Is that all there is?

My first lilac to bloom

There was a song by that title (*details below) some years back and while in a recent philosophical mood, I thought of how it can apply to most of us and our lives. The song portrays the singer's experiences of a number of exciting events but when each is over, s/he always asks plaintively, "Is that all there is?"

Yes, life can be like that. Especially when we experience a significant event or change such as a new job, falling in love, even a divorce, a move etc. We go into the new phase with high hopes and the expectation that somehow everything will be much better, even perfect. And of course it's not. To some degree this situation echoes the old query about the neighbors in one's new home and the answering question:  what were they like where you used to live?

The bottom line is that we basically make our own environment because so much more of our emotions and responses actually come from within us than from the external events and influences that surround us. It's all in how we respond, how we perceive and react. We can be so surly and cold that we find no friends and that is not likely to change. We can be so fearful that we become paranoid and reject any kindness with suspicion until we can clearly see that indeed, "they" are all out to get us. Or we can try to keep an open mind and heart and reach out to others instead of waiting for them to reach to us. We can seek something positive from even the least pleasant events in which we find ourselves.

Over the years I have found that happiness does tend to be a fleeting thing, ephemeral to use one of my favorite 'big' words. Still,

Another gorgeous NM sunset

if I keep my eyes, ears and spirit open and aware, each day has its small miracles and moments of transcendent beauty. There are sunrises and sunsets, flowers and birds, someone's smile or kind word, an unexpected gift, letter or call from a dear one far away. Yes, these things are brief and far too quickly gone but should that detract from their value? Should we ask, petulant as a child whose new toy broke, "Is that all there is?" Or might we better appreciate and enjoy them while they last?

I prefer the latter. True, the good, beautiful and precious things are often fleeting. Too soon the beloved dog or cat, the fine horse and even the dear friend is gone out of our life, probably forever. Nothing we love or truly enjoy stays with us as long as we might hope and wish, yet they were there--for a time ours to cherish and enjoy. Afterwards, we can hold the memories inside and keep those moments and those dear ones with us forever. Or we can fall into grief and despondency, lamenting, "Is that all there is?" until we miss other special moments, events and entities that may come our way.

I admit to having my bad moods and a tendency toward depression at times but as the years go by, I come to accept and deal with the dark days while I do my best to recall the bright times and trust that others will come my way in however many hours or years remain for me. Perhaps "that" is all there is, yet if you take in total all the good, there is a great deal of it, perhaps even more than the bad. And, since I believe we are here to learn and grow in the deepest spiritual sense, good can even come from the bad experiences. We need to use them to learn, to see where we erred and perhaps how we at least in part may have brought them into our lives.

*  Details from Wikipedia: "Is That All There Is?" is a song written by American songwriting team Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller during the 1960s. It became a hit for American singer Peggy Lee and an award winner from her album in November 1969. The song was originally performed by Georgia Brown in May 1967, then recorded by Dan Daniels in March 1968, then by Leslie Uggams in August 1968, and Peggy Lee in August 1969, followed by Guy Lombardo in 1969, and Tony Bennett on 22 December 1969.^[1]

Peggy Lee's version reached number 11 on the U.S. pop singles chart - becoming her first Top 40 pop hit since "Fever," 11 years earlier - and doing even better on the adult contemporary scene, topping thatBillboard chart. It won Lee the Grammy Award for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance, and then later was named to the Grammy Hall of Fame. The orchestral arrangement on the song was composed by Randy Newman^[2] who also conducted the orchestra.^[3]

OWL and the coming anthology

My four friends of the Older Writer' League at the Alamogordo Senior Center and I  met this afternoon as usual. The five of us form the main movers and shakers for the upcoming memoir story anthology.

