Knowledge of Rural Ways

Driving in the Snow

2012-02-13T16:57:00.000-07:00

When we left for Brian Head yesterday afternoon, the roads were dry. We drove to the top of the neighborhood on the Navajo side of the resort and started skiing through the woods. As we started skiing, the skies started snowing. We messed around for about an hour and by the time we were ready to head back to the truck, the snowing had become a pelting. I mean, it was coming down at two-inches an hour. It was like being on the losing side of a cosmic snowball fight. Back at the truck, the roads were no longer dry. In fact, on the way out of the neighborhood the low visibility coupled with the fresh snow on the ground made for some true winter driving conditions.

Unfortunately, true winter driving conditions and the typical Brian Head patron are not a good mix. Between the resort and The Homestead (~12 or 15 miles) we encountered five accidents, two cops, two plows, an ambulance, and a paramedic. It was mayhem. We stopped twice to offer help. The first stop was for a non-English speaking couple from San Diego. They were trying to find their lodge, but were spending most of the day in a snow bank. I helped free the vehicle a couple of times, but gave up after they buried it for the third time. (It was one of those silly new sport ute looking things. I have no idea what those things are, but it was totally not made for driving outside of a warm parking garage.) We got the folks into the Chev and delivered them to their lodge. I went in and talked to the front desk guys about the location of their vehicle and asked if they could send someone up for the luggage. They assured me that they would take care of their guests.

The next group (of three vehicles) had one large jeep high-centered on a huge snowbank and the other two vehicles stopped on the road for fear of moving. They asked if I could tow them off the snowbank. I might have tried, but it would have been an uphill drag and one of the guys wisely noted that I would probably end up slipping without tire chains. So, they waved us off, which was probably a good thing. A few minutes later, on the steepest part of the descent, we fetched up behind a slow moving sherriff with his lights flashing. He stopped, along with another cop, at what appeared to be a pretty bad accident. They were fully blocking the downhill lane, and I waited for them to clear the oncoming lane and signal that it was safe to go around.

There were a couple of vehicles on the hill behind me and I soon discovered that if you are driving a Cadillac Escalade from California none of the rules about emergency vehicles apply to you. As I slowed to a stop and started to get out of the Chev to communicate with the sherriff, the Cadillac pulled into the oncoming lane, passed all of us, barreled down into the cops and skidded past on the opposing shoulder. (Unfortunately, Ellen immediately heard some less than edifying commentary from me about a certain kind of person, and I heard Valerie explaining that I was stressed.) It is one of those situations where you shouldn't actually hope that someone will meet their demise, but you sort of hope that someone will meet their demise.

In any case, we made it home in about an hour, and were amazed to find the road snow-packed all the way to Parowan. There are probably two lessons to be learned from our apres ski adventure. One, it may be poor judgment on my part to stop and try to help people. I may be adding risk to what my family is experiencing, and sometimes you just really can't mitigate the effect of people's behavior no matter what you do. Two, exceedingly foolish, not to mention dangerous, behavior is directly correlated to the fanciness of the California sport ute. The more expensive the vehicle the more likely it is that its operator will be unfamiliar with the normal consequences of their own foolishness.

The Books of Boyce

2012-02-13T15:46:00.003-07:00

I was in a bookstore the other day standing in front of a rack of books when I suddenly thought of Ronald Boyce. Boyce is gone now, but I remember Dee Benson saying that when Boyce was working at the federal district court in Salt Lake, the other judges would save themselves (or their clerks) a trip to the library by stopping in to ask him to help resolve a case. He was, according to Benson, a comprehensive encyclopedia of criminal law—and not just American law either, but he knew details from every jurisdiction in the world.

That story may be apocryphal, but it is certainly true that when Professor Boyce passed away his widow donated his entire personal library to the University of Utah. When the library staff arrived to catalog the collection, they discovered that the Boyce home was bulging with books—there were tens of thousands of volumes. I remember thinking at the time that the total equaled one book for every day of Boyce's life. Even more remarkably, his family testified that he'd read every book. I'd hate to think that the house was full of books only about crime. Better to think that Boyce was a polymath, and that he read books about everything there is. Anyway, in his honor, I've added his textbook to my reading list for the month. Boyce may have had it memorized, but I'll need to see the actual printed pages.

The Prototype

2012-02-10T15:03:00.000-07:00

Those who read Rural Ways each day know that we have a big problem with deer. Actually, deer are probably an issue everywhere, but at The Homestead we would almost certainly lose EVERY living green plant to the deer during the spring and fall browsing seasons. So, something must be done. We've sprayed, and covered, and, of course, fenced. Nothing has been fool-proof . . . until now. Pictured above is the prototype of a new weapon in the war against deer. As you can see, it is primarily a defensive weapon, but defensiveness is really our only option.

The prototype tree cage is six feet tall and two feet wide. It was built in two hinged pieces, which are bolted together. Remove the bolts and the two sides fold flat. Thus, it can be stored during the summer when the herd has migrated to the plateau. In the picture, the prototype is not anchored, because the ground is frozen, but when properly deployed this fall, it will have at least two anchors so that it cannot be blown or pushed over.

The only problem with the prototype is its cost. The materials alone were around $50, and then it took several hours to assemble. That might be fine if we had just one small tree to protect, but we've got at least a dozen. The task now is to move from the prototype to a production model that, ideally, can be built for about half as much. Most of the tree cages that we used this past fall were ad hoc constructions using old fencing wire. Those are far cheaper to deploy, but they are fiddly, ugly, and difficult to disassemble. Hopefully we can improve on the old model without spending thousands.

Trees with Bad Character

2012-02-08T08:59:00.000-07:00

At Rural Ways we have some experience with tree cutting and removal. Unfortunately, most of the experience has been bad. Nevertheless, Tiger recently asked me to help him remove a tree at his house. He was aware of my poor track record, but must have felt that I had learned from my mistakes. The tree in question, pictured above, was a relatively small silver maple (Acer saccharinum), and Tiger first asked me for my opinion of the tree. It was a request that he soon regretted. I went on at length about the poor form, weak wood, and shallow roots of silver maple trees in general, and of this silver maple tree in particular. Tiger soon noted that he'd got my point, and he started the chainsaw to drown me out. From that time on, things went pretty well. We had the tree on the ground in less than an hour, and there was no bodily injury or property damage to speak of. As I packed up my tools to go home, however, I couldn't resist mentioning that I thought Tiger would be much happier with his life now that the tree—with all of its poor character traits—was gone. I'm sure he just rolled his eyes.

Seed Production and Dissemination

2012-02-02T07:48:00.000-07:00

We were skiing through a stand of spruce seedlings on the plateau the other day and I was suprised to see many of them bearing cones. They struck me as too juvenile to be engaged in seed production. So, I looked it up. The book answer is that these spruces can be so slow growing as to be 40 years old by the time they reach five feet in height. Many of these have not reached five feet, and I doubt that many of them are 40 years old either, but they may not be as young as they look. In any case, can my alert reader name the species based on the size of the cone? The answer is here.

On the Feet of Eagles

2012-01-29T08:13:00.001-07:00

I was walking in Dry Canyon the other day when the movement of a large animal in the brush beside me caused me to start. I thought it was deer because it was about that size, but it turned out to be a golden eagle. The eagle had been on a deer carcass next to the trail, and as I walked past, it took off and flew ahead of me up the canyon. It landed down low on a shrub, watched me for a moment, and then came back down the canyon, flying so close that I could almost have touched it. It was a huge bird, with at least six feet of wing and talons fully eight inches from front to back.

I didn't see the eagle again that afternoon, but I went back the next day to see how much deer meat it had consumed over night. The eagle wasn't visible, but its footprints were obvious in the snow. On at least two occasions, it had walked a considerable distance from the deer carcass up into the rocks along the side of the canyon. Along with the footprints were wing prints. With every step or two, the eagle would flap its wings to help with propulsion, leaving the feather prints there in the snow, too.

I followed both tracks until they ended, looking for clues about why an eagle would walk in the snow. I mean, if you had wings like that, wouldn't you use them? The first track ended atop a three foot boulder not far from the trail. The second continued on and on up the side of the canyon over snow slick boulders. (It may not have been difficult walking for an eagle, but I fell several times. Fortunately, Rural Ways has a hard A.) When I got to the top of the track, there was nothing. I had been expecting to find a piece of the deer that the eagle had dragged to a more favorable dining location. The carcass was surrounded by coyote tracks and I figured that the eagle had tired of bickering with a canine after every bite.

But there was nothing. There were no deer parts, there was no blood or gore, there was no evidence of an eagle picnic. The track just stopped. It was like the maker of the track had grown wings and flown away. And, indeed, it had. But why? Why walk to the top of the canyon before take-off? Was the eagle's belly so full of carrion that it needed a launch pad?

Exclusive Preview

2012-01-26T15:13:00.000-07:00

Every so often Rural Ways publishes a sneak preview of an unfinished piece from Valerie's easel. These exclusive showings are available only to readers of Rural Ways—both of them—and are not available to the average art collector. The pictured work is from a scene captured at sunrise on the Green River near Mineral Bottom. The 24x30 painting is a stunner, and I expect there will be a bidding war for it when it is finished. So, figure out what you can afford, and get ready for the auction. I doubt you'll have to pay more than five figures.

Vermillion Castle Campground

2012-01-24T17:18:00.000-07:00

In the mid-1930s, the Dixie National Forest managed a campground on Bowery Creek about five miles from Parowan. It was called the Vermillion Castle Campground after the name Adalinda Thorton had given the area in 1887. The campground is still there, but today it is called the Five Mile Picnic Area—no camping allowed. In any case, campground facilities were constructed in the mid-1930s by a CCC (or similar) crew. Many of those facilities are still in relatively good shape. The picture, above, was made by (I think) Forest Supervisor Betenson of the Dixie in 1937 (about 75 years ago), and it shows a picnic shelter constructed in 1936. The image is the property of the Forest Service, but has been scanned and archived by the Sherratt Library at SUU. The image, below, was made by Rural Ways, yesterday, and it shows the same picnic shelter.

You can see from the older picture that there was a fair amount of oak around the structure in 1937. You can see from the newer picture that there is a lot more of it today. There is also considerably more juniper, a good bit of additional mountain mahogany, a few pinyon trees, and some sumac. In short, the area is much more densely vegetated today than it was 75 years ago. This is, of course, not news to those who have studied the ecology of western forests over the past 150 years. It is likely that the vegetation in this canyon was impacted by wildfire on a somewhat frequent basis prior to European settlement circa 1860. The wildfires were probably not of high intensity, but they maintained a relatively open forest. It is my guess, however, that there have been no fires in this canyon for at least 75 years, and maybe not for 150 years. As a result, the forest is no longer open, but is packed so densely with vegetation that you can no longer see through it in most places. This vegetation will, of course, burn again—there is no way to permanently exclude fire. And, as much as I hate to say it, I suspect that this picnic shelter will not survive the next blaze. I just hope everyone from Parowan does.

The Return of Winter

2012-01-22T07:26:00.000-07:00

It is 19F degrees this morning and there is snow on the ground. This is the first time we have had complete snow coverage at The Homestead since well before Christmas. It has been pretty consistently 50F and sunny for four to five weeks. It might have been enjoyable if it weren't so strange. Fortunately, things are feeling a little more normal this morning. The 48 hour forecast is for more blustery winds and up to three more inches of snow by Tuesday. In addition, Alta is reporting a 24 hour snow-fall total of 22 inches. That is more like it.

Where-To-Go Service

2012-01-15T17:07:00.000-07:00

Do you ever see one of those magazines—usually they are outdoor recreation or healthy living magazines—that have a monthly feature article about the best place to go do this or go do that? You'll see Outside magazine on the rack and it will have a blazing headline that says, "Top Ten Wilderness Areas to Visit this Year." What is that all about? I recognize that these magazines, despite their "green" editorial line, are simply celebrations of consumption, but do they really mean it? Can you actually write an article like that? Presumably, the reason that something is a "top" wilderness is because it has strong wilderness characteristics. But, can it have strong wilderness characteristics if you have just encouraged your millions of disciples to consume it?

This kind of foolishness is not, evidently, new. Aldo Leopold wrote about it 50 or 60 years ago. This is what he had to say: "Knowledge of the whereabouts of good hunting or fishing is a very personal form of property. It is like rod, dog, or gun: a thing to be loaned or given as a personal courtesy. But to hawk it in the marketplace of the sports column as an aid to circulation seems to me another matter. [T]hese organized promiscuities tend to depersonalize one of the essentially personal elements in outdoor sports. I do not know where the line lies between legitimate and illegitimate practice; I am convinced, though, that 'where-to-go' service has broken all bounds of reason."

In my opinion, the only reasonable thing to do with these where-to-go services is to take careful note of them. I, in fact, use every one of them as a means of developing my "never-go" list. If a particular park or natural attraction in southern Utah appears on a top ten list in, say, Sunset magazine, I add it to my list of places that I will NEVER go. And, perhaps, the writers of these columns have figured that out: If you actually like a place, don't put it in the list, because the thing you like about it will be destroyed. If you are, on the other hand, entirely sick of the Zion National Zoo, put it on your list. It has already been wrecked, so you might as well continue to funnel the hip-hop gangsters, the hippies, and the euros through its gates.

That is what I would do anyway. So, if you ever see one of those lists from me, you can rest assured that I am naming places on my never-go list. If you have, on the other hand, any interest in a quiet canyon where you might be able to sit and listen to the sound of a wren, come and ask me. I might, as a personal courtesy, loan it to you.

Family Olympiad

2012-01-13T16:49:00.000-07:00

The weather in southern Utah this month has been spectacular. Day after day it has been 45 to 55 F with clear, blue skies and bright sunshine. It would be great if I weren't worried about the snow-pack. I'm sure the alpine skiing is terrible, and it's not much better in the back-country. But, just for something to do, I went up to our ski meadow along Center Creek and put in a couple of tracks. The snow is thin and sugary in the shade, thin and hard in the sun, and generally not very forgiving. In any case, I put in a cross-country track and a downhill track. Then, I invited Valerie up for a race.

We went up today and made two laps each in both events. V was first on the leader-board with a cross-country time of 4:04. I'd skied it yesterday in about that same time, so I figured we'd be close. Well. The snow was a little faster today (either that, or I rose to the competition). I made it around the track in 3:06. V stepped up to meet the challenge, hoping to knock me out of the top spot. Unfortunately, she went out too fast and crashed on the first corner. She posted another 4:04, (so it makes me wonder what she could have done without the crash). I had the gold medal wrapped up as long as I wasn't DQed, so I skied without any pressure. My second lap clocked at 2:57. Wow. I'd broken the 3 minute mile and set a new course record. The crowd was going wild.

It was on to the downhill competition. For the first lap, we both clocked 15 seconds. Can you have an Olympic tie? For my second lap, I adopted a technique that Valerie had been using—a couple of strong pole pushes on the flat right before the finish line—and cut a second off my time. I scored a 14. She, for whatever reason, was one second slower on her second lap, and came in at 16 seconds. It was close, but I'd earned my second gold medal of the day. Fortunately, Valerie didn't seem bitter about my big winning streak. In fact, she mentioned that she might drive up to the track herself when I'm busy. Oh-Oh, it sounds like she might be about to start practicing.

