner. And some people even bring bologna sandwiches from home. And people do say “yee-haw”, just like the movies.

And yes, my friends, I am here to tell you I partook in this tradition this year. I just wanted to be able to say that I have lived here and I have seen the customs that this country and this area call familiar to them. It is the old fashioned adage that “when in Rome …” that got me to do it. Is it low of me and superficial? Fine. I am willing to live with that. Do I know America better now? Somewhat. Am I happy I did it? Not sure if “happy” is the word, but yes, I like being able to “judge” this even having seen it myself, and not with outsider’s eyes.

Like anything human, it has good parts and bad. The animals are absolutely amazing. Cowboys really do take care of their horses! They are beautiful, and they are smart! Well groomed and well trained. I fell in love with the horses, for sure. They twist and turn and run in such ways that is graceful and amazing at the same time. Their dance of muscles and strength is beautiful.

The kids riding the sheep were simply adorable. They could not have weighed more than 40 lbs and they flew on those sheep backs! You also learn what the proper position of the rider should be on the horses and bulls and what disqualifies a rider. In the fight, if there is one, between the man and the animal, the animal almost always wins. Almost. Except for the tying of the bulls. That was brutal, and I could not watch it. We left right in the middle of that. I guess, so much for me trying the running of the bulls in Pamplona next year!

I know now that Americans didn’t really invent the rodeo – but the Mexicans did. They are surely responsible for promoting it, though, and keeping it alive. I also know that Canadians compete as well. I think all the various competitions in a rodeo have stemmed from the daily chores of the cowboys on their farms. Not sure if they still behave like this on the farms, but the craftsmanship lives on.

Moral quandary aside, I am glad I have first hand witnessed it.  It’s history, and tradition, in a way, and for that value I am glad I watched it. The energy as well as the patience and mathematical exactness of the handlers were an amazing tour de force of human stamina and even bravery. At any given point, the human skull could be crushed, but they pressed on. And the dance of the animals will haunt me forever. I am grateful I live this close to this (now) very American tradition and that I had the chance to try understand it and make my own choice. Knowingly.   

"It ain't never gonna be my first time at the rodeo anymore", but will this be my last?! Time only will tell ... 

 

Click on the picture for all the shots from that night. Made me really want a new camera ...

Shutting Off the Noise. Notes from Small Town America

On one hot lunch break at work, our company fed us hotdogs in the blazing sun, on the lawn in front of our building. I shared the table with one of our DBA’s (google that if you’re fuzzy on what it spells) and we started talking about our love of the Rockies – mine, of Colorado, my husband’s of Montana, and his – of Star Valley, Wyoming.  And although I drove through Star Valley a couple of times, en route to Jackson, WY and Yellowstone Park, the name didn’t ring a bell.

What better way to learn what Star Valley is but to drive up there for the weekend, right?! Plus, it’s North of us – remember my rule: head North in the summer, South in the winter – just like a bird.

Our weekend in Afton, WY (the heart of Star Valley and its largest town, at around 1900 residents) was one of the most relaxing, peaceful, simple and no nonsense good weekends we have had in a long while. Just a small town atmosphere, with no clutter, no noise, not even from RV generators, with homemade, fresh food, and gorgeous landscape and hundreds of miles of. We went away to find again the quiet in us, and that, we did.  

Here are ten clues that you are in small town America – as we have found them during those two days about week ago:

1. When we pulled up to check into Old Mill Log Cabins, we found this “welcome” setting on the front porch of the owner’s cabin. Seeing the picture my mom asked “was that to protect you from animals? Or people?” – well, I guess it’s still the Wild West out there, mom, it could be either. Or both.
    
    
2. After we checked in, we were told to go right ahead, drive to our cabin, which is unlocked, with the key inside. Then, when we would leave on Sunday, she would like us to just leave the key inside the cabin, and leave the door unlocked. And have a nice stay!
   
   The barn at the Old Mill Log Cabins complex
3. We had dinner the first night at Rocky Mountain Seafood - how brave is that of us?!, to have clams and octopus and shrimp in the heart of the mountains, thousands of miles away from the ocean?! – and the  waitress kept hugging the customers as they left with “love you, hon' “ – all of them but us and this other couple that we knew as our neighbors from the cabin next door.
4. People from neighboring towns, that made the drive for a nicer dinner to Afton and are not quite familiar with the restaurant’s staff, assume that everyone who works there is related to each other. Most times that is a safe assumption. It was not such at Rocky Mountain Seafood but the staff understood the presumption completely.
   
   Subtle: a sign of the times, in a shop window
5. There is a quietness and boredom about small towns. Especially on a summer afternoon, you feel like the air stands still. Oh, that feeling of “there is nothing to do and we’re just rotting …”. After dinner, we walked up and down Main Street in Afton, and there were very few people out, especially for a Friday night. That feeling of boredom glided through the warm evening mountain air. Teens were driving up and down the street, with windows down, in packed cars going 20 miles an hour, yelling profanities to the scattered, chance pedestrians. Adds just a tad of color to the bucolic landscape.
   
   Downtown Afton, WY on a weekend
   
   
6. We stepped into one of the two gift stores in town and the shop assistant was an old man. He was welcoming without being pushy and extremely witty. He gave us directions to a well known trail where we’d enjoy the Bridger National Forest at its finest, and we felt almost obligated to buy something from him. Which we did. He then wrapped our purchases in local newspapers. I am thinking of framing them with my favorite picture of that weekend, should I have any wall space left in my house to hang it in.
   
   
   The trail runs parallel to Swift Creek, towards the Intermittent Spring.
7. Because of the city taking over The West, in larger towns deer is completely unfazed by their proximity to humans. Here, on the roads behind the cabins, they were still skittish at the sound of the car engine and would not sit still for a photo. Wilderness is still untouched out there …
8. We’re used to not only being seated by the host(ess) in restaurants everywhere we go, but to wait for a while (sometimes close to an hour or more) for a seat. But in Star Valley, there is no host(ess) and no wait for a table. You seat yourself – take your pick. It’s never crowded.
9. I grew up partly in a small, retreated town in the mountains of Romania. Every year, when I would make the journey back to it, I always noticed how things never changed. There is a feeling that history is frozen in time, at some point in the past, perpetually, every time you go back, in a remote mountain settlement. This feeling was revoked when we walked into The Elkhorn Restaurant (of course, on Main Street) and saw a framed picture of president John F. Kennedy over the deli counter.
10. The number one way to tell you’re in a small, remote town in the middle of nothing but God’s beauty is that you’ll be watching your phone looping around for cell, internet and GPS signal all weekend long and draining its battery into the ground. After a while, you give up trying to connect to the world “out there”, and realize there is a whole world “right here” that needs your attention. This (forced) shift of perspective is refreshing.

You turn off the “other” noisy world you come from and you learn of a new dimension that still exists in today’s universe, but it’s so often turned off for us, city dwellers. No matter how fast the world is being overpopulated and overbuilt, I hope humanity will manage to forget about the remote corners of the world, and leave them untouched, so we could go for a weekend and get reacquainted with ourselves, our thoughts, and un-mute our internal voices once again. 

Drinking from the fountain of pure, untouched beauty and simple life is the best reward we can give to our too tired, too rushed and too shallow bodies moving through the muck of the daily grind …

Click on the picture to see the entire album from this weekend.