We are: George Frost--who is over 80 but active and sharp as a proverbial tack and has a wonderful sense of humor and many amazing tales to relate.  Jan Charles, a fantastic woman of African American ancestry who grew up in Ohio when segregation and active prejudice were very much a part of the culture. She also has a wonderful way of telling stories and mixes humor and anguish in an inimitable fashion. Carolyn Kittle, a native of Appalachia who still has a few of those mountain folk idioms and accents (reminding me of my Kentucky grandma) despite extensive education and experiences has a trove of wonderful stories to share. And Jay Brenner, a friend of mine from Arizona days who was instrumental in my living here today. She was another 'hillbilly' from West Virginia who left those roots far behind and also has had some amazing experiences including a two year stint as a contract employee in Iraq, supporting the soldiers there. Then there is me, the old mule skinner, cowboy girl and eccentric author.

You can well imagine the tales we share. Everyone reads something aloud and then we farm things out to be edited before we include them in the collection which will be published about September. It will be an ebook at first but perhaps in print at some point.  In time I will share some of their stories that I have to edit but for now here is one of mine. It is a little long so take your time!

And here is a photo from that time before you begin! The blonde with braids in the middle is yours truly!

The Camp Wood Boys

            I went to second grade in Jerome at Clark Street School for just a couple of weeks. After that, I began an interesting adventure as the only girl and for one year the youngest pupil in a tiny one room school in a remote corner of central Arizona.

            Camp Wood was not even a real town, merely a settlement hardly worthy to call a community. It did have a Post Office which was also a kind of company store, a sawmill and a school. It sat in the middle of the Prescott National Forest in Yavapai County, about seventy five miles out on gravel roads from Prescott, the town. Even that town, the county seat, was not a huge one in those days—the fall of 1950. Today’s Prescott Valley was nothing but a bare rolling grassland serving several ranches for grazing. The changes wrought by some sixty plus years are amazing.

            I had not been too happy in the Jerome school because I was still adjusting to being among a group of kids for the first time in my life and I was a misfit because of the way my parents dressed me and the experiences I had lived thus far. Camp Wood was a much easier adjustment for me! There wearing jeans or miniature railroad overalls was no odd thing. There were no other girls to compare to, certainly none in frilly dresses and patent leather Mary Jane shoes!

            The student body of the school consisted of a grand total of eight students. In the seventh grade were Bill Pehl and Jack Crow. They both came from the Yolo Ranch, one of the Green Cattle Company’s properties and part of the old Spanish Land Grant called the Baca Float. Bill’s dad was the foreman and Jack was the son of a cowboy and at least part Indian. I am not sure if Mervin Foster was in seventh or eighth grade. More on his family in a minute. The sixth grade was Fred Merritt whose dad ran the sawmill and whose mom was the Post Mistress and queen of the very small kingdom of Camp Wood. He often wore a Davy Crockett style coonskin cap with the ringed tail hanging down and I envied that no end!

            The rest of the students, scattered among the grades were all Fosters. Their dad was kind of the foreman and main sawyer for the saw mill. They were some kind of “hillbillies” and perhaps had come from Alabama, where the Merritts were from originally. There didn’t seem to be any girls in the family. The eldest, Norman, was out of school and working beside his dad. He was probably in his mid teens. Next was Mervin, already mentioned,  then LeRoy who was in the fifth or sixth grade, Lauren a grade or two lower and finally Ronald, who I think was in second grade or third. We all progressed at our own pace, really so grade designations were a bit artificial. I was, of course, the eighth pupil.

            The teacher was my dad, who had just gotten certified to teach in Arizona at the time. He, Mom and I lived in a tiny trailer which was smaller than a lot of today’s RVs and Campers. There was no electricity or running water. The school was served by two outhouses of the traditional variety. The first year we used an old rickety frame building. I guess it was heated with a wood stove but I really do not recall.

            Anyway, the boys all wore jeans or dungarees to school, mostly with polo shirts which were striped knit shirts, sometimes with a front placket but pull-overs instead of a full button front. Bill may have worn some western cut shirts, probably miniature versions of his dad’s work uniform. Cowboys wore Levis and long johns, denim or chambray shirts and jean jackets or leather coats lined with sheep skin for the most part. The saw mill people, Mr. Foster and the Mexican men who also worked with him dressed much the same, either bib overalls or dungaree work pants.