Paranoia

2012-01-08T08:47:00.000-07:00

Every other day, if not every day, Rural Ways can be found wandering around in the hills. Whether it is an hour scrambling in the Parowan Valley foothills, or a full day in San Juan County with the girls, I like to be out looking around. On Friday, for example, I went part way up the Vermillion Castle Trail where I found the mountain mahogany tree featured in the POW. Unfortunately, those innocent activities have put me into constant contact with law enforcement personnel. Since my post regarding a near-arrest at Maverick, I have been stopped three times in the backcountry—twice by the Utah DNR and once by a federal LEO. I have been starting to feel paranoid. There is no probable cause, and I am simply walking around on public land. I told Tiger the other day, who spends plenty of time wandering the hills himself, that I can only conclude that they must think I 'm a poacher.

Sure enough. The little local newspaper came out the other day, and it featured this story: DWR Launches Massive Poacher Patrol Effort. Bingo. So that is what is going on. Law enforcement is "carrying out the largest winter range patrols ever conducted in the state." Evidently a couple of hundred deer are poached in Utah each winter, costing the state $242,800 in lost revenue, and the Division of Wildlife Resources has had enough. (I'm all for enforcing the laws, but everyone knows that there are too many deer in the state and that a patrol officer costs probably $80,000 or $100,000 per year in salary, benefits, and truck, so is it really worth it?) Because law enforcement is "saturating" the same areas where I like to go, we are, I guess, destined to spend a lot of time together this winter. They could, however, save some effort by putting a note in my file (since they all have access to my record via their on-board computer) saying: This slack-jawed, half-wit is just walking around with his camera. Don't waste your time.

Monthly Energy Costs

2012-01-06T14:34:00.000-07:00

The numbers for December have come in, and we've compiled Rural Way's monthly energy data for 2011. There is some good news and some bad news. First, the good news. In contrast to the past two years, we were not stunned by our December energy costs. For 2011, December energy costs were just under $120; in 2009 they were nearly $203. We also managed to eliminate most of the August spike which was such a problem last year (about $90 in 2011 instead of $118 in 2010). The bad news is that our average monthly energy spending has not budged very much over the years. For 2009, the average was $109/month; for 2010, the average was $109/month; for 2011, the average was about $104/month. I guess we saved about $60 last year when compared to 2009 and 2010. On the other hand, we invested approximately $1,000 in four small (10,000 btu) natural gas space heaters during 2011. They are much more efficient than electric heaters, but, by my calculations, our monthly energy cost savings will take 17 years to pay for the new heaters.

Of course, one of the benefits of the capital investment is a much higher comfort level. Before the small gas heaters arrived, morning kitchen temperatures during the winter would generally be in the high 30s and low 40s. Now they are at least 10 degrees warmer right off the bat. In addition, we now have heat in both the office and the studio, which is new. So, we have added winter comfort to an additional 300 square feet of indoor space. Probably a better way to calculate this would be to figure out our costs per square foot of area heated. We'd see a much bigger savings that way. One other piece of interesting news is that Questar, our natural gas provider, puts out data comparing the gas consumption rates around the neighborhood. For December 2011, the average consumption of our nearest 100 neighbors was 9.6 decatherms. We used 4 decatherms. As regards our carbon footprint, I guess we've earned the right to feel smug and self-righteous. Regrettably, instead of being righteous at Rural Ways we're just cheap. I'd rather have the $120 back.

Up Yet?

2012-01-01T08:16:00.001-07:00

Last year, on January 1, the temperature at The Homestead was minus seven, today it is nineteen, . . . above. What a difference a year can make. Aside from the air temperature, the thing that can most affect one's comfort in southern Utah is the sun. If the sky is not cloudy, and it rarely is, the sun will have a very strong warming effect. To have such an effect, however, the sun must be above the horizon, and this is where I have detected a flaw in the construction of The Homestead:

Looking due east from The Homestead (at approximately 75 degrees if you are following along on your compass), there is a low spot in the horizon line that surrounds the property. From this low spot, if you follow the horizon towards the south, it rises steadily until it reaches a high point along the ridge at a place called Valentine Peak. Valentine Peak is southeast of The Homestead (at approximately 125 degrees on the compass).

In the northern hemisphere, the sun will rise out of the east on the day of the summer solstice; for the winter solstice the sun will rise out of the southeast. The astute reader can now—doubtless—predict the, ahem, direction this post is headed. With the position of The Homestead, the sun has the greatest horizon to surmount on the morning of the shortest day of the year, and the shallowest horizon on the morning of the longest day. It is exactly the opposite of what would be comfortable and efficient from a heating and cooling standpoint.

Let me explain how it works in practice. On or about June 21, Rural Ways will be working very diligently in the yard at 6a. The temperatures will be warm and the sweat will be starting to flow, but all the work must be done by 6:30a because that is when the sun will rise (from the low spot in the horizon). From that moment, the day is shot. I mean, no one can work under the "death rays." On or about December 21, on the other hand, Rural Ways will be sitting by the wood stove at 8:30a. The outdoor temperatures will often be in the single digits and everything will be frozen—the ground, the truck, the work boots. It will be hard to get anything done until 9a because that is when the sun will rise (above the high spot on the horizon). From that moment, the day is useful. The temperature will generally shoot up 30 degrees—making for very nice working weather.

It is too late for The Homestead, but let this serve as a warning to you. When you are looking at property to buy, ask to view it before sunrise (and bring along your compass). You may determine that your dream home is actually poorly situated vis-a-vis the horizon line, and that there is actually a better location for the family farm.

Road Canyon

2011-12-31T08:33:00.000-07:00

Last year, we were chased out of Road Canyon by the darkness. It didn't bother me so much, but I guess Valerie felt as though we had unfinished business. So, this week, we went back. Instead of clouds and rain like last year, we had bright sunshine. We made it to the bottom of the canyon by noon.

It is my belief, and I am still searching for conclusive proof, that the trail we used to enter the canyon was originally built by the Mormon pioneers of the San Juan Mission (AKA, the Hole-in-the-Rock party). The reason I think this is that it had several dugways like the one they built to climb to climb San Juan Hill. In addition, Road Canyon is in a direct line from "The Twist," which is a famous part of the HITR trail, and the bottom of Comb Wash, which the pioneers followed all the way to the San Juan River. Finally, the place is called "ROAD" Canyon. Duh. Why else would it be called that?

In any case, the canyon itself was (as you might have guessed) spectacular, and the access was so poor as to keep out most of the tourists. There were a few older tracks, but we had the whole canyon to ourselves this week. We found a few old Anasazi graneries, a few potsherds, and some tool-making sites. We climbed on rocks, ate our lunch, and wandered upstream and down. And, best of all, we made it back to the truck before dark.

Pictures HERE.

Montezuma Canyon

2011-12-29T07:13:00.001-07:00

Eight hundred or twelve hundred years ago, many people lived in Montezuma Canyon, perhaps thousands of people. When we visited yesterday, there was no one living there, (although we did pass one party driving a Subaru). In their absence, we looked at some of their stuff. We looked at their crockery; we looked at their rock art; we looked at their graneries. We even climbed down into one of their kivas—this kiva has been rebuilt by the BLM.

Christmas Eve

2011-12-26T07:54:00.000-07:00

For Christmas Eve I skied up Dry Canyon. The girls were busy with church, and we weren't due at Grandma and Grandpa's until the morning. I'd hiked up a little earlier to see how the light would be, but returned too late in the day. It was only 3p, but the sun was gone down low and the only action in the canyon came from a couple of guys with semi-automatic rifles. I figured I would ski longer than they could shoot, and I was right. They were gone by 3:45p, but I slogged upward through 18 inches of sugary snow with a crust on top.

I chased the sun for about ninety minutes. At every curve of the canyon I thought I might break out into its brilliance, but it was setting faster than I could ski. I finally gave up and scrambled up the canyon wall. Unfortunately, the thing that makes for a good ski boot makes for poor contact with the rough side of 5.4 off-width crack. So, I stuck mostly to the brush filled gullies and wallowed up until I had, at least, a view of the setting sun. I sat there and let the sweat dry and munched a few dry crackers. I tried the camera, but knew that it would struggle with the division between dark and light. It was time to give up and go down.

I glissaded off the ridge on a field of loose scree, my camera and tripod flopping. I skidded down into the darkness of the canyon bottom and onto my skis. It was around 5p—still, silent, and cold. This is when time stands still—or I wish it would—alone, on skis, in the mountains, in the growing dusk. I fell once, hard, when my skis hit a rock and I tried to save the camera. Where the shooters had been there was now a small herd of deer and they watched as I stopped to look at the casings—a .22 and a .223. In the dark, I put my skis in the car and drove home.

Cutting a Christmas Tree

2011-12-18T08:07:00.000-07:00

When you buy a Christmas tree cutting permit from the Forest Service, it comes with instructions on what you can cut. Around here, the Dixie National Forest issues the permit, and they only allow cutting of pinyon pine, juniper, and the true firs (white and subalpine). You may not cut any other pines (pondo, limber, bristlecone); you may not cut any spruces (blue, Engelmann); you may not cut Douglas fir; etc. It always makes me laugh. Do they really expect the average schmo from Vegas to know the difference? Heck, I'm a professional and I sometimes can't tell the difference without a good look at the leaves and cones. (To give the Dixie credit, this year's permit came with a page of photographs of each different species.)

Sure enough, when we went out to cut a tree for Grandma and Grandpa, the first likely patch of conifer saplings we encountered had been heavily cut for Christmas trees. They were, of course, very nice looking blue spruces. Being mostly law abiding at Rural Ways, and not having ignorance for an excuse, we pressed on up the canyon in pursuit of a pinyon or a white fir. We examined a couple of nice round pinyons, but discovered that their roundness was due to multiple stems. Finally, along the banks of Center Creek, under a heavy canopy, we found a small, reasonably well-shaped white fir. Let the Christmas season commence.

Early Christmas Gift

2011-12-17T07:51:00.000-07:00

Someone in Parowan knows what Rural Ways likes for Christmas. We found two bundles of seasoned hardwood on our front porch. It was such a good gift that we tossed it straight into the fire. With current outside temperatures in the low teens, our hearts have been, er, warmed by such generosity. Thanks, Tiger.

The Great State of Mississippi, Pappy O'Daniel, Governor

2011-12-16T07:52:00.000-07:00

Actually, I don't know whether Pappy is still the governor or not, but I do know that Mississippi comes top in a number of key measures. According to the Census Bureau, Mississippi is leading the way in poverty and obesity. With a day off from the woods of Alabama, I figured this was something I needed to see. Plus, Keith, one of our frequent contributors, went to college and grad school at Mississippi State, so I thought it might be good to check their accreditation.

It takes somewhat less than two hours to drive from Tuscaloosa to Starkville (which, from what I understand, is pronounced "Star-vool," the second syllable rhyming with "wool.") I arrived to find a ghost town. The semester had evidently ended without my being notified. So, I parked and wandered through the quiet campus. It was very nicely landscaped and, despite being built to handle 19,000 students, it had a small college feel. After looking into a few academic buildings and peering through the fence to see where the bulldogs play, I eventually found my way off the campus and into The Little Dooey.

Call me a quick learner, but I have begun to discern that barbeque is an important lifestyle commitment in the southeastern United States, perhaps second only to college football. Each town, village, or neighborhood has its own favorite barbeque and the debate over which one is best may sometimes rise to the level of whether the Crimson Tide deserves to play LSU next month. (OK, so I'm exaggerating, nothing rises to the level of what the Crimson Tide deserves.) In any case, The Little Dooey appears to be one of Starkville's favorites, and the pulled-pork I ordered was as warm and soft and sweet as anything I've tasted.

After stuffing myself, I decided that the only thing to do was nap for the rest of the day, so I got ready to head back to Alabama. I had failed in my attempt to check Keith's credentials, and I had been unable to confirm any of the household income data, but I had learned one thing: If every meal in Mississippi tasted like the one I'd just had, there is no doubt that Mississippi is the fattest state in the nation.

Speaking of Loblolly

2011-12-15T09:59:00.000-07:00

We were out working by Gabe's Corner the other day, and Lonnie, from McAlpine Logging, had just finished cutting a 25 year old loblolly (Pinus taeda) plantation. I can see why the loblolly is favored as a timber investment. That is one productive tree. The stump pictured below is 18 inches in diameter. There were others in the plantation that were larger. Some of the growth rings were an inch across. On average, these trees made 3/4 of an inch of wood each year. Easy money, huh?

Longleaf Pine

2011-12-11T08:29:00.001-07:00

The longleaf pine (Pinus palustris)—named for its 15 inch needles—was once common across the southern United States, forming pine savannas along the coastal plain, among other places. Like other fire adapted pine species, longleaf populations began to decline in the years following European settlement due to fire suppression and timber cutting. Today, however, the longleaf is recognized as an important ecosystem component, and a critical part of the endangered red-cockaded woodpecker’s lifecycle. As a result, longleaf pine restoration is a major objective of public forest management in places like Alabama.

The longleaf is a productive tree, often growing to 30 inches in diameter in around 100 years. The one pictured got its start circa 1900 and reached 27 inches before being felled by the recent Tuscaloosa tornado. While a mature longleaf pine looks like other yellow pines—like a ponderosa, for one—the seedlings and saplings are very different.

The seedlings, in fact, do not look like trees at all, but appear grass-like. They grow in this “grass stage” for several years and, despite their apparent fragility, are not killed by the ground fires that kill other seedlings. After a few years, the seedlings shoot up into skinny saplings, often reaching six feet in height before producing spindly branches. At this stage, they look like green pom-poms on a stick—or like Dr. Seuss characters—with their long needles floating around them in a halo.

Longleaf pine currently covers just five percent of its former range. It has been replaced, in many cases, with the somewhat faster growing loblolly and slash pines. Longleaf seedlings are available for planting, however, and you can get 1000 plugs from the Meeks’ Nursery in Kite, Georgia for just $190. At that price, I don’t know how you can afford not to plant them. I wonder if they would grow well in southern Utah?

View From the Office

2011-12-04T07:25:00.001-07:00

Earlier this year, the city of Tuscaloosa, Alabama suffered a direct hit from a tornado. The storm also wiped out many acres of national forest timber. So, this week we are working on tornado clean-up in Alabama. The basic idea is that we get what wood we can from the trees that are on the ground, while preparing the site for a new forest of, hopefully, southern yellow pine, which is greatly favored.

The Talladega National Forest is more open, more hilly, and more piney than I expected. I thought we would be working in a deep, dark swamp, but we're not. It is a lot like the ponderosa pine forests of the west: Many relatively open stands, maintained by fire, and full of big, pumpkin-colored pines. Aside from the fact that I don't understand the language they speak here, it is a nice place to work during the winter.

