My “Favorite” Season

I love snow, and winter is my favorite season!

Okay that’s a lie. Anyone who knows me has heard me grumble more that once about a forecast for the frozen white stuff.

Fall 2023 Wasatch Hills
Fall 2023 Wasatch Hills
Fall 2023 Wasatch Hills
Fall 2023 Wasatch Hills

Every September I’m working those mindfulness skills double time; to be present; to stay tucked comfortably inside the warm hearth of autumn as it lights up the Wasatch range in all its fiery glory. This is because I know, despite a most stalwart determination, that at the first hint of frost I will be lured by those earliest of icy daggers down the dark hallway of pre-season dread.

For those of you who know, you know what I’m talking about!

Frosted Turkey Tail Mushroom
Frosted Oak Leaf
Hoar Frost at Utah Lake

Just say sNOOOOOOOw, and I am ready to pack my bag and head south. At least that’s what my imaginary self is doing.

As for the real me, I’m toughing it out in the foothills. Because even during these winter weather days I still find myself out there.

I often think back to my early childhood in Wyoming. Back to a time when winter did excite me. When I was very young, snowy days meant sledding, attempting to build snow men, making snow angels, and spending many magical hours immersed in a blanket of fallen stars.

Then, in my sixth year, my family moved to Las Vegas, Nevada. And I missed the snow! I even prayed for snow that first winter and to my own and everyone else’s surprise, this prayer was answered: just for a single day. But it was enough accumulation to build a snowman taller than myself and to make one seven year old girl very happy.

So what happened?

We moved to north central Montana the year I turned twelve. Maybe if my family had stayed in Wyoming, this move wouldn’t have seemed such a harsh transition. But after six years of living in near constant sun, where winter temperature might dip to a tepid 60 degrees in mid January, my family and I were ill prepared for extended August to April winters with near constant winds that often drove temperatures to well below freezing.

Needless to say, the two years I endured in that climate forever affected my love of winter and of snow.

Fast forward a handful of decades. Having moved once again from a lovely temperate climate along the west coast of Oregon to a seasonally cold Utah, I still am working on resurrecting that inner child who once looked forward to and enjoyed winter and snow.

Like I mentioned above, I usually make my way out to the hills or to the shores of Utah Lake, even in the heart of darkness (winter).

Frozen Utah Lake
Utah Lake WInter Scape
Utah Lake in December

I may yearn for the golden, tank top days of spring and summer as I apply layer after layer of outer apparel. However, once I get myself out the door I am more often than not still surprised by wonder. I even find myself rekindling that sense of play that I worry might become diminished by the rigidity of age and an attitude that has trouble finding altitude during these cold months. Cold air goes down, not up after-all, so am I not just fighting a natural trend here?

Still, at the end of February, as we are standing on that seasonal threshold with one foot hasting into spring, I can look back on this past winter along the Wasatch front and upon the previous ones and say, snow and ice can be pretty fun! And also just plain pretty…even breathtakingly so.

Juni and the Giant (Snowman)
Beauty in WInter
Icicle Chandalier over Creek
Me Skating at Utah Lake
Snow seal by Juni and Sienna
Stormy Sunrise Water Tower
“Snoctopus” by Juni and Sienna
Sienna Sledding in the Foothills
Looking back to the Lake in Winter
Frozen Cascade

And I think I might even miss it the tiniest bit this year. Though I am not sure I will remember this once I am enveloped in the joyous robe of riotous spring. But then again, just maybe I will..

Twilight Tea Party: A Utah Lake Story

Twilight at Utah Lake
Twilight at Utah Lake
Twilight at Utah Lake
Twilight at Utah Lake
Twilight at Utah Lake

Suffused in a predawn glow, Utah Lake conjures a particular enchantment. The sun has yet to tip its cup and spill golden milk over the Wasatch peaks, washing the valley clean of shadow. In the flux of periwinkle, past and future mingle with the present – guests at a pop-up tea party.