            I wore my overalls or jeans with high top ‘clod hoppers’ and flannel shirts or polo shirts like the boys, a jean jacket or sometimes the little red wool coat that my grandmother had made me. By then it was about car coat length on me although it had begun as a regular coat near knee length. I loved red at that time and really enjoyed that little coat which had a matching bonnet or hat with a strap under the chin to keep it in place.

            Within some limits, I played with the boys and we all had a lot of fun. We played a baseball game that had no teams—Dad called it “work up” since each player began in one position and ‘worked up’ through them all until he reached the at bat turn. I was no great athlete but played my positions and sometimes managed to hit a ball when my turn at bat came around. There were tag games, dodge ball and even crack the whip, I think. The next year after the new school house was built, we played “king of the mountain” on some piles of dirt left from the construction.

            The second year, we had a new building but still only a one room school. However it was less drafty and had shingled sides—probably asbestos (oh my!) and clean bright windows. Still a wood burning stove and still no electric lights but it seemed nicer. The old building became a kind of wood shop for the boys and Dad managed to get some simple basic tools like hammers, hand saws, pliers, screw drivers etc. The kids had a great time building things with the scrap lumber left over from the new school. I didn’t participate much but did play with some of the cars and things they built.

            Behind the school and the teacher’s trailer home there was a fairly deep arroyo. The boys soon cut roads in the banks and with “log cabin” syrup cans and other odds and ends created a regular little community and drove the trucks and cars they built up and down the banks. I joined in this some too. Still, I tended to do some girly things too and with sticks and pine boughs laid out some ‘houses’ furnished with a few boxes and odds and ends where I devised elaborate games to amuse myself. I could do that even when school was not in session and the other kids were not around.

            That second year, I think Mervin either graduated or quit and a new younger Foster came to school, Verlin, who was in first grade and then two years behind me.  At that point in my life, I hardly differentiated between boys and girls. I dressed much the same and except for being kept a close eye on by my parents, I did not experience a lot of different things during school than the other students. Since I had no girls to play with, the boys were okay and beat being alone all the time.

            Looking back on those days, I realize what a unique and amazing experience it all was! Not a lot of my contemporaries ever got to live such a thing. I am sure my education did not suffer, either, as the teacher was especially strict and demanding when it came to my lessons. I got a full dose of readin’, writin’ and ‘rithmetic appropriate to my grade levels. I mostly made B’s and A’s on my six week report cards which my Mom duly signed and sent back! In many ways, it ended too soon.

            I have not seen any of the other students since I left really, although I think a couple of them came by Clarkdale, where we lived, several years later, now ‘big boys’ past high school and working to put together a band! As for Camp Wood itself, from my research it appears that the community has gone back to the forest and few traces remain. A small sawmill would not be economically feasible now and although the ranches still exist, they are more often managed remotely by people who live in more settled areas and only visit as needed to care for the stock during round up and such. Perhaps one or two reclusive cowboys may reside in a small bunkhouse or line cabin but that’s it.

            I did look for a few names on the internet and may have located two or three of the former students, but never tried to get in touch. I seriously doubt they would recall me, just one pesky little girl who briefly passed through their lives… And I never did get a coonskin cap!

Oh my, I goofed!

When I posted some photos the other day I misidentified a couple of plants!
While it is accepted as an alternative name, Sand Verbena is properly known as Prostrate Vervain. Vervains are part of the rather small Verbena family.

Wild Radish, of the mustard family

But darn, the plant I called African Rue is really Wild Radish, another member of the rather ubiquitous mustard family. Except for the sunflower family, mustard is the most diverse and numerous group of western weeds! I have identified and photographed the Rue but it blooms later in the season and has different leaves. Here is the Wild Radish, correctly labeled. Shame on me for fifteen minutes for this careless error! And the very delicate white flowers that resemble Baby's Breath are another mustard, this one called Hoary Cress! That was one I had never identified before and it took some intense review in my go-to reference book.