Tilling the Garden

2011-12-03T04:49:00.001-07:00

Each autumn at The Homestead, we like to rake up all the leaves from the yard and till them into the garden. Last year, I turned the garden by hand, with a spade. I worked at it little by little, and it took a couple of weeks. This year, I didn't have the time to turn it myself. For one thing, we had so much windy weather that the leaves kept blowing out of the garden and into the yard. I was tired of raking. But, I also had to travel for work, and wasn't going to be around. So, I went and rented a rototiller from Home Depot.

This is a yearly issue. How are we going to get the garden tilled? For a couple of years we had our friend Mr. Free from Paragonah come over with his tractor. He did a good job, but you need some space in the yard for him to turn around. We have been planting trees and expanding the garden, so there is less and less space for a tractor. Plus, despite his name, he doesn't work for nothing, so his cost needs to be compared to other costs. My father-in-law has offered to kick in some cash to help us buy our own rototiller, but I'm loath to do it. For one thing, the good ones start at five or six hundred dollars, but what I really dislike is needing to store it. I mean, we only till the garden once or (at most) twice a year. So, we'd need to have a tiller in the shed for 363 days of non-use every year. Instead of doing that, I'd prefer to continue using a spade. Unfortunately, with 150 square feet of garden, the spade takes more than one hour of labor, which was about all I had this year.

In any case, Home Depot rented me a Honda tiller for $52 for four hours. I went over the garden about four times in one hour, sprayed the tiller clean with a hose, and returned it for them to keep in the store for me until next year. I think it is a pretty good deal. The price is comparable to what Mr. Free would charge, the garden looks great, and I don't have to trip over a rototiller in the shed all winter.

A Tale of Perfect Innocence

2011-11-27T20:35:00.001-07:00

Rural Ways was detained by state law enforcement personnel today. Well, not detained, exactly, but certainly interrogated. I was standing at the gas pump at Maverick in Cedar City ($3.10/gal for regular; the place was packed), when I noticed a DNR cop pulled up nearby. I guess he was looking at me, but I didn’t pay any attention—like I said, the place was packed. He must have been running my plates, and pretty soon he was joined by two or three other trucks, including a K9 unit. Just before I finished what I was doing, he strolled over.

He wanted to know where I’d been all morning. They’d had someone involved in an illegal shooting incident in the Parowan foothills and the accused had been driving a “green Chev.” I told him that I’d come to Cedar City about two or three hours ago for church. He asked me how many guns I had in the truck. I told him, “none,” and offered to let him search the vehicle. The truck was, of course, covered in mud, which had not gone unnoticed by the cop. I told him that I’d got the mud when I was cutting firewood last week. He admitted that the mud seemed dry. “Besides,” I said, “I’m in Cedar City, not Parowan, why are you looking for me here?” He told me that the shooter had last been seen headed for Cedar City. After another minute, he said, “Well, I guess you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’re free to go.” So, I went.

While driving back to Parowan, I told Valerie the story. “The sad thing,” I said, “is that, when the guy ran my plates, he got nothing. No speeding tickets, no parking tickets, no jaywalking tickets, nothing. I’m surprised he bothered to come and talk with me. I’m so boring it’s boring. I don’t drive fast, I don’t play cards, I don’t chew tobacco, I don’t dance, I don’t carry guns, I don’t listen to rock music, I don’t even have a bumper sticker. If the law enforcement database is really thorough, the guy knows that I turn off the lights when I leave the room, I don’t stick my chewing gum on the bottom of the waiting room chair, and I put the seat down after I pee. If I weren’t so pathetic, I’d be funny.”

“Maybe,” said Valerie, “they’re looking for Cruz.” That wasn’t a bad idea. Cruz is our youthful next-door neighbor who does throw the occasional party and often listens to loud hip-hop music. He also drives a green Chev. Anyway, when we got home, Cruz’s truck was gone, and the town cop drove up and down our street a couple of times. So, maybe they were looking for Cruz? Um, nope. A few minutes later, Cruz pulled up with the music blaring. He was wearing his jammies, looking a little hung over, and, in his hand, instead of a sig-sauer, he was carrying a super-slurpee. Cruz looked like he had just crawled out of bed and stumbled over to the Sev for breakfast. I don’t think he was a wanted man.

Despite the lack of criminality in our two-Chev neighborhood, I do hope they caught the bad guy. I mean, the law enforcement officer who stopped me seemed so disappointed by my innocence that I almost felt bad for him. “Sorry,” I told him, “I wish I could help you.” I guess I wouldn’t have seemed like such a failure if I’d at least carried a gun to church.

The Fruiting Habits of Junipers

2011-11-27T07:37:00.004-07:00

Tiger and I were wandering around out at Jackrabbit Mountain earlier in the week, and we noticed that many of the juniper trees (Juniperus osteosperma) were packed with cones. The trees were so loaded with fruit that they appeared white (not that you can tell from this picture). In any case, we got to wondering about whether this kind of cone crop was a normal yearly occurrence. Because not every tree was covered with cones, I first wondered if Utah juniper trees were dioecious. (I can't pronounce that, but it means, essentially, that there are female trees and male trees.) Nope. According to the entry on Wikipedia, the Utah juniper is largely monoecious, with both sexes on one tree. So, then I wondered about the tree's periodicity. (I can't pronounce that either, but it simply refers to the typical time period between good cone crops.) I couldn't find any information about the periodicity of the Utah juniper, so I looked up two closely related trees. The western juniper (Juniperus occidentalis) produces good seed crops nearly every year, while the Rocky Mountain juniper (Juniperus scopulorum) produces heavy seed crops every two to five years. Assuming a similar cone production habit for Utah juniper, we shouldn't have been surprised by the good crop, it probably happens every year or two.

Answers to Life's Questions

2011-11-20T15:14:00.004-07:00

A week or two ago, my brother-in-law asked me for some advice, which I was happy to provide. Upon further reflection, however, I realized that, in these times of woe and want, people are looking to Rural Ways for help. People want to know how to answer the hard questions of the day, and they are coming to Rural Ways to borrow from the wisdom found here. As a result, it is probably important for Rural Ways to publish thoughtful responses to some of those difficult questions. I will start with a short essay in answer to my brother-in-law. He asked, "Would you burn eastern white pine?"

While Rural Ways does not currently have access to a supply of eastern white pine, the question goes deeper than that, and the answer has three parts: accessibility, collection efficiency, and heat production. We'll address these in order.

The first issue you'll face in choosing what to burn is accessibility. In other words, can you get it on the truck? There is lots of great wood out there that is totally inaccessible. You can be driving along the highway looking at a veritable woodlot on the opposite side of a river canyon, but you're not going to burn any of the wood unless you first build a highway bridge. Most of the wood I collect is on the National Forest. Firewood gathering there is limited to 150 feet of designated roads. If you see a good pile of wood that is 300 feet from the road, you're going to have to carry every stick of it 150 feet. (Or, use a wheel barrow, which I have done.) Thus, the first rule of going to cut firewood is that you may spend half your day looking for it. It's not that there isn't plenty of firewood, it's that you have to be able to drive to it. I found a huge pile of dead spruce yesterday, but I decided that it would take too much hiking to get it from the woods to the truck. So, there it sits.

The second issue is collection efficiency, which is the technical term for how many minutes you will need to run the saw for one stick of wood to put in the stove. You can go out in the woods right now and drive up to a pile of dead oak. It is pretty good wood (see the section on heat production) and it will practically fall into your truck. But, the growth habit of the tree is totally against you. It is skinny, twisty, and branchy. You can spin and turn that chainsaw like Houdini, but when you are done you've got just four or five sticks in the truck and a bunch of tiny branches on the ground. The best fuel is straight, round, and branch free. I know, it sounds hard to come by, but some trees are going to be better than others. A forest grown spruce, for example, will often be straight and branch free for 20 or 30 feet.

The third issue is heat production, which is really the question that my brother-in-law was asking. Will I have to fill my stove twice an hour with this stuff, or will one good chunk burn all night? The real answer to this question is that beggars can't be choosers. Which is to say that, if you can drive up to it, buck it and load it, and be home for lunch, you'd darn well better take it. Sure, some wood is going to burn longer and hotter than others. In my part of the world, I would prefer a dense wood like pinyon or oak over a light (papery) wood like aspen or true fir, but if I can drive to a pile of dead aspen, I'll take it sooner than I'll walk up and down the mountain with an armload of pinyon.

My brother-in-law lives on the east coast, and the wood in question had been cut by someone else, but was available to him to use if he wanted it. So, what did I tell him? You will get more BTUs out of a cord of eastern hardwood than you will out of a cord of eastern white pine. So, if you have a choice, sure, burn hardwood. But, this is free wood. All you have to do is drive up to it, load it, and take it home. So, yeah, I would burn it. It meets the accessibility and collection efficiency tests, and it is a lot better than burning a snow bank.

The Breaks of the Paria

2011-11-17T11:14:00.001-07:00

I put the Chev in four wheel drive and crawled over one more bad spot—steep, abrupt, and loose. “There,” I thought, “that should put me beyond the reach of the drive-by killers.” Yeah, even in the middle of a cold November week, they were out. California, Arizona, Nevada, even Pennsylvania. It was a who’s who of license plates. Zoom in, stop, step out, snap a picture, close the door, floor it, zoom out. This is Kane County, Utah, the Walt Disney World of the west. There are dozens of attractions. Drive fast enough and you can check another one from your list before dinner time.

It was my own fault. I wanted to hike up the Paria, starting at the old town site, but I was only thirty miles from Kanab. The road to the river was generally good enough for a regular car, so there was nothing to stop them. Until now, at least. The road down the side wash was rough enough to require a little commitment—I thought—and that is one thing a tourist doesn’t have. The sun was low and the light was beginning to glow. I parked in the wash, got the camera, and began a slow stroll through a little clump of white hoodoos. It was quiet.

Briefly. Then, brrrroom, crash, here came one of those new four door jeep wrangler hard tops that look like a Hummer—hammering in and out of the wash without any hesitation. He was from California. He stopped by my truck—because tourists don’t like to be alone, and they don’t like to let you alone either—jumped out, snapped a picture, jumped back in, swung around, and pulled up next to where I was standing. He opened the door, heaved himself up into a patch of bitterbrush, and said, “I’m here to do what you are doing.” He was, of course, wearing shorts. “No,” I thought, “you’re not even dressed. I doubt you are here to do what I’m doing.”

Mr. California pulled a brand new Canon off his neck—more hardware than I can afford—and told me, “I just got this, can’t even figure out how to work the settings, what are you doing with yours, hey, that rock over there looks like a walrus.” Creacheeck. Creacheeck. He pounded the shutter a couple of times. “At least the light is pretty good,” I said lamely. “Well, have fun,” he rejoined. He jumped back in the Jeep and was out of sight in seconds.

It just goes to show that, what I think takes commitment, doesn’t anymore. I won’t leave a graded road and venture into the Utah back-country on a cold November night, unless I’m prepared to take care of myself. I’ll have on a pair of pants, for one thing. But, I’m the only one. Modern sport-utes and cell phones have removed all sense of commitment. Commitment to what? I’m just here for a quick picture and then off to watch TV at the Holiday Inn Express. If I get stuck, I’ll call the AAA and tell them to bring sushi, so I can eat while they pull me out.

I thought about that while I lay under a bright moon with a cold wind ruffling my sleeping bag. I wasn’t quite warm enough and, being November, it was going to be a long night. How easy it would be to get up, throw my crap in the Chev, drive back to town, and check-in at the Parry, where John Wayne used to stay. Who am I to blame the drive-by crowd when I like a little luxury myself? I mean, why put up with the inconvenience of a cold night in camp and the need to make breakfast in a cutting wind?

Twelve hours later, I had my answer. I was sitting on a boulder on a little bench at the confluence of Kitchen Canyon and the Paria when I heard a rock fall in Kitchen Canyon. It wasn’t a large rock, and it didn’t crash down, it just toppled over, maybe brushed by a walking deer or something. But, hearing it, I realized that it was the first sound I’d noticed in hours. The toppling rock broke, just for a second, an immense stillness. When the rock settled, the stillness returned. Sure, the wind was rattling the dry leaves of the cottonwood, the creek was chattering over small rapids, and the canyon was full of migrating mountain blue birds, but none of this disturbed the silence. I was surrounded by perfect silence. And, it was deafening.

It was also depressing. It was all I had, and it was time to start back. If I didn’t start moving, I wouldn’t make it home before I was expected by my family. Against the weight of silence, I picked up my depression and began to walk. As I walked, I thought of C.S. Lewis: “For a few minutes we have had the illusion of belonging to that world. Now we wake to find that it is no such thing. We have been mere spectators. Beauty has smiled, but not to welcome us; her face was turned in our direction, but not to see us. We have not been accepted, welcomed, or taken into the dance. We may go when we please, we may stay if we can.”

Pictures HERE.

From the Easel

2011-11-14T13:42:00.001-07:00

Gerhard Richter, says The Economist, is "the world's foremost living painter." Well. How do you get to be that? It doesn't seem to hurt your case if you 1) are as important as Jackson Pollock; 2) have a show at the Tate Modern; and 3) sell $80 million worth of art in one year. It also helps to have a dealer who "selects buyers carefully."

VSO happens to be the "foremost living painter" at Rural Ways. She does not fling paint in quite the manner of Mr. Pollock; has not received a call from the Tate; and generally sells less than a million dollars of art each year. Despite the differences, it is important to note that, from here on out, we will be selecting our buyers carefully. For example, you may only collect her most recently completed work (pictured above) if you tell us that you like it.

Timeline to Two Hundred

2011-11-13T11:59:00.003-07:00

When Steve Jobs passed away a couple of weeks ago, every article I read contained a timeline: 1974, Steve Jobs invents the computer; 1976, Steve Jobs becomes a millionaire; 1980, Steve Jobs fired from Apple; 1985, Steve Jobs invents movies; 1989, Steve Jobs becomes a billionaire; 1994, Steve Jobs invents music; 1998, Steve Jobs becomes a trillionaire; etc. Though slightly less well known than Steve Jobs, Rural Ways thinks that a timeline is a good way to show how far we've come. From a humble beginning nearly three years ago, Rural Ways has quietly become a publishing phenomenon. Now, as we celebrate two hundred posts, it is time to take a look back at the people and stories who have built this site into the juggernaut it is today.

January 1, 2009. Rural Ways enters the blogosphere with its first post.
May 1, 2009. Rural Ways goes debt free . . . no mortgage, no credit cards, no loans, nothin'.
November 12, 2009. Rural Ways nearly loses the chainsaw while preparing for winter.
January 7, 2010. Rural Ways turns one.
March 26, 2010. Rural Ways moves into the dining room at the Homestead.
August 6, 2010. Skunks decimate the food crop at the Homestead.
December 25, 2010. Rural Ways spends Christmas at San Juan Hill.
January 1, 2011. Rural Ways turns two.
April 27, 2011. Rural Ways fences out the chickens.
September 4, 2011. Firewood cutting begins for another winter at the Homestead.
November 13, 2011. Rural Ways turns two hundred . . . posts, that is.