I traverse a drought-expanded shoreline through this dream dance of time, shadow, and light. Old glass, fossils, stone artifacts, and other objects lie exposed, no longer in reach of the lapping waves. This waterline regression leaves an accounting, like inverse arboreal growth lines, in the sand.

Shoreline Rings
O;d G;ass at Utah Lake
Grinding Stone and Partial matate

My gaze follows these meandering moisture marks stretching the length of the beach. In the distance a fuzzy figure, the future, waves from an arid, empty lakebed. It is an everyday apocalypse – one of many the future keeps in its back pocket.

Possibly, is its sole reply.

Turning back to the present, I attend to news from the night crew: impressions in the wet sand, disclosing the nocturnal activities of local fauna. Their footprints form an ever-evolving abstract, each creature contributing as brush, artist, and art.

Utah Lake itself is a footprint. Along with its sisters the Great Salt Lake and Sevier Lake, these dis-conjoined triplets are the progeny of a mammoth late Pleistocene inland sea: Lake Bonneville. I stand in its deep bed. The past suddenly rises before me, elevating the water’s surface to its epic peak. Nearly 300 meters above, the phantom titan expands, drowning the familiar landscape for hundreds of miles in its liquid reach. Like a child in a sandbox, it molds the earth, shaping the mountainous playpen. At last it overcomes its cradle, launching a centuries-long exodus, inscribing a geological signature extending from Southeastern Idaho to the Pacific Ocean. This dramatic breach marks the beginning of the end for Lake Bonneville. Time boomerangs forward. The climate grows hotter and drier. An epoch of aridification continues to diminish the primordial pluvial giant. Its evaporating body gives birth to the high desert lands of Western North America, until only the three remaining daughters are left in the wake.

All treading does not leave equal impacts. I reflect, following a set of prints that look like baby devil hands: raccoon. These diminutive impressions, punctuated at the tip by sharp little claws, grow faint in the shallows. I create competing wakes as I wade along. Within this rippling mirror, the past and the present grapple in similar confluence.

Glyphs at Smith Anderson Preserve by Utah Lake
Glyphs at Smith Anderson Preserve by Utah Lake
Glyphs at Smith Anderson Preserve by Utah Lake
Glyphs at Smith Anderson Preserve by Utah Lake
Glyphs at Smith Anderson Preserve by Utah Lake
Glyphs at Smith Anderson Preserve by Utah Lake
Glyphs at Smith Anderson Preserve by Utah Lake

Lake Bonneville’s legacy thrived for millennia in robust ecosystems that evolved around its three remnant lakes. Situated against the border of North America’s desert lands, Utah Lake provided an invaluable freshwater resource for animals of all kinds. Petroglyph sites near the water indicate this lake has held a place of honor among indigenous peoples since prehistoric times.

Impatient, the morning slices through the twilight with a blunt yellow blade, illuminating the remains of several carp littered among paper products, plastic, and soda cans. With their bony mouths frozen into a defensive O, these morbid witnesses seem to form a dot-to-dot matrix of evidence and accusation. An invasive species, Cyprinus Carpio, was introduced to Utah Lake in 1882 after native populations had been fished to near extinction. This opening “environmental” intervention, committed on behalf of newly arrived colonizers, set the lake on an altered course. We, as antecedents and ancestors, are left to puzzle and reckon.

Carp Bones at Utah Lake

“It’s not your fault.” I assure the carp, answering the loud silence of their protestations.

The future, always the first to leave the twilight tea party, offers a nod. For a half second it holds my gaze. I see Utah Lake returning to health and abundance. Humans expand their efforts to reduce environmental loading. They recognize the lake’s intrinsic value, how it transcends, outweighs, and outlives shortsighted economic benefit. They become partners rather than puppet masters in its stewardship.

The future blinks. Utah Lake grows heavy, burdened by further pollution, disrupted by construction, misguided mitigations, and commodification.

Possibly, the future whispers, fleeing the sun’s chasing ribbons, disappearing back into the horizon of tomorrow.

Always retiring, the past recedes with less flamboyance.

