Books, Made of Paper

Tablet computing has come to The Homestead.  First EDO, and then VSO, put money into Android and Apple, respectively.  I'm a tablet widow now.  When I come home, no one greets me.  The house is dark.  I look into the living room and see glowing halos around a pair of faces.  There is, periodically, a soft blipping sound.  "I sent you an email, Mom."  I go to the kitchen and open a can of cold spaghettios.  I go for my book.  I turn on a light and sit by myself.  I turn pages.  Made of paper.  I practice a lost art.

Actually, while some of the foregoing is true, what is not true is that books are being entirely replaced by tablets.  The Economist had a good essay on this topic earlier in the month.  Entitled, The Future of the Book, the article points out that real books—with paper—are tough to beat.  It is "surprisingly challenging to compete with a format of such simplicity."  Paper is portable, durable, visible, and doesn't need batteries.  The guy that runs Amazon's Kindle business admits that paper is a "competitive technology."

Amen.  Good point.  Books are still viable.  It's not all about tablets now.  I'd like to tell someone about this.  I guess I'll send my family an email.

Wolverine

 

We went down Wolverine.  The petrified wood was legion.  It was fun for a while.  Then it turned into a bit of a slog.  One of the books said that you could make it to Horse Creek in about five miles.  When we stopped for lunch my GPS said 4.5.  My left knee hurt.  It was a long way to the Chev.  We decided to go down for another 30 minutes.  Thirty seconds later, I turned the corner.  I was under one of the biggest blind arches I'd ever seen.  Magnificent.  Worth the walk.  And, it got better from there.  When the GPS said six, I turned us around.  EDO was moping; my knees were both hurting.  About the only one with any zip was VSO.  She powered us back to the truck.  Eleven miles over rough country in five hours.  There were a few sore feet in the group.  Fortunately, where sore feet go, yuppies, hippies, bobos, and euros do not.  We enjoyed a few minutes of silence.

LaSalle Goes Walking

"Therefore though the thaws of approaching spring greatly increased the difficulty of the way, interrupted as it was everywhere by marshes and rivers, to say nothing of the length of the journey, which is about five hundred leagues in a direct line, and the danger of meeting Indians of four or five different nations, through whose country we must pass, as well as an Iroquois army, which we knew was coming that way; though we must suffer all the time from hunger; sleep on the open ground and often without food; watch by night and march by day, loaded with baggage, such as blanket, clothing, kettle, hatchet, gun, powder, lead, and skins to make moccasins; sometimes pushing through thickets, sometimes climbing rocks covered with ice and snow, sometimes wading whole days through marshes where the water was waist-deep or even more, at a season when the snow was not entirely melted—though I knew all this, it did not prevent me from resolving to go on foot to Fort Frontenac, to learn for myself what had become of my vessel, and bring back the things we needed."

This from LaSalle, who walked, walked, from present day Peoria, Illinois to present day Kingston, Ontario, Canada in the winter of 1680.  He left his fort on the Illinois River on 1 March and arrived at his fort on Lake Ontario on the 5th of May.  LaSalle was accompanied by five employees or servants—four Frenchmen and an Indian—none of whom made it to Fort Frontenac.  I do not believe that any of them died, but they became so worn down from the exertion that they could not continue.  He left them to recover at various points along the way.  LaSalle was a hard dude.  Can you imagine working for him?

Harris Ridge

Awesome spot.  Sitting in the breeze under a gibbous moon with a pine fire at my knees.  I'm somewhere above Glendale, but can see and hear no civilization.  Got cell, though.  Said goodnight to the girls.  To get here required that I move a 20 inch white fir from the road.  It worked out OK, except that when I went to roll it, the branch broke and I impaled myself on the stob.  Might have had to go home but in the end it wasn't too bad.  As the sun set, I went out to the point and made some pictures of the Paunsaugunt.  I thought, as I stood there, this is the country of Fray Escalante, and J.W. Powell, and M. Dixon, and even Bishop Lamy.  But it isn't the country of the motor-head from Phoenix or the bobo from Salt Lake.  Please, God.

View from the Office

This past week, I found myself forced to work under onerous conditions.  I was required to walk all day, by myself, through the country-side pictured above.  I know that few would be committed to such a job, but I pride myself on the internal discipline to keep going when faced with uncommon challenges.