Date With Destiny?

2011-11-10T12:45:00.004-07:00

Stories of our vehicles are common at Rural Ways, especially stories of the Sable—a living legend. More than two years ago, we were ready to say goodbye to the car because it had been diagnosed with inoperable transmission failure. Read about it HERE. Since then, we have driven it another 15,000 miles, including multiple trips to Salt Lake or Ogden and back. The transmission periodically acts as though it is finished, and then rights itself and keeps going.

Last week, however, we noticed a new noise coming from the motor. I thought it was a bad bearing in the water pump or the air conditioning compressor. But, we took it over to Reese for a diagnosis. Nope, he said, not the water pump: The camshaft bearings are bad, and you need a new engine. The guy practically kicked Valerie and the car off his property because he didn't want the motor to break apart in his yard. He told us to get it to the junk yard before was too late. So, naturally, we're still driving it. I mean, one terminal illness is no worse than any other, right? (As my father-in-law is always saying, "I'll probably die with it rather than from it.")

In any case, I am concerned about having the Sable give its all in the middle of a busy freeway, so we are now under a very tight travel restriction—it goes no farther than the True Value. Plus, I talked to the guys over at the salvage yard, and they told me that they'd give me $150 for it if they had to pick it up, and more if I could get it to their yard myself. (The auto salvage business has got to be the last redoubt of the professional thug . . . I've never seen so many dim-witted but over-muscled guys with vicious dogs in my life.) The best way to ensure delivery to the junk yard is to drive it over there right now, but, who knows, maybe the thing will go another two years.

The Civilization of the West

2011-11-08T09:30:00.004-07:00

A friend of mine, Colonel Benson, tells a funny story on himself: He was interviewing the guidance counselor at a school to which he was considering sending his son. The person, hoping to influence his decision, told him that the school would teach his son about the history, the culture, the art, and the philosophy of the "west." Benson was sold. He'd grown up in Montana, and his forebears had been fighting the wilderness for generations. He was thrilled that his son would become familiar with each of the Mountain Men. It was only later that Benson realized that the "west" meant Homer, Cicero, and Constantine, not Glass, Sublette, and Johnson. Benson, of course, did not need to tell anyone that story, but he used it as an introduction to his favorite book, which he was in the process of lending me. The book is called, "Crow Killer, The Saga of Liver-Eating Johnson."

While Crow Killer is a fast-paced, non-fiction (but partly legendary) account of one of the most famous nineteenth century Mountain Men, what struck me about it was that it was a story of loss. As each successive wave of settlement has crashed over the American west, the country has changed, and those who were here before have felt the loss of what they knew. The authors do not speculate regarding the feelings of the tribes—the Crow, the Shoshoni, the Flathead—as the Mountain Men began to bring change to the country, but they finish the story by noting that the Mountain Men themselves regretted the end of their own era and hated the influx of wagon trains, railroads, and cattle herds.

And on and on it goes. The "west" is now home to more than 30 million people, and rare is the corner unreached by motor or cell phone. While there is some fake (finger pointing) remorse from the pseudo-environmentalist soul patch crowd, the fact is that as Americans we want it all: We want wilderness this morning and a brew pub at happy hour; we want the back-country after breakfast and access to commercial air travel by 3pm; we want to stop development by noon and fill up our tanks in time for the commute home. I guess, like Colonel Benson, we should all have a laugh at ourselves and hope our kids grow up knowing both Homer and Hugh Glass. (My reader was probably wondering how I was going to try to tie this whole mess together. Tada.)

Long Term Repeat Photography

2011-11-06T06:27:00.007-07:00

Cameras have been around long enough, and there are so many good older images available, that it is now possible to return to areas that were photographed decades or even centuries ago and repeat the process. The outcome of long term repeat photography is not only visually interesting, but has been used by scientists to assess landscape level anthropomorphic change. (Perhaps most famously, at least in my line of work, by Charles Kay.) The technique is, however, only effective when things do change. Over the course of 100 years, vegetation may change, but, often, geology does not. Which makes the business of long term repeat photography difficult for those of us making pictures of rock.

The photo-graph to the left was made by E.O. Beaman in 1871. Mr. Beaman was a member of Major Powell's second expedition, and he made this picture at a place that the expedition called Bowknot Bend. At image left is a view looking downstream along the Green River; at image right is a view looking upstream along the Green River. In between is a large plateau that forces the river into a six or seven mile bend. Beaman carried the heavy photographic equipment of his era up the left side, and was picked up by the rest of his crew on the right side after they floated their three boats around the bend.

Almost exactly 140 years later, Rural Ways made this second picture, standing, without knowing it at the time, almost exactly where Mr. Beaman stood. Clearly, very little has changed, geologically speaking, since JWP and the boys were here. Two things can, however, be noted. First, on the extreme left edge of the 2011 image there is a faint scuff of sand along the far riverbank. The scuff marks the edge of a dirt road. The road is open to the public, which means that modern photographers will, almost surely, be making pictures with the roar of ATVs in their ears. This is a joy that I doubt Mr. Beaman had the pleasure of experiencing. Second, the large sandbar, visible at lower right in both images, is now covered by Tamarisk or Salt Cedar (Tamarix ramosissima). Salt Cedar is an aggressive non-native plant that was introduced to North America in the early 1800. It does not appear to be present in the Green River riparian area in 1871. Today, it has obviously covered most of the long term sandbars along the entire waterway.

In any case, I'll close this post with another quote from my favorite river narrator from 1871, Frederick Dellenbaugh: "The next morning we remained here till ten for views, and then we left Beaman on the summit of the low dividing ridge, where one could look into the river on either side and see a point which we rowed more than five miles to reach. On the right bank we stopped for dinner, and when it was about ready several of us crossed, and, helping Beaman down with his heavy boxes, ferried him to our side. The opposite bank was no more than one thousand feet in a straight line from our starting-place of the morning."

Cat and Mouse

2011-11-03T08:53:00.004-06:00

"If any will not work, neither let him eat." Did the Apostle Paul intend for his famous admonition to apply to cats? Because, if so, the pictured feline will be seeing a drastic reduction in the daily distribution of kibbles.

One of our neighbors has been dealing with a mouse infestation, brought on primarily by the presence of loose chicken feed out by his chicken coop. As the fall weather strengthens, we are beginning to see a spill-over effect. It seems that mice, not knowing where the property line is located, have been coming to The Homestead for shelter. Once inside, they have been snuggling in for the long winter. There is no way that Rural Ways is going to share a pantry with mice, so I have been trapping them.

While killing mice is a somewhat unpleasant task, I would be much happier about it if I hadn't just spent the last six years sheltering a cat. If the cat can't take care of the mice, why am I supporting her? I suppose that we have been too soft. We have supplied her with store food for many years, which is likely to have blunted her native ferocity. Perhaps some rationing of the free food is in order.

(The fact that the object of my ire is currently napping in front of the woodstove is not helping her case.)

Heating Improvements?

2011-11-01T17:18:00.003-06:00

It is November 1st and, right on time, we've got a cold, blustery winter storm blowing through: Lows in the teens have been forecast. Fortunately, over the summer, Rural Ways added 10 bales of insulation to The Homestead. In addition, we renovated the screen porch and added a ventless gas heater to warm it. Two more heaters are either installed or planned for the bathroom and bedroom, respectively. With all that, you'd think we'd be living like those people from Vegas who have adopted shorts, flip-flops, and tank-tops as a uniform. Well, you'd be wrong. For one thing, heat isn't free, and for another, it doesn't work when it is turned off, which, under the frugal regime at Rural Ways, it often is. So, pull on the long-johns, the sweat-shirts, the Sorrels, and the ski hat, and get ready for winter weather . . . indoors.

Seven Times Twenty Makes One Hundred Forty

2011-10-30T07:46:00.004-06:00

The girls came along for yesterday's firewood run. I told them to wait in the truck while I felled a couple of trees. The first, a 12-inch blue spruce, went as planned. The second, a 12-inch cottonwood, was hollow in the middle and broke off while I cut it, falling directly into the middle of the creek. So, instead of two nice trees to buck and load, I had just one, . . ., and an old top that someone had left, and a dead oak stem, and a broken juniper, and on and on. The girls started loading the truck, but it was one of those days where we were picking and plucking, one six inch stick at a time. It was going to take us all day to fill the truck.

About that time, I decided to take a whack at the butt end of an old Douglas fir that someone had felled and left laying on the hillside above the truck. It was 21 inches in diameter, nine or ten feet long, and wedged between some boulders. I could see why they had left it. Because my saw has a 16 inch bar, I had to cut half of it from one side, and then go around and cut the other half from the other side. I got one round off without hitting a rock, and Valerie rolled it down to the truck. I almost quit there, but decided to try the other end. Fortunately, it broke off before I got to the bottom, so I didn't have to risk hitting a rock on that one. At that point, the log was small enough—six or seven feet—that I could pick up one end and flip it over. I only strained three muscles doing it, and it put the log out into the open, away from the boulders. I was able to make four more cuts, rolling the log to avoid cutting all the way to the ground, and voila, we had seven rounds to put on the truck. It was all I could do to lift each one, but when I was done the truck was FULL. It had turned out to be a good morning after all.

When we got home, I put one of those rounds on my chopping block. I split the whole thing just to see what it would yield. I got 20 pieces of firewood out of one round. I didn't split all seven rounds, but, by my math, that would make 140 chunks of firewood. Each morning when I get up, I burn four or five chunks of wood to warm the house before the girls get out of bed. Without complicating this post by including too many lengthy calculations, I would say that our seven disks of 21 inch Doug fir will give us about one month of warm mornings.

Labyrinth Canyon

2011-10-24T16:41:00.012-06:00

Whenever we are floating, with our cell phones and car keys, overtaken by parties of yuppies with the latest in high tech gear, I can't help but think about JWP. He launched from Green River, Wyoming in 1869 with nothing but the shirt on his back and no hope of help from AirMed. By the time he reached the mouth of the Virgin River, he had been given up for dead. He had been on the river for months and had not tasted a single burger from Ray's Tavern or ridden for a mile in a Subaru. Yet, despite the seeming hardship, he did it all again in 1871.

Sometimes I wish I could go back and do the trip the way he did it, but I have to admit that when the Chev started on Sunday morning and hauled us two thousand feet to the top of Horsethief Canyon, I was glad we didn't have to walk. I guess I'm as soft as anyone. In fact, it was luxury the whole way. We had brats on the breach near Dellenbaugh's Butte, curry across the river from June's Bottom, ravioli at Spring Canyon Point, and home-made chili at Cottonwood Bottom.

And the weather . . . sparkling from start to finish. Which is not how Major Powell and the boys found it in 1871. For them, it was cold and wet. They strung tarps upon oars and built bonfires to warm up. But, really, I need to let Dellenbaugh tell the story of Labyrinth Canyon. He does it better than I ever could, and gives you a feel for it that is unsurpassed.

"No sooner had I arrived at the camp than the sky which was leaden and low began to drop its burden upon us. Packing up could not be done till the rain slackened, and we sheltered ourselves as well as we could. As we waited a deep roaring sound from not far off presently fell on our ears and we were puzzled to explain it till an examination showed a recently dry gulch filled with a muddy torrent which leaped the low cliff into the river, a sullen cascade. The San Rafael, too, was a booming flood. We packed the boats as soon as we could and ran down about two miles and a half to where the first boat was. Cliffs bordered the river again, 50 to 100 feet high, then 200 or 300, and we saw we were in the beginning of the next canyon called from its winding course, Labyrinth. Over these straight walls hundreds of beautiful cascades born of the rain were plunging into the river. They were of all sizes, all heights, and almost all colours, chocolate, amber, and red predominating. The rocky walls, mainly of a low purplish-red tint, were cut into by the river till the outside curves of the bends were perpendicular and sometimes slightly more than perpendicular, so that some of the cascades fell clear without a break. The acres of bare rock composing the surface of the land on both sides collected the rain as does the roof of a house, and the rills and rivulets rapidly uniting soon formed veritable floods of considerable proportions seeking the bosom of the river. This seemed the most fantastic region we had yet encountered. Buttes, pinnacles, turrets, spires, castles, gulches, alcoves, canyons and canyons, all hewn, 'as the years of eternity roll' out of the verdureless labyrinth of solid rock, made us feel more than ever a sense of intruding into a forbidden realm, and having permanently parted from the world we formerly knew."

Click here for pictures.

The Demise of Highway 14

2011-10-16T07:48:00.004-06:00

When I posted on Friday, October 7, I noted that southern Utah had received its first snowfall of the season. What I didn't mention is that it was a major winter storm with lots of moisture. Well, sometime during that night, State Highway 14 over Cedar Mountain was wiped out by a landslide. This is a very narrow part of the roadway going up the canyon where there has been evidence of slumping and sloughing before. In this picture, the highway enters at the bottom right corner, and exits towards the upper left in the shadow of the cliff. The big blob that fills the middle of the picture is earth and forest and mountain. It has relocated itself to where the highway used to be.

As you might have guessed, State Highway 14 is currently closed. This is what the Utah Department of Transportation has to say about it: "Employees are working to address safety concerns and assess repair options." Um. Is that bureaucratese for "we-got-no-freaking-clue?" I'm no road engineer, so perhaps I am over-reacting, but when an entire mountain-side pushes half a mile of highway two hundred feet down the slope and into the river, is repair an option?

Identifying the Blues

2011-10-08T07:54:00.003-06:00

The Utah State Tree is the blue spruce (Picea pungens). As a result, you'd think that it would be common within Utah and easy to identify. Well, I'm not sure. In southern Utah, hundreds of thousands of acres are composed of Engelmann spruce (Picea engelmannii) only, not a blue spruce to be found. For that reason, whenever I see a spruce tree out of the corner of my eye, I assume that it is an Engelmann. That can, of course, lead to some acute embarrassment because sometimes I'm wrong. So, here is the question: How can you tell, with a passing glance, whether your spruces are blue or Engelmannii? If I have time to examine the cones, I think I can get it right, but how about during a drive-by? Any tips? (Hint: In this picture, the blue spruce cone is on top, the Engelmann spruce cone is on the bottom.)

First Snow

2011-10-07T06:26:00.002-06:00

Working at 9400 feet in the foothills of Colorado, I wasn't surprised to be snowed on yesterday. It was, however, a bit of a shock to hear that the girls were shoveling snow at The Homestead. OK, maybe not shoveling, but they got snow in southern Utah, too. When I left there a few days ago it was still topping out in the low 80s, so it's been quite a turn around. While I'm glad it is cooler, I'd like the snow to wait until I have all my firewood in.

View from the Office

2011-10-05T05:42:00.002-06:00

This week the office view is of Pike's Peak. We're working along the Rampart Road just north of Chipita Park. We're supposed to be planning group selections for a mix of ponderosa pine, limber pine, Douglas fir, and aspen. This would, on the other hand, be a good place for slashing and burning. The stands are still relatively open, and a moderate fire would set back the shade tolerant advanced regeneration (Douglas fir and some Engelmann spruce) while preserving the legacy pines and stimulating aspen sprouting. Unfortunately it is very difficult to find a window for smoking 1,000 acres within view of 600,000 people, so broadcast burning may not be a realistic option. That leaves group selection. Oh well, it beats a week sitting at the desk.