Common Snail Shells Utah Lake — Common Pond Snail Shells Utah Lake

A family arrives on the scene, returning me to the present. A handful of children run gleefully towards this natural water park. “Look, a seashell!” shouts one little girl. She offers up the spiraled shell of an ordinary pond snail. Her hair, tossing in a thermal breeze, forms a black halo, backlit by morning light.

I smile. The feather of hope lands softly.

If time is an arrow shooting ever forward, it does not fly straight. I am not a physicist, but something in me says it spirals. On the shaft of time, we travel around to meet again at certain places: crossroads, tipping points. If we have learned wisdom, we can use the experience gained in the past to nudge the future towards a better tomorrow – less distortion, tipping the scale in favor of creation and sustainability. A tomorrow in which Utah Lake is the jewel of Utah Valley, reflecting the sky, the trees, the animals, and us – part and participants with her.

Sunset at Utah Lake
Utah Lake Beauty
Snowy Egret
White Face Ibis at Utah Lake
Northern Harrier at Utah Lake
Cinamon Teal Feather
Sky Sea at Utah Lake
Asain Clam at Utah Lake
Utah Lake
Sunset at Utah Lake
Pink Weed at Utah Lake
Turns Flying over Utah Lake
FloatingFeather in Utah Lake
Asian Clam Shell at Urah Lake
Utah Lake Mirror of Glass
Tree at Utah Lake

Utah Lake Stories

Last fall I answered a call for submissions from Torrey House Press who put together this beautiful chap book and online edition in defense of this irreplaceable life giving resource; Utah Lake.

I feel so honored to have had my non fiction narrative “Twilight Tea Party” selected to be included in the Digital Chapbook edition, under the subheading “Turn”.

Copies of this book and the digital edition are to be distributed to the Utah State Legislature in hopes that reading these selections will inspire the law makers of Utah to protect this lake as a natural resource and to advance policies that will continue to allow this lake to heal from years of human born and capitol driven mismanagement.

You can also purchase copies of Utah Lake Stories at Pioneer Book in downtown Provo.

You can also purchase tickets to attend a wonderful archeological tour of a cluster petroglyph panels along the west side of Utah Lake through the Smith Anderson Archeological Preserve.

And as always, happy wandering!

Juni-Jen

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A Butterfly in Winter

A Brief Recap on Winter 2023

This winter is feeling long. It’s been unusual in that frigid temperatures began in November, bringing consecutive days where the thermometer repeatedly dipped like a potato chip into a tasty spread. Only not quite as fun or delicious. Especially with wind chill.

December continued in this way until we were gifted a brief warm up just after Christmas that lasted into January. During this traditionally frosty month, we experienced a copious amount of rain in the valley instead of the usual snow. It seems November and January did a do si do on us. Switching places for fun and japes.

But not so fast!

By the end of January the icy cold returned and continues to linger deep into February.

Utah Lake, which in the recent past has had only has one good freeze, if that, had several this past year. In fact, it was so solid that on the day before Christmas eve, Christine, my fellow wanderer and podcast partner in crime, and I were able to venture a mile out onto its solid surface. You can see Christine there in the Panorama above looking back towards the distant shoreline.

Storksbill Blooming — Storksbill Blooms Feb 2022

Usually, by late February, we see a substantial if gradual warm up, with days climbing into the 40s on a more regular basis. Often, purple Storksbill and tiny four petaled Monkeyflower will be making a happy appearance as spring equinox grows ever near. Not so this year. Just this week, we got another 6 inches of snow in the valley. When wandering, any exposed skin is subject to being slapped scarlet by the extra long whip of this winter’s coat tails this year.

winter wear — Lots of layers, that’s what my fashion statement is here.

Every time the sun comes out, however, I keep hope that it will stay and prove to me that winter hasn’t planned to take up permanent residence just to spite my desire to dis-bundle more permanently from my winter wardrobe. This is that ever so posh way of dressing that I refer to as “the onioning” with its many, many layers of defense against the bitter weather.

Charming, no?