Weeds of the West is a wonderful and well illustrated encyclopedia of darn near every plant that can be called a weed from New Mexico to Montana--the whole west is well covered. While some plants are regional others prevail through the entire region. The book is the collaborative effort of seven experts, mostly extension weed specialists in various states and/or affiliated with state agricultural university programs. It is published by the University of Wyoming and the ISBN should someone want to get it is 0-941570-13-4. The version I own was revised and reissued in 1992 but there may be a later version.

Tiny red blooming cactus of "pincushion" type

The color of spring

New Mesquite Leaves

For me, the one color that most means spring is the delicate green of new mesquite leaves. If I was to define "spring green" in a box of crayons or colored pencils that is exactly what the color would be. It seems so alive and vivid yet fragile and just stronger than pastel. Normally I am not a 'green' person but that hue is just special.

Creosote

Yes, spring is here. In the past week, all at once the mesquites have gone from knobby bare branches to small fronds of green that quickly unfurl into real leaves. The catkin-like blooms will follow soon. I walked on the ditch bank today--along a drainage arroyo not far from home--and in about a week since the last time the red dogs and I took that route, this sea change has occurred. Flowers of many kinds are out now whereas a week ago or less the only color was the creosote bushes whose acid green hue remains all winter long.

Spring flowers are mostly white with some lilac and lavender or other purplish hues. Oh, there are some yellow ones. but to me yellow is the fall color with the 'sneeze weed' sunflower type blooms, the cottonwood leaves and other foliage all in shades of gold. Now it is white--African Rue, some of the mustards, milkweed or Queen Anne's Lace (the tiny delicate mini-flowers in clusters, and then purple in the sand verbena, filaree and several other weeds. The mustard family has some yellow but also white and there are a number of varieties blooming now. They have colorful common names such as London Rocket, Shepherd's Purse (below) and such. Most are descriptive of the plant or its seed form.

Shepherd's Purse

London Rocket and Sand Verbena

Desert and high desert flora has always been fascinating to me since I grew up in central Arizona which is very similar to the local environment here in the Tularosa Basin. Many of the same plants prevail. And most of them I know. My parents enjoyed an association with renowned botanist Leslie N Goodding when I was very small and learned much from him. Over the years it filtered down to me. I enjoy knowing names of things since that makes them friends or at least acquaintances and not alien strangers! So I have learned minerals and rocks, stars, and of course the flora and fauna of my home areas. Now as spring bursts free, I look for old friends and greet them. Some are in the sky on clear nights and others surround me on those morning walks or drives into the hills.

Check in Time

I've been AWOL from this blog quite a bit lately. There are only so many hours in the day and as I nurse my sensitive and hyper-dry eyes along with a new treatment program--Restasis which is the only prescription available that may help--I'm trying not to spend all day staring at a screen.

Those who may be interested are invited to visit my other blog where most of the action has been the last two months. gwynnmorganalaska.blogspot.com  That's where I've been talking about the two thousand mile sled dog races and the women running in them, the focus of my in-progress book that has become a huge goal and purpose in my life. Now that the races are over and the season is rapidly turning to spring, even in Alaska, I promise to be here more!

Another activity I've been involved with which I may have mentioned before or not is OWL (Older Writer's League) which meets at the Senior Center here in Alamogordo every Friday afternoon. Five of us are most active and we're working on an anthology of essays and stories from our youth and pasts, which are widely different and yet in many odd ways quite parallel! I was already thinking of trying to do some sort of memoir and this project is moving in that direction too. So far I have done about a dozen pieces from 1500 to 4500 words and am reading and doing light editing on those of the other members. My friend Brenda Cockrum, who is working to grow her AZKatz Publishing Company is kind of the honcho for this effort and she's a go getter! Crack the whip and all that, but we are having a blast. There are four women and one man involved at present with others who come and go and may contribute some. I'll share some of  my pieces later and keep you posted as this develops.

Meanwhile spring is coming to New Mexico, at least the southern part where we live in the high desert. Lots of flowers and pollen and sneezes and such! The windy season is also coming although it hasn't been bad so far, no big dust storms in the whole state! But there will no doubt be some. I posted lots of local flora photos in the past but will try to get some new ones shortly.