Japan Visits the Falls

2011-09-28T17:44:00.003-06:00

I was on my way back from Footbridge Falls, which is just a few minutes away from The Homestead. As I walked, I could hear some loud voices. After a while, I encountered a pair of Japanese men decked out in the latest, well, adventure gear, I guess you call it. It is that stuff that REI insists you must have in southern Utah. I don't know quite what it is, but, you know, the three-sided, wicking, cooling, shading techno-hat with the long back that looks kind of like a mullet, and all that other stuff. Anyway, in broken English one of them asked me which way to the falls. I gestured, and tried to explain. They looked confused. So, I raised my voice, because everyone knows that when someone does not speak your language the way to help them is to shout. It seemed to work. They smiled, and nodded, and moved off down the trail. Probably they had no idea what I was talking about, but didn't want to risk having me explain it to them with a bullhorn. In any case, I'm often surprised at how the little, local sites that seem so mundane are on the itinerary of the international traveler.

Howard Haight's Graffito

2011-09-25T07:07:00.004-06:00

Throw a coke can out the window of your car today, and it is just trash; let it lay by the roadside for 50 years (or more), and it becomes a "cultural resource." Likewise, graffiti: Leaving your tag today is vandalism, but leaving it yesterday is part of our heritage. In southern Utah, and around the west, the bark of an aspen tree has long been viewed as the billboard on which to leave your inscription. To me, an aspen carving from today is an annoyance, but a carving from 50, or 70, or even 100 years ago is worth noting. I stop and wonder, was this the work of a lonely cowboy, a passing tourist, or a ragged hunter? I try to imagine the shape of the forest and the size of the tree on the day it was carved. Could this artist have imagined that his work would last for seven decades?

I found this particular note from Howard Haight in the mountains above Cedar City on a tree that is still alive. Yesterday, I found a carving from 1934 on a dead tree near Yankee Meadows. Since the average lifespan of an aspen tree is probably around 80 years, finding stuff from the 1920s and 1930s is likely to be near the limit. Indeed, the oldest record that I have is from a tree on the Sevier Plateau. It is dated September 22, 1921. When your carving celebrates its 90th birthday, I will no longer consider it to be trash.

Featured Artist

2011-09-20T08:58:00.003-06:00

It is a busy week for the talent at Rural Ways: Valerie has entered both the oil painting and mixed media competions at the Escalante Canyons Art Festival. At this event, many of the best outdoor painters in the region put their skills on the line for a chance at several thousand dollars in prizes. Past winners have included Doug Braithwaite, Brad Holt, and Daryl Thomas. Valerie has entered six times before and has collected a prize on five of those occaisons. In my opinion it shows that she can go toe to toe with the big names. Of course, there has never been any doubt that I consider Valerie to be one of the top painters in Utah—and I don't care what anybody else says, I've seen a lot of art work in the past ten years, so I know what is good. Not only that, but Valerie has been selected as the Featured Artist at this year's event. Another well deserved honor. She has painted more than 200 works from the Escalante area. It is a record unmatched by any other painter. Ever. Tired of my bragging? OK, just one more thing: The word on the street is that Valerie is currently creating a masterpeice of Powell Point (pictured). Powell Point is a landmark made famous by John Wesley Powell who is reputed to have mapped the Grand Staircase from its summit. For those who call Escalante home, the first sight of Powell Point coming up out of Red Canyon, with the Sevier Plateau to the north and Johns Valley ahead, is the signal that you're back in your home country. Alright, I'm done. But, if you're in south central Utah this weekend, stop in to see Valerie in Escalante . . . and bring your checkbook.

Carbaryl

2011-09-18T07:04:00.003-06:00

Lodgepole pine is a fire adapted seral species that covers vast portions of the western United States and Canada. As a result, it is not practical (or necessary) to "save" it from the Mountain Pine Beetle. Some individual trees are, however, very valuable. These are the ones that have shaded the camping spot that my family and I have visited for generations. While no tree lives forever, maximizing shade tree lifespan is desirable, and avoiding complete camping area mortality is imperative.

One expensive, but generally successful, method for maintaining live trees in the face of an insect epidemic, is to spray each stem five inches in diameter or greater with insecticide. In this image, a contractor is spraying lodgepole in a National Forest campground on the north slope of the Uinta with Carbaryl. They generally spray each tree from top to bottom three times as they circle it . . . hundreds of trees per day . . . it is a slow, costly job.

The Forest Service silviculturist who was supervising this application told me that they have marked 15,000 trees for spraying this year. At $10 per tree, the pictured contractor should experience some fiscal stimulus this year. Of course, he wasn't wearing a respirator, or even a mask, so I'm not sure how much time he'll have to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

Mountain Pine Beetle

2011-09-15T06:38:00.002-06:00

Along the north slope of the Uinta Mountains, most of the lodgepole pine (Pinus contorta) has been killed by the mountain pine beetle (MPB, Dendroctonus ponderosae). If you drive through the forest and look at the trees, about half of them are red or grey with dead needles, the rest—the green ones—are aspen and fir. Lodgepole is particularly susceptible to MPB attack, so if you see thousands of acres of dead trees, you can count on a beetle epidemic. The tell-tale sign, however, is found on the bark of a beetle hit tree. As the beetle bores into the bark, the tree sends pitch to the wound. The pitch, mixed with sawdust and frass, pushes back out through the hole and forms a sticky white bubble on the surface of the bark. When a tree is under attack it may have hundreds of these "pitch tubes" covering its entire circumference.

Is it Over?

2011-09-11T19:43:00.002-06:00

I was on the Kolob Road this morning and I noticed that the rabbitbrush was in full bloom. Later, as I drove through Beaver, I saw snow on the Tushars—the first of the season. Is it over? Can this spark of joy be justified? Have we endured the worst of it?

Rural Ways benefits from summer weather. We restock the freezer, harvest the herbs, stack another winter's worth of firewood. But, that doesn't mean we like it. I mean, who does? July? It could simply be removed from the calendar and we could replace it with a second October.

As I drove through the sleet of a fifty degree drizzle from Scipio to Provo, I began to wonder if we would be able to reach our work site tomorrow at 10,000 feet. What a nice predicament. Summer might be over, and snow may be in the forecast.

Rural Ways Rides Navajo

2011-09-11T07:28:00.004-06:00

This is one of Valerie's favorite bike rides. And, I can see why. Ten to twelve miles of single-track along the shores of Navajo Lake. The riding is not difficult—I didn't have to unclip from start to finish—but that doesn't mean it is boring. There are roots and rocks and whoop-de-doos enough to keep one's attention, and even a few steep sections to push the heart rate up. We went to Navajo on Friday morning to goof-off a little before my next work-trip to northern Utah. The weather was fine and the trail was deserted (we saw just two other people). We bailed off the trail at the Lodge and rode the last mile on the road. We didn't feel like climbing up and around the summer cabins at the west end of the lake. When we got home, we looked in the guidebook and they said that you should ride the loop the other direction: The climb around the summer homes is less steep going that way, and you get it over-with while your legs are still warming up. We'll have to try that next time. Of course, since my last ride was in July 2010, we may need to wait until the end of 2012 for another report.

Patio

2011-09-07T14:33:00.003-06:00

Once the Homestead's new roof and new sewer line were finished, I had a messy spot outside the back-door that I thought might be a good location for a patio. So, I went to Home Depot and looked at their pavers. Let's see, there are a couple of layers that go underneath—leveling gravel and weed-barrier—then there are the pavers, and then there is a special sand to sweep into all the cracks. All for the low, low price of several hundred dollars. (Which is probably worth it because, if you follow the instructions, your patio comes out flat.) After blowing through our entire housing repair budget this summer on the other projects, though, it was too much.

So, I looked around the yard and found a couple of broken pieces of concrete from earlier this summer. There were only four or five chunks, which was hardly a start, but it gave me an idea. I went about a mile up the canyon to an old gravel pit where the locals dump their junk. (They also set up dioramas with real furniture and burned out TVs which they blast into smithereens with shotguns. Good action.) Sure enough, there were numerous broken-up sidewalks that had been dumped in piles near the road. I made three or four trips with the truck and picked through all the broken concrete. I also dug some sand from the wash and put it in some old five-gallon buckets. Voila. A free patio. (But don't look too closely: It ain't exactly flat.)

Construction Update

2011-09-06T15:51:00.002-06:00

The enclosure and winterization of the western porch at The Homestead is a very small job. Which might be why the contractors we have hired to do it can each alot one hour per week to it. The progress is slow. But, there is progress. The windows and doors are in, the sheetrock is up, and the mud and stucco have got one coat each.

Taxicabs and Motorcars (and Rhinos)

2011-09-05T15:10:00.002-06:00

One of the things I dislike about The Homestead is the street noise. We have a large lot, set back from the street, but it is in town, and there is plenty of traffic. Even worse, Parowan has become a bit of a second home, vacation home destination for Las Vegas and southern California. As a result, we are flooded every weekend with the motorhead crowd. I'm guessing that it is a great deal of fun and a big "country living" sort of thing to ride your ATV, Jeep, Pick-up, Rhino, etc up and down the streets of a small town. Every summer weekend, there is a steady background roar of recreational vehicles up and down the streets, and up and down, and up and down. Fun.

Actually, I have nothing against motors. In fact, I benefit tremendously from motors; they make my life better. I guess what bugs me a little bit is that it is simply joy-riding. It is noise for the sake of noise. It is engine revving for leisure. Which, I guess, is still fine . . . except that every headline every day is about how terrible it is that we can't afford pensions and medical care and that we're broke and nobody has a job and gas is too expensive and the sky is falling and won't somebody do something and I deserve a bailout. Um. No. I don't believe any of it. Not while half of Las Vegas is roaring up and down my street with the throttle open. When motors are used because we need them, not because we just like to listen to the turbo open as we push the pedal down, I'll start to worry that we are running out of cash.

G.K. Chesterton is, perhaps, the most quotable writer to have ever lived. He made note of my problem about 100 years ago: "It is customary to complain of the bustle and strenuousness of our epoch. But in truth the chief mark of our epoch is a profound laziness and fatigue; and the fact is that the real laziness is the cause of the apparent bustle. Take one quite external case; the streets are noisy with taxicabs and motorcars; but this is not due to human activity but to human repose. There would be less bustle if there were more activity, if people were simply walking about. Our world would be more silent if it were more strenuous." Amen. Let there be quiet.

First of the Firewood

2011-09-04T08:20:00.004-06:00

Tiger said that the sleeping campers would be up and on their ATVs soon enough. And he was right. The roar from dozens (hundreds?) of revving joy-riders soon filled the canyon and swamped any remaining sympathy I may have had for those who were startled from slumber at 7a by a pair of chainsaws. Besides, if they'd read my last post, they'd have known that we'd be starting early, and that this wasn't going to be a good place for sleeping in.

Tiger cut and bucked probably four dead trees, including a pine, a true fir, and two Douglas firs. I bucked a downed Douglas fir, and felled two others, (only one of which got hung up, costing us an hour of fooling around to get it on the ground). Together, we filled the Chev and loaded about 2/3 of Tiger's trailer before noon. I usually get eight truckloads each fall, so there are seven to go.

What is Wrong with Starting Early?

2011-09-01T08:19:00.002-06:00

It is an unfortunate fact that we have not experienced the normal late August cooling trend at The Homestead. We have had consistent, and persistent, temperatures in the nineties. Which means that the best time to get anything done is between 6a and 10a. After that, work is simply a suffer-fest.

In addition to the weather, we are still experiencing the joys of home renovation. As I noted last week, we are in the middle of a project to winterize the back porch. This project, in conjunction with the circumstances of our current weather, brings me to the reason for this post (yes, despite the evidence, there is a reason).

With the exception of the Mexican guys who replaced our roof, every contractor we've met this summer seems to start his work day at 10a. When they tell me they'll be here in the morning, I'm standing out there at 7a. After three hours of waiting, they usually come slouching in with a cigarette and a cup of coffee sometime before eleven (if they show up at all). They work until noon or 1p, take a lunch break, then come back and pack up their tools so that they can be gone by 3p. Is this the normal work day?

If it were me, I'd be on the job site by 7a at the latest. Yeah, you can be somewhat quiet as you unload the sheetrock (so you don't wake the neighbors), but by 7:30a there is no more Mr. Nice-Guy: The nail gun is switched to full automatic. By the time the sun is really hot, you've got half your work done. Plus, the project takes just three or four days instead of a couple of months. Is there something wrong with starting early?

Spruce Beetle

2011-08-28T15:13:00.003-06:00

For about the past ten years, the forests of the western United States have been subject to two different bark beetle epidemics. Most recently, the talk has been of the Mountain Pine Beetle (MPB, Dendroctonus ponderosae), which, as you might guess, impacts mostly pine trees. There have been large areas—millions of acres—of pine mortality in places like Colorado and Montana. The dead trees are often lodgepole pine (Pinus contorta), which is not rare, but a high rate of mortality in outposts of five-needle pines, such as whitebark pine (Pinus albacaulis), have caused some to worry that rarer species may face local extirpations.

Meanwhile, in spruce-fir forests, there have been cases of nearly complete Engelmann spruce (Picea engelmannii) mortality—see Utah's Markagunt Plateau—caused by a cousin of the MPB called the spruce beetle (Dendroctonus rufipennis). The specimen pictured is a spruce beetle plucked last Thursday from beneath the bark of a dead spruce tree at the headwaters of Wolf Creek in northern Utah. The spruce beetle lives in the cambium of the tree for two years, eating the phloem until the tree is completely girdled. Unfortunately, what is often left in place of the spruce is subalpine fir (Abies lasiocarpa), which is the rattiest-looking excuse for a tree a forest visitor could ever wish to see.

Uinta Wasatch Cache

2011-08-24T06:44:00.003-06:00

This week's assignment takes us to the Uinta Mountains of northern Utah. The mountain pine beetle arrived first, and has killed most of the lodgepole on the north slope. Our local sources tell us that the spruce beetle is just getting started in the Engelmann spruce. That leaves a lot of ugly subalpine fir, which is mostly infected with broom rust. We are doing vegetation management plans for campgrounds on the Uinta-Wasatch-Cache National Forest. Between the forest pests and the millions of campers who simply must try out that hatchet they got for Christmas, it is tough to keep the trees alive at many of these sites.

Pulling Weeds

2011-08-21T08:04:00.002-06:00

I've come to the conclusion, after a summer of doing it, that the true test of someone's willingness to work is see whether they will pull weeds. Weeding, especially where the ground is hard and the cheat grass thick, is not a rewarding occupation: The work is slow, tedious, and difficult. If you don't much like to work in the first place, you're not going to have a lot of enthusiasm for pulling weeds.