Messy for certain, as I peel of each snow soaked outer layer and sweat soaked inner layer. Oh how I long for the days of tank tops and sunshine on my shoulders.

And Now For the Good Part

I have been thinking on this blog for a while. And like the feature of this title, my brain has flitted and danced around it never quite lighting long enough to write it. But at last I have made myself sit and actually put these words to ground.

Short-Tailed Blue
Great Basin Fritillary
Green-veined White
Diana Fritillary

During the ubiquitous monochrome of winter gray, I miss the beauty of the butterfly; their lovely ephemeral existence in a variety of palates; their crack head flights that never seem to take a direction for more than few seconds; these wind-borne blooms mirroring their earth anchored hosts. Especially, in the midst of this long winter, I take a little comfort in reminding myself of something that I just learned this past year; that just over there, in that quilt patch of oaks, or in that cozy pile of leaves protected by a rocky overhang, one of these fully winged creatures might be tucked into a cozy crevice dreaming, along with me, of spring.

A full grown butterfly, you might be asking?

Yes, a fully grown, winged out butterfly.

Of course, many butterfly species winter over as pupa with a nice sturdy chrysalis to protect them from winter’s brutal hand, or as larvae buried into a warm cradle of soil. These await the song of the sun to dance them into and or through metamorphosis. Other species take wing in late summer, such as Monarchs, Admirals and Painted Ladies, migrating smartly to warmer places. (How I would like to follow them one year)!

But a few, including one of my very favorite species, Nymphalis Antiopa, or the Mourning Cloak, winter over as adults, tucked into tree bark, or nestled in old logs, or under a comforter of leaf debris. Here they will hibernate until the temperatures climb to an appropriate degree. For the Mourning Cloak, earliest of the butterflies to awaken from a winter’s slumber, this can be as low as 50 degrees.

Mourning Cloak Cake — My birthday cake made by my daughter, Sienna, this year…I ate and ate and ate!!!

These ingenious creatures have developed a clever adaptation. At the end of summer, they will go into a brief state of estivation. During this period the butterfly will lower it’s body temperature and metabolism, after procuring itself in a protected area, for a short period of time – about a month or so. Afterwards, the Mourning Cloak will re-emerge to make a surprise appearance in late fall, (ta da)! It’s mission is now to eat and eat and eat in preparation for the second, longer dormancy of overwintering. Kind of like what we do in late fall with all of the holidays and festivals. Only we don’t get to sleep it off over the dark and cold months, no fair!

When the temperature begins to drop into and below 40 degrees, the Mourning Cloak will go into a true state of hibernation. Unlike mammals who enter this state, however, they are not awakened by an increase in the hours of daylight, but rather by an increase in temperature. This is why you might occasionally see one in late February or Early March here in Northern Utah. (Yes, please).

Hoar Frost — Hoar frost is everywhere in the winter in Utah

When freezing temperatures arrive, these butterfly folk essentially become tiny little insect popsicles with a secret, magic ingredient. Morning cloaks are able to reduce the amount of water in their blood and thicken it with glycerol, sorbitol, and other agents. Together, these act as a form of organic antifreeze which is similar to the antifreeze we pour into car radiators. This lifesaving trick keeps their tissues from forming damaging ice crystals. In this way, Mourning Cloaks can withstand temperatures down to minus eighty degrees.

Satyr Comma

These winged miracles are a demonstration in resilience. Furthermore, they live relatively long lives for their kind. Along with their fellow overwintering nyphalis kin, the Angel Wing and the Comma butterfly, these insects can reach up to a ripe old age of 10-11 months. Which in human years is a cagillion years old…probably.

It may have have seemed incongruent, when first reading the title of this blog: A Butterfly in Winter; but now you know this is no myth. Butterflies remain with us even in the heart of this sometimes brutal season.

Protest at Utah State Capitol

A Butterfly by Any Other Name…

For me this winter started out in a very strange place. I’ve participated in in two protests, due to an indirect involvement I had in a family court trial that revolves around a broken and corrupt system. You can read about it on international blogger and advocate, Tina Swithen’s blog Onemomsbattle. You can also read about it here in this article from ProPublica.