Have a great spring, everyone! The photos are a nectarine tree in our yard and a shot of a fillaree plant, one of my favorite early spring desert blossoms.

Quilts and Spring time

Oh my, I have not popped in here as I mean to. I've been posting more on the Alaska blog since the Yukon Quest was run last month and now the Iditarod is underway. You can go over to gwynnmorganalaska.blogspot.com if you want to follow that.

Spring is still fitting and starting here. We have gorgeous days and yucky ones. No, no snow or really severe cold but just a lot of gray, some drizzle/snizzle wet stuff and wind. We did get 6/10 of an inch, which was very welcome, last week. The last couple of days clouds come up over the mountain almost like the summer rainy season "monsoon" stuff so we are now in the transition between seasons and that shows. Fruit trees are blooming like crazy, some iris and daffodils etc. are too. Lilacs are starting to leaf out. Many signs of spring appear on our morning walks and even the birds are serenading with spring sorts of songs. Soon, very soon. Then of course the windy season and a few inevitable 'brown out' dust storm days. No place is prefect but this winter seems to have been a bit more taxing here than the first three we went through. Still no huge snows, sub zero temps or anything really scary and rough. Count my blessings!

I finished the three lap robe sized quilts. Each one is different and both are two sided as I always make them. The last one I tied through yesterday. I'll put all pictures on my Pinterest page but here are the prime sides of each. They are "named"  Bridget's Cross, Celtic Camelot and Celtic Blues--all have fabric with Celtic inspired designs as a main component. Been fun! Now I really want to try some more scenery type hangings and get to work on some new jewelry ideas for the market as June will be here before I know it! Time flies, fun not withstanding.

Let sleeping dogs lie

I know about a dozen huskies--well, actually a number more than that--who are probably enjoying some well deserved rest tonight. That includes the eleven who finished the Yukon Quest on Allen Moore's Black Team in the wee hours of the morning today but I'm thinking more about my own canines now.

Like small children, there is something so sweet and precious about a sleeping dog. Even puppies who are never still a minute otherwise relax and look so angelic. My two red dogs often sleep close together on my bed, even when I am not there with them. They also have a special bond or synchronicity.

Rojito is a very sensitive little guy. He formed a special bond with Belle that

summer before we lost her when he was new here. He often laid down near her and followed her around outside. I think he understood whether by scent or just some innate awareness that she was old and ill and wanted to comfort and offer sympathy. He has those very dark and intense dachshund eyes, large in his delicate face. He can look at you very keenly at times but always with a tiny frown or bit of concern. That's different from Ginger.

Ginger like most of the Border Collie breed has that giving the eye or staring down trick they use on sheep and cattle to bring them into line. Many dogs will not get in your face and stare right at you; it is generally a threatening or challenging gesture to them. She will; you definitely have to be in charge with the BCs! She knows she cannot get me into or out of any herd LOL.

Still, there is a connection between them for all they are vastly different. Yes, they are both "my" dogs, "the red dogs", but it goes beyond that. Some people have mistakenly thought he was her puppy when we are out walking but that is impossible. Not only are they totally different breeds but she is about four now and he is at least eight! They really do not look alike except for the color. Right now he is almost more blond, faded by the sun on the outer layers of his coat.

Yet too many times to be chance, I have found them both on the bed with their four legs in exactly the same pose or a mirror reverse of each other. Not always of course, but often enough that it was not just a fluke! I even took pictures a time or two without waking them. BTW the tan is a dust cover sheet I use to protect my good quilts! They do get grassy and dusty outdoors.

So when they are napping after dinner and I am on the computer like now, I let my sleeping dogs lie and cherish the sweet peace about them, the contentment they are clearly feeling. They are safe, secure and at home, trusting that no one will harm or bother them here. In their time, they watch over me, too. One or both usually curl close against my back at night so that subconsciously I know I am not alone. After many years with a partner, being alone in bed is an empty feeling. No, I am not talking about sex here or even love, really but just the sense of another living soul nearby, the warmth and companionship. It's a precious thing that my sleeping dogs give me... I wish all who love canines much the same gentle pleasure.