At the Parowan City nursery, we've had a weed problem this year, and I've spent many hours trying to get it under control. In addition to the weeds, we've had some convict labor assigned to the nursery by one of the local judges. Well, not convicts really, but kids who have spent their time misdemeanorin' and need to work off their debt to society with a little community service. What I have discovered is that the two do not mix. That is, convicts will not pull weeds; they would rather go to jail.

(The Economist recently had an article about farmers in Georgia who were running short of field hands this year. An enterprising state legislator came up with the bright idea of building a program to match the state's unemployed population with the farmers who needed help. The plan quickly ran aground when the bright eyed politician discovered that the jobless were unwilling to do that kind of work. So, the unemployed stayed home while the crops withered in the fields.)

Which is why I was dismayed to learn that the local university (Southern Utah University) would be sending a group of freshman to Parowan to do community service. I was assigned a work crew and my job would be to get them to pull weeds in the city cemetery. I figured that I would do the work while they gossiped, flirted, and talked on the phone.

When they arrived yesterday morning the sun was high, and I was already sweating on the end of a shovel. I showed them what to do and got back to work. Much to my surprise, they all pitched in. There were five of them and they each worked in the sun for more than an hour. They didn't complain (much) and managed to complete the task I had started. Hats off to my five kids from SUU, they passed the test.

Work in Progress

2011-08-19T12:05:00.003-06:00

At Rural Ways we agreed on a small home renovation budget for this year. The need for a new roof and a new sewer connection had become dire: We had reached the point where we were achieving a good flow through the shingles but none through the pipes. So we tackled those two projects first. Afterwards, we found that we would have enough left in our budget to build a small studio by enclosing the sleeping porch.

Since both Valerie and I work out of The Homestead, we need both office and studio space under one roof. For the past couple of years we have been sharing a windowless 200 square foot room. It has worked out OK, but it could be better. For one thing, Valerie drives me crazy with her sudden loud laughter when someone sends her a funny email. She has disrupted my concentration so badly that, for two years, I still haven't been able to decide why I like brown ale so much. She, on the other hand, is probably tired of me constantly telling her how and what to paint (as though I know anything about it). As a result, we have both felt that we could each do better with our own space.

We decided that the most cost effective way to build an addition without building an addition was to enclose and winterize the existing screen porch. The work, as you can see from the picture, is in progress. When complete, the new room will have five largish windows on both the north and the west sides. This will provide WAY more light than what we currently have in the area where Valerie paints. It will also provide her with a place where laughter is allowed. As for me, I will have a quiet space where I can focus on the things that really matter: Like whether Brett Favre and Randy Moss are really retired?

Southern Utah in Slow Motion

2011-08-17T13:15:00.002-06:00

There are many places in southern Utah where you can't get cell phone service. I love those places. They give you the feeling that you may need to take responsibility for yourself . . . you're out from under the wing of the nanny state. I do not, however, like it when the girls are in those places without me. I can't ensure their safety when I don't know where they are. (I do have to remind myself, of course, that the days of family cell phones are very new, and people managed to somehow survive without them.)

In any case, the girls were coming up from Mexican Hat yesterday and the cell coverage was bad until the top of the Moqui Dugway, and even from there it was spotty. By the time they reached Natural Bridges, the transmission on the Chev was having some problems. It was 100 degrees outside and the next town (if you can call it that) was Hanksville, 85 miles away. We were able to talk sporadically and I gave some suggestions that seemed to help, but I knew that I'd lose touch with them from Fry Canyon down to the river and up North Wash. I was pacing around the house, nervous as a cat, plucking at my face and imagining the worst. Finally, I grabbed some leftovers from the fridge along with a bottle of water; I went out to the car; drove straight to the highway; and set the cruise control on 80.

I reached Loa in a shade over two hours. (The Sable has its own transmission problems, but once it settles in at over 80 mph, it is a beast.) The cells were working and I learned that the girls had made it to Capitol Reef by that time. The Chev's transmission had stopped shifting and they were driving the shoulder of the highway in first gear with the flashers on. I met them at the turn to Teasdale. They were tired, but otherwise fine. My 150 mile flight had probably been unnecessary. On the other hand, what was I going to do, sit in the house sipping a rare Cabernet while they were at risk of being stranded on the banks of the Dirty Devil?

I gave them the car and sent them home. It was 6:30 pm. The automatic transmission on the Chev has an electronic sensor that tells it when to shift. When that stops working, the transmission stops shifting. I wondered if it might be protected by a fuse, but it wasn't. I wondered if it was too hot, so I cranked up the heater to cool the engine, but it wasn't. So, I kicked the tires a couple of times and got back on the highway.

I decided to enjoy myself. I mean, it has probably been 60 years since someone saw all of southern Utah at 30 mph. I imagined that I was Maynard Dixon, out from California in the 1930s. The roads were bad, the car had tires like a bicycle, and maybe Dorthea Lange was on the seat with me. I got on the shoulder of the road with the windows down and started looking over the country. And what country it was.

From the Thousand Lake Mountain to the north and the Awapa Plateau to the south, I started. I coasted down the hill in Bicknell with the engine detached from the transmission. I noticed a waitress from the SunGlow watching me, so I waved. At Loa I looked in at Rob Hamilton's place. He told me that his wife was going to make him buy a boat for Lake Powell, and there it was. Up the mountain towards the Fish Lake; then down, in silence, the truck coasting without the sound of engine compression. The merc was open in Koosharem, but I didn't stop. I was headed for Grass Valley and the glow of the setting sun. There were two guys standing in the road when I turned west, down Kingston Canyon. We waved, and I concentrated on the sun setting directly into my eyes. When I crossed the E. Fork of the Sevier at the bottom of the canyon, the sun was gone, and the cool air off the creek flooded the truck. Around Circleville a few vehicles passed me headed south, and then it was just me and the river and the growing dark. I turned up Bear Valley with the flashers on, but at the top I no longer needed them. Without the compression of the engine to slow my speed I coasted all the way to I-15, which is probably about 10 miles. I wasn't going to risk the freeway in the dark, so I turned down the frontage road. There, to my left, was the rest area, half the population of Vegas, and the roar of the big rigs. Then there was me, driving in the fields of the Parowan Valley at night with the windows down. When I went through Paragonah, a guy was walking his dog in the street. I went back out into the valley with the lights of Parowan in front of me. A few minutes later, I was home.

Fatal Black Bear Attacks

2011-08-12T11:01:00.003-06:00

While we're on the topic of risks that might be encountered in the woods, I recently came across an article in the Journal of Wildlife Management entitled "Fatal Attacks by American Black Bear on People: 1900-2009." The authors (Herrero, Higgins, Cardoza, Hajduk, and Smith) dredged through all the data they could find regarding fatal black bear attacks in North American for the past 110 years and reached some interesting conclusions. Perhaps the most important thing to note is that fatal black bear attacks are extremely rare—63 people killed in all of North America over 110 years—given that there are hundreds of millions of people and hundreds of thousands of bears sharing the continent.

Beyond that, two other facts caught my attention. First, in more than half the fatal cases, the bear's behavior was predatory. That is, the bear was initiating contact with people as though they were prey. I always thought that bear attacks were largely defensive—and they can be—but, the majority of the time, they are not. Second, predatory bears are almost always male (92%—which shoots down my thinking that grouchy bears are generally female bears. So, there you have it, more people have been killed by predatory male black bears in North America in the last century than by females defending their cubs.

When I was a kid, a female bear (with cubs) came into my family's remote camp one night looking for food. We were unable to drive her off until she got what she wanted, which involved climbing above our bear bag and pulling it up into the tree with a hand over hand (paw over paw?) motion. We'd been demonstrably out-smarted and out-maneuvered. Through it all, her behavior was relatively aggressive—snarling at as we tried to pelt her with firewood. I took that to mean that she was dangerous. She may have been dangerous, but far less dangerous than a predatory (silent stalking) male. The authors of this study conclude: "[I]f an aggressive female with young is encountered, a predatory attack is extremely unlikely since most predatory attacks by black bear were by single male bear."

Lightning Risk

2011-08-10T15:58:00.004-06:00

When you spend a lot of time outdoors during the summer, you often encounter thunderstorms. They are usually beautiful, not to mention cool and wet, and I generally welcome them. My supervisor, however, recently sent me a paper about the risk of lightning strikes. It took away some of my enjoyment.

Lightning generally strikes high terrain, like ridges and hilltops. These are places that I often work. Lightning can also strike areas that are not under the visible storm cloud, which means that I'm taking a risk when I continue working until the rain is on top of me. Lightning usually strikes the tallest objects on the ridge-tops, such as the big trees that I might be measuring.

Fortunately, my supervisor's report noted that there is safety indoors, and that motor vehicles are relatively safe, too. The thing to do is to head for the truck when you start to hear the thunder. Unfortunately, it is hard to finish your work when you're sitting in the truck. I guess somebody needs to invent internet forestry, so we can do it from the coffee shop.

Working Weight

2011-08-07T15:09:00.000-06:00

At Rural Ways, we've been having trouble keeping the weight on. It would be difficult to find any fat at The Homestead—not including the bacon in the fridge. For Ellen we finally diagnosed a stomach acid problem that was causing her to eat like a mouse and lose weight that she doesn't really have. For me, I've been a lot closer to 160—too light—than 180—preferred—this summer and I can't seem to do anything about it. Valerie, of course, looks good, and is the envy of most women half her age.

The real story, at least for the adults, is work. Yesterday morning, I was digging tree planting holes for the City of Parowan—just a few of the hundreds of trees we've planted this year. Yesterday afternoon, I was removing 12 inches of sod from a 200 square foot patio I'm building at The Homestead. Valerie spent the whole day picking, processing, and canning food from the garden that we will be eating all winter. I guess, when we haven't been walking in the woods of Colorado or paddling the canoe, we've been on the sweaty end of a hand tool for most of the summer. There is something about driving a shovel that makes it hard to gain weight. I'm going to call it the True Temper Diet.

Recently, a friend of mine who likes to enter triathalons looked at the combined BMI of Rural Ways and said, "You guys must work out." I thought about it for a minute, and then replied, "No, we don't work out, we just work."

Ruby Lake, Nevada

2011-08-02T14:17:00.003-06:00

Tiger says that Nevada is the driest state in America. Indeed, Nevada is hot and dry, especially during July. Nevertheless, Rural Ways spent three July days paddling there with Tiger and Melissa and Sara. Actually, we paddled Ruby Lake, which might be the wettest place in the state.

Ruby Lake is a 17,000 acre marsh managed by the US Fish and Wildlife Service as a National Wildlife Refuge. There is very little open water, but many channels and small ponds surrounded by reeds. It would be relatively easy to get lost while boating, but the FWS has maintained at least one channel through the South Marsh with marked poles. Gas motors are not allowed on the lake during July, though fisherman can use electric outboards.

We camped at the South Ruby Campground on the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest. It was somewhat hot, busy, and buggy, but Ellen made a couple of friends. On Saturday evening we got a pretty nice thunderstorm. Uncharacteristically, however, the clouds didn't go away and it rained most of the night. In the morning it was still coming down and I made coffee under the canoe. So much for the driest state in the union.

Bristlecone Pine

2011-07-23T11:04:00.002-06:00

There are forest stands in the Wet Mountains of southern Colorado that are composed of nothing but Engelmann spruce. Nothing. For tens of acres, if not hundreds, one can wander through the woods and see nothing but spruce. These are remarkably uniform and homogeneous forests. At Rural Ways we've not really seen anything like it. In southern Utah, the predominant forest species of the high elevation plateaus over the past couple of hundred years has been Engelmann spruce, but it is intermixed with sub-alpine fir and aspen. Sub-alpine fir is not rare in southern Utah; in the Wets, it took me four days of looking to find three individual fir trees.

What a surprise then, to stumble on this stand of bristlecone pine. The stand initiated 80 to 100 years ago after a wildfire. While there is still a lot of spruce, the pine makes up more than half of the stems. It is on a steep, rocky, south and west facing slope at about 11,000 feet. The pines are germinating and regenerating . . . often the work of squirrels and birds that cache the seeds for food . . . but the stand is also infested with white pine blister rust. Over time, there is hope for the development of blister rust resistant pine genotypes, but in many cases there is no time. The pine forests of Colorado have been heavily infested with Mountain Pine Beetle (MPB) over the past five years, causing extensive mortality. For small, high-elevation, five-needle pine stands, like this one, the one-two punch of white pine blister rust and MPB can virtually eliminate them from the landscape. Then all we'll have is more spruce.

Westcliffe, CO

2011-07-15T06:09:00.002-06:00

Rural Ways is working in the Wet Mountains of southern Colorado this week. The job involves wandering through mountain meadows and beautiful stands of high-elevation Engelmann spruce, . . . more or less. My bunk is in the small town of Westcliffe, and my sunset view is of the Sangre De Christos. It is just a little better than another week in the office.

Regional Wastewater Treatment Facility

2011-07-10T15:18:00.002-06:00

When Cedar City built its new sewer ponds, it put them well out of town at the northern end of 2300 West. I drove out there this morning hoping that it would seem an unattractive location for recreating. And it was. I went out past the end of the pavement and parked in the weeds and the trash. There were views from Pine Valley to the Tushars, but no noise for a change. I sat for an hour, listening to the wind and the lark.

New Sewer Line

2011-07-07T10:46:00.002-06:00

Since the day we moved into The Homestead, we have had trouble with the sewer backing up. We thought the problem was out by the street where our line connected to the city. It was clay pipe that had been installed in 1968, and we thought it was broken. Well, it turns out that the problem was much closer to home.

When you buy a house, especially one that has seen more than a hundred years of wear and tear, you ought to expect to do some maintenance. Well, evidently, some of the previous owners of The Homestead didn’t feel the need to do anything. So, they let a small forest of elm trees grow up in the foundation to the point where they were lifting the roof off the house. One of the first things we did when we moved in was to remove those trees. I then sprayed the stumps repeatedly with Round-up until there was no more green. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. The extensive root system was still alive and it had worked its way into some cracked cast iron pipe near the wall of the bathroom. What a mess.

We hired a backhoe, a plumber, and a laborer. They started from the floor underneath the potty and replaced everything—five different kinds of old pipe—from there to the street. The trench was six feet deep and a hundred feet long. We haven’t got the bill yet, but I suspect that it will approach mid-four figures. With that kind of looming deficit, we will probably be eating out of the town dumpsters for a couple of months, but at least we’ll be able to flush.

Triple Digits

2011-07-03T19:35:00.003-06:00

Yesterday, the temperature at The Homestead reached one hundred degrees. Now, southern Utah is known for its clear skies and hot sun, but, at 6,000 feet above sea level, Parowan rarely sees triple digits. In fact, since we moved here two and a half years ago, I’m not sure I’ve seen it in the hundreds. The low-nineties are not uncommon, but 100 degrees?

My brother-in-law has a theory that a person can always cool down, but that it can sometimes be difficult, if not impossible, for a person to get warm. I hold the opposite theory: You can always warm up, but sometimes there is nothing you can do to cool down. Yesterday was a case in point.