I personally witnessed, what seemed to me, abusive and manipulative behavior from the G.A.L. involved in this case; watched in shock and frustration as an affidavit I wrote in defense of a contempt charge that had been filed against the mother was deliberately misconstrued and out and out lied about in court by the abusive(several substantiated claims by DCFS) father’s lawyer. I further observed the strange behavior and suggestions of the presiding judge at this same trial. This included a recommendation for starving children out of their rooms! I kid you not. I hope you will take time to read through the blog and article highlighted above in which you find more details about this story.

All of this made me feel like we must have entered another dimension because it seemed so outlandish and obviously wrong. But sadly, these same type of things have happened before in this court; Utah’s 4th district, Provo, not to mention in courts all over the country who haven’t yet adopted Kayden’s Law . I am hopeful that through this protest, our legislature may take a serious look at this issue and adopt this protection for the sake of this family and many others here in Utah.

This winter I have written several government officials in regards to these injustices as well as to express my dismay at the mal-advised bills that are passing into legislation, namely Senate Bill 16 in Utah which bans gender affirming care for transgender youth. I encourage all to read this article released in Scientific American magazine in May of 2022 explaining how trans affirming care has shown across the board to lead to happier, healthier lives for this population.

This is very personal to me as I am a mom of a trans daughter and I deeply am affected by these bills which seem based on, at best, a misplaced concern and at worst fear and hate, and not at all upon actual peer reviewed science, or what is wanted or needed by this population. The world seems much darker to me since I have become aware of these terrible situations, neither of which is limited to the state of Utah. I admit I have felt disheartened often throughout this correspondingly long winter.

Nature has always been my place of solace, my place of stillness and my place of deep instruction. To me the butterfly represents many significant concepts and archetypes as it has to peoples across time place.

Anise Swallow Tail
Western White Butterfly

To see a butterfly is to see a creature of incredible beauty and imagination, a creature that defies form and label in its miraculous metamorphosis, a creature who is fragile but holds a surprising resilience; like the children who are caught in and survive the web of evil and abuse known as “reunification therapy” and the “alienation” industry; Like the transgender population who personify transformation and who show us how life takes form in so many varieties all equal in validity and beauty.

To think of a Butterfly in Winter is to think of these things. It is to remember that the creative power to chose a better way remains with us. It is that unlikely loveliness, that delicate promise of hope sheltering in the human heart – enduring.

Read more about and or to show support for the kids and family who I protested in support of below:

https://www.tyandbrynsarmy.com/

https://www.tiktok.com/tag/tyandbrynsarmy

#justicefortyandbryn

#Onemomsbattle

#mendingmindsvilliage

Twitch: @stupid_flipper

Happy end of winter wandering,

Juni-Jen

Cardinals, Fireflies and Eagles, Oh My, How Time did Fly!

November at Utah Lake — November Storm at Utah Lake

It is November. Some how the summer got away from me. July folded and stitched itself directly to this month of declining light, leaving August through October tumbled in that shaded pocket.

Work keeps me very active late summer through Halloween. Family events, unexpected surprises and some pretty big life challenges, furthermore, made quick work of July’s crafting project.

One of the unexpected turns that came about at the end of September, is the addition of two new fur babies in the form of orphaned feral kittens. Yeah…I thought I was going to foster them, but who am I kidding? Long story short, Luna Rueyn and Mi Suri Bella (Misu) are not going to be leaving any time soon. At 10 weeks they are the sweetest bundles of smokey tortoiseshell mischief that this surrogate kitty mom could ever wish for. Even if I didn’t wish for them in the first place. Oh well…I’m sunk.

Bottle fFeeding

5 Weeks Old

7 weeks Old

Mi Suri Bella

Luna Rueyn

10 weeks Old

November isn’t waiting around for anyone either and I am deep in the process of playing catch up and get ready as the holiday season is knocking at or rather knocking down the door, it seems.

