521 Years of Indigenous Resistance (and counting…)

October 12, 2013

            After the solemn prayer and opening ceremony about a half hour earlier, we boldly marched down the old pueblo street and into the famous Santa Fe Plaza, drums roaring, singers chanting. The energy was tense. The crowd that had gathered there an hour or so earlier to celebrate this day looked on in shock. Fake conquistadores and fake Indians awkwardly forced to stop their absurd re-enactment charades. I remember one of the organizers frantically running to the front of our columns screaming at us to stop and turn around. “You can’t do this!” she croaked. We ignored her and quickly took over the Plaza, going around it in a circle several times, the fierce pow-wow tune echoing off the old adobe buildings. It was October 12^th, 1992. Columbus Day in Santa Fe, New Mexico was emphatically shut down.

The Will to Live

September 2013

           I came up over the ridge, stopped to admire the ever-inspiring Big Trees, and then slowly entered yet another stunning ancient Sequoia filled valley. On some levels, it very much reminded me of my first saunter through Giant Forest last Summer. Just breathtaking. Other-worldly. Per usual, a calm peace entered me as I slowly wandered about the home of these divine abuelitos, this time in Atwell Grove, near the southern boundary of Sequoia National Park. Descending into the valley, I looked up and sort of gasped as I stopped in front of an enormous tree. Literally half of it was burnt to a crisp, from the bottom almost to the top. At least 200 feet of charred wood. From this angle, thoroughly blackened and appearing long dead, one would think that this old grandpa’s fine life had ended some time ago. Not so. The other half was still covered with brilliant red bark, slowly healing around the ancient scar; still full of strong, healthy limbs, ever growing; still gracefully stretching upwards towards the heavens.

Always Listen to the Mountain

August 2013

           Suddenly feeling my boots start to slip as I was trying to lower my backpack down, I had no choice but to let go and let it drop over the ledge. I watched in dismay as it tumbled down the sharp incline, pleading, “stop!” Some 20 meters below a clump of bushes heard my plea, caught it, and, thankfully, saved most of my gear from about another 100-meter tumble down the mountain. One water bottle was not so lucky, and I watched it bounce and go flying out of sight over the ledges further below. Five minutes before, realizing I could not get down attached to a 40 lb. backpack, I had removed it, and now sat on a series of ledges, slightly concerned but carefully pondering my next move.

The Epic, pt. II

April 18-May 23, 2013

                        This could become a ritual. These “epic” cross-country jaunts to and from my dear Sequoias. Road-trips that may very well define my decade of the ‘40s’. Hard to feel my age amidst the pure freedom and joy that is roaming alone without a real schedule, seldom even looking at the time or date. This time it was east to west. Back to the divinity of the ancient Sequoia groves, away from the shallowness of the immature concrete jungles. After a spectacular two-month long South American saunter, I could only stay ten days in the NYC before hitting the road once again to go cross-country. I find that nowadays I take my Big Apple in very small slices! Bus ride to DC, quick drive across Virginia and West Virginia (very pretty land them Virginias) and it was on with a full-on family gathering in Louisville, Kentucky. Once on the roadways of this great land, one needs at least a full month to do ‘The Epic’ properly - it’s odd when even a few free weeks of rambling along feels rushed. I visited several remarkable places where I could have stayed two or three weeks alone. Once again, coast to coast in several symbolic snippits.

Abuelo Mapajo, Hermano Tacana (plus Civilization vs. The Great Mystery and Prophecy)

2013 South American Saunters

February 2013

           Wilman stops, listens intently, glances up towards the treetops, waits a few seconds, and then slowly continues on along the barely visible jungle trail. He repeats this routine every few minutes as we amble down one of the numerous trails around the Caquiahuara eco-lodge in Tacana land, Madidi National Park, Bolivia, South America, Earth.  After four or five silent pauses, he suddenly urges us to quickly come forward and look up at the distant tree branches… there we spot a Howler Monkey 100 feet above, almost invisible to the naked eye. Wilman’s finely tuned vision grasps any movement in these jungle trees and quickly directs us city folks toward a whole array of Amazon birds, plants, and animals. I could spend weeks out here studying trees, plants, wildlife, listening to this brother’s knowledge of his land. It feels like I’ve been here before, like I’m re-living something from a past not so long ago.

An Antenna Between Heaven and Earth (Ranger Responsibility)

2013 South American Saunters

April 2013

            As Autumn approaches Mapuche land (Wallmapu - what is now referred to as central Chile), while walking beneath the groves of the beautiful, abstract looking Pehuen or Araucaria trees one can hear the piñons tumble off the trees almost like a rattle shaking or the sound of heavy drops of rain hitting the ground. The ripe pine-esque cones on the female trees grow thick and round when they are ready to deposit hundreds of super rich seeds to the ground, seemingly intentionally sent down for every sort of animal to consume. The entire forest, humans included, lives off this magnificent pine nut. My timing was perfect: I arrived in Conguillio and Huerquehue National Parks at the peak moment of piñon collecting – they were literally falling at my feet as I hiked through the glorious landscapes that make up these two parks.