Let’s say that you have four things—a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, a shovel, and an axe. Let’s say that you are at The Homestead’s woodpile. Let’s say that it is 40 degrees. What can you do? Well, you can use the axe to split some wood; that will warm you up. You can use the axe and the shovel to build a shelter; that will warm you up. You can burn the wood you just split inside the shelter; that will warm you up.

If, however, you have the same four things in the same location, and it is 100 degrees, what can you do? Well, you can take off the t-shirt. (This is a family-friendly blog, so you can’t take off the jeans. ) You can use the axe and the shovel to build a shelter from the sun, but you’ll still be sitting in 100 degree shade. And, of course, building the shelter might cause you to expire from heat exhaustion anyway. So, basically, you can do nothing . . . but suffer.

Any questions?

Brian Head Arts Fair

2011-07-03T08:24:00.003-06:00

Valerie is showing at the Brian Head Arts Fair this weekend. When the weather is hot in southern Utah—as it is now—Brian Head is a popular place to be. At 10,000 feet, it is typically about 20 degrees cooler than Parowan. In fact, this year, with so much late season snow in the mountains, you can still find 10 foot drifts at Brian Head. In any case, if you are in southern Utah, stop by Valerie's booth to say "hey"—and bring your checkbook.

Correction

2011-06-27T11:29:00.002-06:00

A few days ago, I wrote about the Little Salt Lake. I called it a "salt flat." That is not correct. The LSL is, in fact, a "playa," which sounds much better. The salt on the bed of the playa comes from minerals that precipitated from the lake water as it evaporated, probably thousands of years ago. The authors of "Geology Underfoot in Southern Utah" are the source of my new information (Orndorff, Wieder, and Futey). They believe that the Little Salt Lake was caused by freshwater snowmelt becoming trapped in the Parowan Valley from the emergence of the Red Hills ridge about two million years ago. This was during a cool, wet period, which eventually gave way to a hotter, dryer climate, reducing the fresh-water input to the lake and evaporating the rest.

Rural Ways are Good for You

2011-06-26T08:59:00.002-06:00

Both of my readers know that I have an antipathy for urban areas. Even Parowan, Utah, the small town where I live, is too busy for me, and I would prefer to live on the farm. What has not been shown . . . until now . . . is that our lifestyle choices at Rural Ways have protected us from schizophrenia. That's right, country living is good for your mental health.

Doctor Andreas Meyer-Lindenberg of the University of Heidelberg's Central Institute of Mental Health in Mannheim, Germany has just published a study in Nature proving that city dwellers are more prone to mental disorders than those of us who live in small towns: "[S]chizophrenia is twice as common in those who are city-born and raised as in those from the countryside, and the bigger the city, the higher the risk." City dwellers evidently respond to stress differently than do rural folk, and that stress response sometimes signals the onset of psychosis.

It is, however, a sad truth that not everyone can live in the country. Some people must live in the city in order to pursue a career or to care for family. And, it is possible that some people even like living in a city, though it is hard to see why. In any case, for those who must live in the city, but want to avoid schizophrenia, what is to be done?

Professor Meyer-Lindenberg has not answered that question with his current study, but a solution seems worth pursuing. For now, however, I'd recommend a daily dose of Rural Ways. After all, it can't hurt, and it may well keep you from going crazy.

Sunrise on the Little Salt Lake

2011-06-24T12:36:00.003-06:00

The Parowan Valley has a place called the Little Salt Lake. It is not really a lake the way someone from, say, Minnesota, would conceive of it. For one thing, it contains no water; and, for another, it is flat. Which is to say that the Little Salt Lake is a salt flat. On hot, windy days, it is nice to go out there and watch the towering clouds of alkali dust build like columns of smoke.

This year, however, much of the western United States has enjoyed a near record snowfall in conjunction with a late spring warm-up. In Utah, many of the river basins have accumulated (and retained) up to 200 percent of the normal water supply. As that snow-pack melts, many areas are at risk for flooding . . . including the Little Salt Lake. So, the other day, I drove out there to see where all the run-off was going. It was going into the lake, and it made me think of the canoe.

This morning, at sunrise, I launched the Old Town on the Little Salt Lake. I'm not sure, but I'd guess, that it was the first Old Town ever paddled on the Little Salt Lake. Actually, no paddling occurred because there wasn't enough water. The Little Salt Lake is probably two to three thousand acres in extent. The entire lake is currently covered with water, but it is only one inch deep. I moved the canoe away from the shore by pushing on the lake bottom with a paddle. The bottom consisted of five inches of saturated muck, so the going was slow. After pushing out a couple of hundred yards, nothing had changed (I had hoped to float), so I pushed myself back and went home.

It was a failed endeavor, I suppose, but the lake was quiet at six in the morning, and calm, and beautiful. That is something. Besides, I'll probably never meet another person who can say, "I paddled the Little Salt Lake."

Solstice at the Gap

2011-06-21T09:18:00.003-06:00

Near town, there is a collection of ancient petroglyphs considered to be one of the largest in the western United States. The panels of rock art are located at a place called the Parowan Gap, which is a narrow canyon that cuts through a ridge of rock between the Parowan Valley and the Escalante Desert. Created by Fremont Indians and "discovered" by the Parley Pratt expedition, the petroglyphs, at least some of them, served as a kind of solar calendar. For that reason, the summer solstice is celebrated at the Gap each year by the Piute Tribe, by the local tourism bureaus, and by the BLM. If you are in southern Utah today, the event will be "observed" at sunset.

Defending Champ

2011-06-20T14:36:00.002-06:00

Last year, Valerie won the poster design contest for the Cedar Breaks National Monument Wildflower Festival. For 2011, she submitted another image, and . . . won again. The Wildflower Festival will run from July 8 through July 24. Valerie's painting can be viewed on their web site.

Immigrant Labor

2011-06-19T08:02:00.004-06:00

When we bought The Homestead two and a half years ago, the roof leaked. Because the rough estimate for replacing it was $10,000, we needed to live with it until we could afford a new one. I patched it a few times, and it was more or less functional for the time being. This spring, however, we finally had a pot of money and we saw some new leaks developing, so it was time to find a roofer.

We called some numbers in the yellow pages, asked for advice around town, and talked to some local contractors. One thing we noticed is that some of the local (American) contractors sniffed at some of the other companies because the other companies hired non-local labor. "Of course, if you hire them, you'll get a crew of Mexicans." OK? So, are they corrupt? Are they part of the drug mafia? What? Why does it matter to me who swings the hammer?

In any case, the company we hired showed up with a crew of Mexicans. Holy schmoly, do those boys get after it. They work hard, they work fast, they do a great job, and they do it with smile—no whining. No wonder the other contractors hate them . . . their attitude is so un-American. At Rural Ways we don't like to think of ourselves as lazy, but next to these guys we're a bunch of slobs.

An acquaintance of Valerie's who is in the property management business whispered to her that Mexicans will work for $12 per hour, but Americans won't. Ah, so now the comments from the American contractors become clear. How Ayn Randian. These contractors are the James Taggarts of Parowan: It isn't good for society when you hire people who are willing to work harder for less. No. That makes us uncompetitive, and that is bad for the railroad.

Rural Ways Visits Vegas

2011-06-15T13:29:00.002-06:00

In Las Vegas, I believe that it is possible to wager money on most sporting events. In fact, I believe that it is possible to place bets on individual performances within sporting events, like whether or not Derek Jeter will get a hit in the fourth inning of today's game. What I do not know is how to place the bet or collect my winnings. So, last night, as I wandered through a Vegas casino with one of my colleagues, I attempted to find out. I made my way to the sports betting portion of the casino and tried to follow the action. I don't know if it was the noise, the haze of cigarette smoke, or the free drinks, but I was unable to solve the mystery. There were dozens of television screens showing everything from horse racing to hockey; there were betting "windows" consisting of computer screens; and there were lots of people sitting there; but it was difficult to discern the winners from the losers. The participants didn't much like me looking over their shoulders either, and, after a couple of threatening glares, my colleague said, "Hey, we look like a couple of hayseeds. We'd better get out of here." So, we went—staggering through the maze, the din, the smoke, the slack jaws, and the half dark, looking for the door.

Globemallow

2011-06-12T15:00:00.006-06:00

I plucked a sprig of orange globemallow from Cross Hollow this morning. The area has a paved road, a paved bike path, and a view of the Walmart parking lot. (I like to pick through the rocks and weeds sometimes to look at the broken bottles from the pre-Walmart period when Cedar City residents used the canyon for target practice.) In any case, I brought the globemallow home for Ellen's plant guide. It is a plant so common in southern Utah that I consider it a weed, but we needed a specimen for the book. (You can see it growing thickly along the trail in this picture.)

The funny thing is that Ellen picked her own sprig last week but was unable to bring it home. She was visiting the Cleveland-Lloyd Dinosaur Quarry in the San Rafael Swell last weekend when she stooped to pluck a flower. Before she could get out the door with it, however, she was accosted by the staff and had the globemallow forcibly confiscated. She was told that no one was allowed to take anything from the site.

Um? Are we in Utah? Is this the BLM? Has something changed? Having a little trouble with a sense of proportion, are we? Is this the same agency that is known as the Bureau of Livestock and Mining? Is this the source and location of most of our nation's natural gas wells? C'mon. This was a kid carrying a weed. Do you go home, in your smart BLM uniform, and smugly gloat about having saved the world from a first grader carrying a dandelion?

Ode to Ford and GM

2011-06-07T10:16:00.003-06:00

A couple of weeks ago, we were driving our car in the Cedar City neighborhood where our in-laws live. We gave a friendly wave to a nice looking retired couple walking in the street. The poor woman started to wave and then took an involuntary step back, clutching at her throat with a look of horror. The car has multiple dents, broken headlights, dangling license plates, and just one hub cap. Moreover, the birds who have nested in our yard were using it as their potty. I laughed, and told Valerie, "Our car is covered with bird poo."

I was thinking about that incident last Friday while I drove the car over Bear Valley. On the way up the hill, the odometer rolled to 190,000. What a beast. In addition to that, the Chev turned 160,000 last month. By my calculations, those two vehicles have traveled 350,000 miles in a combined 35 years of existence.

When I was a kid, in the 1970s and 1980s, "Ford" was considered to be an acronym. It stood for "Found On Road. Dead." I remember carrying a shop full of tools in every vehicle because breakdowns were not uncommon. But, something had clearly changed by the mid-1990s when our two vehicles were built (1993 and 1995). Ford and GM, at least, added something called "reliability" to their manufacturing process. I still carry tools, but I seldom need to use them. How about a new acronym? "Forget abOut the wRenches, Dude."

Black Widow

2011-06-06T09:37:00.003-06:00

When Rural Ways was located in Escalante, we were plagued with Black Widow spiders. In our first year, I killed probably a dozen of them inside the house. Parowan seems to have fewer of them, but there has apparently always been a nest right by the kitchen door. In the past two years, I have soaked that entire corner of the porch with "Home Defense" insect killer. I've soaked the ceiling, the walls, the window frames, the door frames . . . everything. Each time, the pesticide has killed the visible Black Widows, only to have them quickly return. Where are they coming from? This picture is of the current resident, sleeping a little late this morning.

Sleeping on Slickrock

2011-06-05T16:35:00.006-06:00

I left my camp at the mouth of Steep Creek at 7a yesterday, headed for Water Canyon. Unfortunately, in the morning stillness, I neglected to consider the effect of the day's wind on my tent. What a rookie. Is it ever windy on a hot, sunny afternoon in southern Utah? On my way back down the Gulch later in the afternoon, the gusts were working me over and I started to worry about my camp. Rightfully so. The wind had picked the tent out of the little slickrock alcove in which I'd left it, rolled it across the cliff wall, and dropped it into a garden of prickly pear.

Now, hopefully you've never personally encountered a prickly pear, because it has more than a few two-inch spines as sharp as needles and as strong as nails. When I got the tent free, the inside of it looked like the mouth of a piranha. I spent a long time picking prickly pear spines from the tent and getting it ready to use again. Sleeping without it was impossible because the gnats were bad. Finally, I managed to contain the damage, pile some rocks on the tent, and make some dinner.

When I went to bed, I noticed that the slickrock felt a little harder than usual, so I put a couple of extra puffs of air into the Therma-Rest. After a while, I started feeling a rock against my back again, so I turned over and ran my hand down the pad. There it was: A prickly pear spine the size of finishing nail driven straight through the Therma-Rest. The pad had been in the tent when the tent set sail and must have landed directly on the thorn. Sleeping on slickrock is great when you have a pad; sleeping on slickrock when your pad has been punctured is like, well, sleeping on slickrock. Or, rather, it is like laying awake on slickrock until it is time to start the coffee.

Douglas Fir Blossoms

2011-05-29T16:43:00.003-06:00

When I was walking in the canyon this week, I noticed reddish tips on the branches of a number of Douglas fir trees. At first I thought it was an insect infestation—spruce budworm perhaps. But when I got close enough to remove part of a branch, I realized that they were cone blossoms. That is probably the wrong word, but out of the tiny buds were emerging bright red blossoms that will eventually make cones.

Ecological Rescue

2011-05-26T07:51:00.003-06:00

Every so often, when Rural Ways is walking in the hills, we will bring home a native plant to try growing it at The Homestead. Yesterday, I found a small pinyon pine growing in the berm pushed up by a grader working the road in Dry Canyon. The pinyon is now in the ground at The Homestead. By the letter of the law, this is probably not correct. The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) has responsibility for that particular piece of ground and they undoubtedly require a permit for live plant removal. I did not have a permit. My justification is that plants growing on the City of Parowan's pipeline right-of-way, which this one was, are not managed or protected by the BLM. They are, in fact, unwanted. The City maintains its road and pipeline by digging, grading, cutting, and driving. Plants growing on the pipeline are subject to destruction at any time. So, by bring home a sprout, I am engaging in ecological rescue. How heroic!

Two Pear

2011-05-23T14:18:00.003-06:00

This morning, the orchard at The Homestead consisted of two apples, one pear, two hazelnuts, one almond, one peach, and seven plums. It sounds more impressive than it is. Many of the trees were planted as bare root seedlings, and they are not much taller than your knee. When production is good we get some apples, a few pears, and a bunch of sour plums. In an effort to upgrade that output, I bought two larger trees today at Home Depot. They were less than $20 each and had actual leaves like real trees. I guess we'll see how they do, the root balls don't necessarily look promising. One of the trees was a pear. The other was a pear, too. Which means that I bought a pair of pears.

Watermelon Season

2011-05-18T10:40:00.002-06:00

When I got up this morning, I noticed the snow plows from the state DOT shed headed up Parowan Canyon. They were full of sand and salt, and had the orange lights turning. It is currently 34F, and I've been splitting and hauling wood for the stove. The image (at left) is a real time view of our tomato crop. A few minutes ago, Valerie asked, "Do you think it was a mistake to plant the watermelons last weekend?"

