June 27, 2022 (part 1)

I awoke early to the channel of winds traveling through the peaks in front of me.If i close my eyes, i can conjure a constant of torrential waves breaking. I unzip my tent to find there are no clouds today. Just blue. After poking my head out giving a thorough 360 sweep, i crawled out wearing a t-shirt. My eyes caught site of an eagle free falling, weaving it's way in and around these contours hunting for breakfast.The literature I'd read had my eyes peeled for these majestic creatures. I wondered what he could see that i couldn't, awaiting the swoop with a struggling creature in its grasp. These were not promising hunting grounds today, i surmized as he disappeared beyond to the ridge into the winds.

This got me to thinking of my own breakfast. I wasn't yet hungry but by the time it was all said and done, i would be.

Last night i heated my water for bathing. It was going to be 40 degrees and i could feel it dropping fast. I was racing against time for my cup shower as i saw the hourglass of the sun going down behind the mountains. Two gallons. One for my hair and one for my body.

My hair had gotten out out of control. It went wild with the wind and was unmanageable. I entered several establishments back in Utah to no avail, hoping i could sit through the toxic chemicals for a quick haircut.

This time i would not need the full gallon for my hair. On route here yesterday, i effortlessly walked into a salon (another sign of healing),and had a young man sporting a pink, short cut mohawk, chop it all off. I had not gotten a professional cut since I'd woken up bald one morning in a tent in Virginia. It was sudden, just like that. I remember not having a mirror and grabbing my phone after seeing the piles of hair on my pillow. I wailed into the deafening silence and grieved over the loss of my hair for days. It wouldn't have been quite so devastating if it was simply the hair on my head, but it was all gone. Everywhere. It was if i had leapt into a vat of Nair. No eyebrows, lashes, nothing. My hair was the best thing going for me now. It grew back with a vengeance. However, those simple days of agonizing over clippings from magazines and bad haircuts were no longer practical and seemed remarkably absurd. It feels hideously liberating.

So... the rig i had improvised for my propane stove was still in tact. I had a metal fold out auditorium chair i scored for 8 dollars. Ideally, i needed a table, but even one person needed so many things to make this kind of living work and my car was stuffed to the gills with necessities. Mostly campgear and water since my haunting fear is being without.

Last week when i was at this site, i turned that chair upside down and sideways and every whichaway until i arranged it just so...in order for it to be used as a table for my stove, as well a chair when i wasn't cooking something. I was pleased with my innovation here. The wind and flames would fuel the low lying brittle ground cover, if i wasn't ever so careful...a tinder box of fear.

Trouble came early this morning as i fixed the small propane canister to the stove. It began spewing it's cold noxious gas into the air. Knowing it was risky, i improvised, duck taping the nozzle end, long enough to boil water for my oatmeal. 2 minutes, i guessed. I oversaw the the entirety of the water simmering to a boil. The watched pot does indeed boil.

Well damn, i thought, as i scatted chunks of almonds, apples and fresh blueberries into the pot, am i leaving out of here to return this stove today? I have only used it a dozen times or so. It seemed crucial to me now. No, i told myself. I will do without. It's an hour both ways. What a waste. I have salad makings and had learned boiling eggs the night before is a healthy quick fix for protein. I will use those in my salad and they will be tomorrows breakfast as well with a hand full of almonds, an apple and some more blueberries.

It's not cloudy today, so the gallon water jugs will heat nicely in the sun. The jugs are dispersed over the grounds around my tent and vehicle strategically announcing low lying cacti. I still have yet to get a proper pair of shoes. My Chaco's need a closed-toe shoe companion. l'll eat early, bathe and crawl into my tent, i thought, so as to avoid the cold departure of this desert sun. Walking around on this steep uneven terrain is exhausting. I'm defying chronic fatigue daily.

Queena, my daughter, suggested i get a solar charger for my phone. It has been a lifesaver. Even without a signal, i still feel connected jotting down my stream of thoughts here...having a one sided conversation, and photographing the wonder of this seemingly barren land. (Saving it up to share with you kind folks even though my brain is a tangled web) I just keep rotating the little black panel as the sun moves across the sky.

After breakfast, i decided to walk the mile out to the other campsites and learned I'm truly alone out here, miles away from any human. I don't mind it if i don't ponder it too much. I'm cautious.

My real reason for going out, aside from exercise and clarity, was to look for a walking stick. The terrain is vastly different just one mile away. My tent resides in desert, whereas there is a creek that follows the winding road out of here with lush green bordering the banks.

I needed a tree in order to find a stick and they grew down where the water flowed.

I kept getting distracted by the wildflowers. The first time i came here, all i noticed was a treeless, rocky terrain splotched with various hues of green. Upon further inspection, i realized a plethora of wildflowers tucked away in sagebrush, cacti and giant rocks. The last time i didn't venture far as all i have for footwear are my Chacos. I wear them with socks for more protection. Still, sitting here gazing out into the distance, i see nothing but a blended landscape of low cropped shades of browns and greens. The vastness is deceiving.It takes the the training of the eye, like those with the keenness of spotting the treasured arrowhead.

So in my conundrum, i am juggling whether i should indeed go down to the water without a walking stick. All that i have read indicates that going near water warrants carrying one because of the possible encounters one might have with the animals. (This is a wildlife habitat, after all.) Waving a stick in the air can add to the "making one seem larger than life." In the end, as i have no one to come to my aid, i turned back to the site remembering a tucked away place where a single tree was down In a low trough that carries storm water and snowmelt. After venturing a little ways in, I spotted a tattered, billowing tarp rustling in the wind. It was filled with holes as if it had been there for quite some time. I was a little nervous i might come upon a human carcass, or worse, an escaped convict. Oh lordy, how my mind can wander. I was safe. No dead or living bodies to threaten my peace of mind. I did however, find an adequate walking stick.Task accomplished. Someone made a sort of nest here. A cove of rocks away from the wind, a stack of branches broken and sized for the next few fires. A level area of ground proper for a tent. A tarp to block more wind. It was delightful, but i could feel my body reacting to the water the shade had held, creating the environment my healing detests. I am nowhere near healed and it's going to take a huge amount of patience, endurance, and funds, none of which i can see materializing past this moment.The discomfort is so intolerable at times i think i will crumble. The blazing sun bringing heat in the daylight hours, the cold in the night, the uneven ground for walking and sleeping, the biting insects, the prickles, the incessant cold winds cutting through me as i pour water over my old body during the cup and bucket showers, the unidentifiable noises in the night that can only be from the wild animals, as there are no signs of domestic life here. My fears for tomorrow..My racing heart.The headaches, my challenged breathing.

This complaining moment is only me giving myself a pass for a tough go of it in hopes i will push onward. And so, i gathered up this crude walking stick making sense of how my hands would embrace this new tool, searching for a familiarity that might soon take hold and was grateful that something came my way to bring a little ease into my life.

I'm aware of how absurd and extreme this course of living may seem, and even trite in its explanation, but in my circle of the mold injured world, hundreds have healed in this way by removing themselves from a worsening toxic world. It is far more painful and unbearable to remain in your beautiful world for now. Suicide is a common tragic escape. It has crossed my mind more times than i can count. Those who I've leaned on can speak truth to this. When you don't fit, there seems to be no other way out. This is why i am here. The pain is less... if i can seek out and find the air that allows my body to no longer be threatened and thus be able to heal... Thank you for listening.