A Flora of Southern Utah

2011-05-15T08:08:00.005-06:00

At Rural Ways we are currently working on a new publication called "Plants of Southern Utah, Research Guide." The lead author is Ms. Ellen D, and each entry comes with a sample of the actual plant for comparison to any specimen you might find in the field. Yesterday, we discovered the small yellow flowers of a blooming Oregon grape, as well as some kind of white-ish monkeyflower. The entry in the picture (at left) is from a Symphoricarpus oreophilus wearing its fall colors. At least, we think its a Symphoricarpus, but we're not really sure. Any future purchasers of the volume should be aware that the identifications are not considered authoritative.

Gas Heater Results

2011-05-08T07:34:00.004-06:00

In January, Rural Ways blogged about our helpful neighbors, and their donation of a gas fired heater for The Homestead's kitchen. Now it is time for a report on its efficiency. We ran the heater when necessary for approximately four months, January through April. Our energy costs over that period were about $23 or $24 dollars less than what we paid last year, but approximately $23 more than what we paid in 2009 (see chart). So, is the heater an improvement or not?

While not providing a huge cost savings, there are two things to note about the data. First, the winter of 2011 was quite a bit colder than average. The average temperature for the first four months of this year was 35.9F. The long term average for the months of January through April is 38.8F. Second, our indoor comfort level was significantly higher this winter as compared to the past two years. We had indoor temperatures of high fifties and low sixties in the kitchen this winter; whereas, last year, it was not uncommon for the kitchen to be in the high thirties and low forties.

Looking at it that way, I would say that the heater is a big improvement. Even if our energy costs have not gone down significantly, enjoying a comfortable house during one of the colder winters on record without paying more for it counts as an improvement in my view.

Fire Free

2011-05-08T07:16:00.004-06:00

I once mentioned that my brother-in-law marks his spring by counting "fire free" days, or "fuel free" days, I can't remember which. These are the first warm days of the season when the wood stove is not required. I know that, during the cold spring of 2010, we burned all the way through April and part way into May before we had our first fire free day. Unfortunately, I forgot to note the exact date. This year, I've got a date. Yesterday, May 7th was the first fire free day of 2011 at Rural Ways. And, was it ever. Our thermometer stopped at 84F. Too hot for me. Of course, we need only wait one day to ameliorate the overheating: Snow is forecast for tomorrow.

Spruces

2011-05-06T16:03:00.002-06:00

It was hot, dry, and windy today at Parowan's tree nursery. I was watering some of the seedlings and decided that most of the spruce trees in the nursery didn't look too good. I went around and soaked them with the hose until each one was practically standing in a pond. That is probably not the way to do it either, but then I got to thinking about spruces. Whenever you see a conifer tree encroaching on a wet meadow or a riparian area in the real world, what kind of tree is it? It is usually a spruce. They don't seem to be as sensitive as other trees to an over-soggy environment. In southern Utah, you will often see Engelmann, or even Colorado blue spruces with their roots in the creek. In the Black Hills of South Dakota, where I made this picture, it is the white spruce trees that tend to be in the damp meadows watered by ephemeral creeks. I even got to thinking about the black spruces that grow on floating mats in the bogs of northern Minnesota and Wisconsin. We're not going to grow our nursery trees in a bog, but it might be that the spruces could do with a little more water than the others.

Cannonville, Utah

2011-05-02T15:11:00.004-06:00

Same weekend; same weather. Last year, when we did our mini-tour of the canyons around Cannonville, it was cold and snowy. This year, it didn't snow, but the north wind was cutting and the temps dropped into the twenties. Once again, we had three kids. This time, in addition to Ellen, it was Noah and Lydia Koslowski. And, once again, we had two kabins at the KOA. With overnight wind chills in the teens, I, for one, did not regret four walls and a roof.

On Saturday morning we drove over to Rock Springs Creek. The sun was high and, by the time we started hiking in the canyon, it was warming up. The families walked and talked together for a while, and then Kass and I made a dash for the Paria. We made it before 1p and had a few minutes to gawp. It is an outstanding river canyon, and I was tempted to start for Big Water on foot. Instead, we hustled back to the trucks and joined everyone for lunch.

After lunch, we drove our way out to the end of Between the Creeks Road. Leaving the trucks, we walked out to the point overlooking the confluence of Sheep Creek and the Paria. What can one say? That is simply one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. The view is from Powell Point to the Kiabab Plateau right down the gut of the Paria. Just big, rugged, empty, ugly, silent country. What else do you need?

Well, dinner, for one. So, we went back to Cannonville and I cooked the ravioli while the girls took a shower. The north wind was still going, but we stuck with it long enough for a little time around the campfire and a slab of dutch oven brownies. In the morning, we made the run to Grosvenor, which I will probably not do again. It was good to share it with the Koslowskis, but the drive-by-killers in their rented sport utes were out in force, and they can ruin anything.

On our way back to Parowan, we looked at each other and said, "Well, we're not really backpackers, but it might be nice to strap 'em on and walk down Willis to Sheep, and on to the Paria, and all the way to, well, Lee's Ferry."

https://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/Cannonville2011?authkey=Gv1sRgCMfLnNaeqsuKlAE#

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

2011-04-27T11:25:00.004-06:00

If good fences make good neighbors, what do good stockades do? Rural Ways just completed construction on this one along our northern border. It seems a little intimidating, and is probably overkill, but it should make life easier for property owners on both sides.

Our neighbors have a chicken flock with a tendancy to stray. We don't dislike chickens, and don't dislike our neighbors, but we don't want the chickens in our garden during spring planting: chicken scratching tends to disrupt seeds and seedlings alike. The old fence along the property line was a porous eye-sore, and the chickens knew it. So, we decided to replace it with something that would work (and look) better. Hopefully, we've succeeded.

Financial Mistakes

2011-04-26T08:16:00.003-06:00

At Rural Ways, we like to think that our family embraces frugality and hard work. But, even under those watch-words, we make the occasional blunder. Yesterday, in an attempt to teach Ellen about the value of money, while also clearing the yard of dandelions, we offered to pay her a 2 cent bounty on every dandelion head she pulled. (Yanking up the head doesn't kill the plant, but it stops it from seeding.) Unfortunately, it was a foolish mistake that had us wondering if we would need a bail-out.

Our picture (as parents) was of a sweaty-faced young girl laboring for an hour or two to earn a few bucks. In reality, she settled in on a soft spot on the lawn and sat there for 20 minutes chucking dandelions into a bucket—no sweating necessary. Pretty soon, she had 500 dandelions. Yikes. We had to call the whole thing off. We agreed to pay her what she had "earned," but instead of having the talk about, ahem, the value of hard work, I ended up trying to explain that making money was not always going to be that easy. She listened seriously for a few minutes, and then said, "OK, Dad. Now Mom is going to drop me off downtown so I can buy a car." Great.

Freeway Booty

2011-04-24T14:38:00.006-06:00

Near Parowan, there is a large truck-stop. Evidently truckers take advantage of the stopping to adjust the black bungy cords atop their loads. Occasionally an adjustment goes awry and the bungy is flung clear once the semi hits freeway speeds. As a result, the freeway roadsides near Parowan are a virtual Bermuda Triangle of lost bungies. This is, of course, unfortunate for the trucking industry, but provides a bit of a cottage industry for Rural Ways.

This morning, at dawn, I went bungy hunting on I-15. Between Parowan and Summit, I found nine black bungies (see picture). Now, this is definitely not something for you to try at home. It is dangerous work. When I was a kid, the posted speed limit on most freeways was 55 MPH, and everybody knew you could go 62 MPH without risking a ticket. Today, the posted speed on I-15 is 80 MPH, and most people will settle in at just over 85 MPH. If you don't, personally, feel like being vaporized, it is best not to slow down out there . . . which makes it tough to pick up bungies.

My preferred technique is to use the car. It is low to the ground and means that you can reach out the open door and snatch the bungy without stopping. (The pick-up truck is too high; you actually have to put the vehicle in "Park" and climb down, which is a no-no.) The best way, of course, is with a gunner. That way, you can focus on driving, and he or she can make the grab. But, if you're flying solo, you need the bungy to come up on the driver's side of the vehicle, which means skimming the far right side of the shoulder, or even going down into the ditch if necessary. It is also important not to be fooled by the strips of shredded tire that are routinely laying on the freeway shoulder. These can be tempting decoys, but a practiced eye can help you avoid slowing for them.

Despite the need for a sharp eyes and steady nerves, this work can be tremendously rewarding. The retail price of a 1,650 PSI bungy strap can run from $1.79 to $2.99 depending on the length. Though much of the highway booty is damaged, you can probably get one good strap out of every two grabs, which means that I may have netted $8 worth of bungies for Rural Ways today. Not a bad day's work.

Near Skunking

2011-04-24T13:25:00.003-06:00

Neither of my readers visited the St. George Art Festival this year, leading to a near skunking. Last year, Rural Ways sold some art work—netting a low four figure sum. This year, we made it through two full days without a sale. Finally, with five minutes to go in the festival, Valerie sold one small piece from the bargain basket. The proceeds from that painting helped cut our losses, but the substantial festival fees and fuel costs associated with the event mean that we are deeply in the read this year. Selling fine art is a funny, unpredictable business.

St. George Art Festival

2011-04-19T13:48:00.002-06:00

We are set to participate in the 2011 St. George Art Festival on Friday and Saturday of this week (April 22-23). Valerie will be showing dozens of her new small paintings (8" x 8" and 8" x 10"), as well as many of the larger works that she has created over the past couple of years. The festival opens at 10a on Friday. If you are in the St. George area, please stop by her booth. We'd also recommend that you look around for one of our favorite painters from Arizona, Charles Thomas.

House Sparrows

2011-04-18T11:24:00.004-06:00

On the front of our wood shed/garage at Rural Ways we have installed a decorative cow skull. I noticed the other day that a pair of house sparrows likes the decoration so well that they have decided to move in. The two of them fly in and out through the ear hole; they are building a nest. It will be interesting to see if we soon have a family of sparrows living in the skull. If I were more literate, I might be able to come up with a quip or quote regarding the cycle of life—something about a death which turns to new birth (new birds?)—but I'm not.

Meadowlark

2011-04-17T20:13:00.002-06:00

A few weeks ago, Rural Ways mentioned the early spring absence of the meadowlark. Since that time, their song has become more frequent, though they must not be nesting on The Homestead this year because we don't hear them nearby. In any case, they can be seen here and there with their bright yellow breasts puffed out in song. I made this picture down near Kanarraville last Sunday when I was looking for a good place to skip church.

Camping at Jackrabbit

2011-04-17T17:46:00.002-06:00

OK, our new favorite place is Jackrabbit Mountain. It is close to town, but quiet and fun. We went out there yesterday afternoon and didn't see a soul. This is what I wrote early this morning:

When I got up the sun was still down and there was a skim of frost on the camp. After lacing my boots, I lit the burner under the coffee water, lit the fire, and peed in the bushes. When the first mug of coffee was ready, I took it, and the camera, for a walk across the road and into a little meadow. It was very still and the sun was just brightening the tips of the juniper trees, so I stopped to make a picture. In that moment, though, two other things stood out, things that cannot be collected by a camera: Up and down the little valley, the chickadees were calling—chick-a-dee-dee-dee—and the air was pungent with the smell of cold, wet sagebrush.

Power Outage

2011-04-10T08:42:00.002-06:00

On Thursday evening, the winds at the Cedar City airport reached 55 MPH. Sometime during the night, Rocky Mountain Power lost contact with Parowan and we awoke on Friday morning without electricity. I got out of bed in an almost eerie dark silence. I put on my head-lamp and Valerie lit some candles, but it was almost 7a before we could see anything without them. It was a strong reminder of how much we rely on the ambient light from a thousand electronic devices. Normally, when I get up, there is some spill-over light from the street, from the neighbor, from the printer in my office; there is a little blue light from the coffee maker, from the microwave, from the cell phone charger; and on and on. There is no such thing as darkness anymore. Our lives are lighted from a hundred sources that we no longer notice. Likewise, there are sounds that have become part of the background hum of modern life: the motor in the fridge, the small fan cooling the computer hard-drive, and the surge of the heater keeping our water hot. On Friday morning, all of these were absent . . . and the house was quiet . . . quiet and dark . . . like it must have been on a Friday in April a hundred years ago.

Snomageddon

2011-04-09T11:55:00.002-06:00

It started snowing on Thursday night. Currently, it is noon on Saturday, and the snow has not stopped. We awoke to snow on Friday morning. It snowed all day Friday. It was snowing when we went to bed. We awoke to snow this morning (Saturday). It has been snowing since we got up. The forecast for this afternoon? Snow. "Chance of precipitation is 100%. Total daytime snow accumulation of 1 to 3 inches possible." The forecast for tonight? Snow. "Snow likely, mainly before midnight." If the snow quits by midnight, it will have snowed for about 48 hours straight. Some areas around southern Utah are reporting more than three inches of water from the storm, which is equal to probably a quarter of our yearly precipitation.

Snowbasin, Utah

2011-04-09T10:59:00.005-06:00

When I got to the Salt Lake airport on Tuesday night to collect Benson, it was raining hard. We thought that meant plenty of fresh powder in Wednesday. In the event, there was a little creamy new snow and lots of sun. We spent the morning taking laps with Katie until she went to do some work and Wally broke his pole in the bottom of a tree well. After a little lunch the wind started to pick up and the snow was drifting in over our tracks at the top of the lift. At the bottom, it was still mostly spring slop. My skis were sticking a little, so Wally loaned me his butter. After that I went really, really fast. Of course, I still wasn't fast enough to keep Wally in view, so I set my sights on Benson, which was a little easier. By 4p, it was time for a ride back to town, a shower, a couple of pizzas, and a bottle of Cabernet on the deck. The next morning, I returned to southern Utah, while Wally and Benson went back to the mountain. Fortunately for me, I got off the road before the storm hit; fortunately for them, they were at Snowbasin when the storm hit. Benson sent me a text that said: "May be the best ever."

For more pics: https://picasaweb.google.com/aorlemann/SnowbasinUtah#

Hiding the Mess

2011-04-04T15:47:00.004-06:00

There are those who like to try making complex pictures, or at least to try harmonizing complexity in their pictures. Some have said that Garry Winogrand was like that, although one of my favorite pictures of his, Statue of Liberty Ferry, New York (1971), is, perhaps, simpler than it looks at first. In any case, my own intent is to do the opposite. Mostly this is because I’m not competent to handle complexity, but also it is because I am always looking for a thing that reminds me of peace.

When one is looking for pictures that are not complex, one quickly sees the advantages provided by fog and ice. Fog covers the detritus of man’s rush to build as many pink stucco mansions as the southwest can hold, and ice covers the trash. Yesterday, we awoke to fog and ice. Valerie suggested that it might be a good time for making pictures. She was probably right, but by the time I got around to it, the strong April sun had burned most of it away. I drove out to a clump of cottonwood trees that I like. What I found (above) was trash, and weeds, and the roof-tops of a development in the distance.

I have, on the other hand, been lucky with that clump before (below). It just goes to show that fog and ice can be an advantage, but that it is best to wake up early if you want to use it.