House in Killen, Al — My Brother and Sister in Law’s new home in AL.

Summer found me wandering in many novel (to me) places as I helped my brother and sister in law move from Fort Collins, Colorado all the way to Killin. Alabama. I’m still not sure I have forgiven them for that far away migration, but I certainly made the most of the adventure.

Who knew that the eastern side of Kansas, would be so lush and green? Certainly I didn’t! In my mind Kansas had always been one long stretch of flat dry prairie. I basically viewed it as a tornado runway where ones entire house might be lifted up and deposited in another dimension no matter where it was located withing the boundaries of this state. (Thank you L. Frank Baum and Hollywood). But this is not so! The geology seems to change about midway through, with flat land turning to gently rolling wooded hills which grow greener in intensity on through Missouri all the way to Bamy.

For the first time I experienced the vast and ambling waterscapes of the Great Mississippi and Tennessee rivers. The later of which whose shoreline I got to wander along. These two mammoth rivers flow so very different from the rough and ready tumble of the Provo and American Fork rivers along the Wasatch. My rocky mountain homegrowns seem more like creeks in comparison.

In the backyard of my brother’s new home, I fell into a wonderment of crimson – a curious cardinal, and became utterly enchanted by the ethereal flight of the lightening bug. I have been told there are such insects in Utah at certain times of the year. I might have to make this a quest for the future.

My daily walks around the country roads of Northern Alabama, were orchestrated by an ever present cacophony of cicada serenading from patches of wooded acreage. This is such a singular music, falling somewhere between buzzing of electrical wires and high tenor lawn mower. The cicada population of this year is an annual species and not the anticipated 13 (Magicicada) variety that is expected to emerge in 2024.

Morning Glory Vine — Pretty blue morning glory bloom adorning a long leaf pine tree near my brother’s home.

In this part of the country, long leaf pine, maple and beeches wear shawls of trumpet vine, morning glory and wisteria. This dense greenery echos the moss covered forest of the pacific northwest where I spent my teenage years. It feels familiar and appears so similar, yet remains distinct in flora and fauna from that found in the Willamette Valley and along the coast of Oregon.

While in the area I took the opportunity to visit the Florence Indian Mound and Museum. This indigenous built mound was first constructed over 1500 years ago. I climbed the steep stairway that allows visitors of the museum to explore the precipice. Always, I am humbled by these places, feeling a deep human connection, despite the troubled history of colonization. I walked the perimeter of the apex to gaze out over a landscape that stretched far to the horizon, unbroken or hemmed in by sharp peaks as it is where I live in the mountain west. The experience was beautiful, ineffable…

Sacred Way Sanctuary Horses I, also, very much wanted to visit the Sacred Way Sanctuary. This invaluable interpretive center, horse refuge and trading post houses more than 100 Indigenous American horses whose lineages go back for centuries and hearken from several different tribal groups. The sanctuary is further home to the remnants of ancient equine species, 0ne that roamed North America during the ice ages long before the Spanish conquistadors arrived and introduced the European breeds to the vast grasslands of this continent.

I am sad to say they were not open for business while I was at brother’s house, so I was unable to actually participate in the tours and informative activities at the facility.

Making Friends with Sweet Sanctuary Horse

I had to settle, instead, for a drive out to the Sanctuary where I was, thankfully, able to greet a few horses that were grazing happily in a fenced pasture. One of them was particularly interested in investigating this strange woman standing along the fence-line looking on so longingly. As I have always had a huge affinity with the horse, this place is top of my list to visit when I return.

Mom and Me in Gazebo at Elk Mountain Hotel — Mom and Me at Elk Mountain Hotel

On my way back to Utah, I spent an extra week in Fort Collins, Colorado. During this time I was finally able to take my mom to Elk Mountain, Wyoming to visit the historic township and tour the wonderful Elk Mountain Museum.

My mom spent her most cherished childhood days rambling over the wooded terrain of this Wyoming giant; Her family taking residence in a tiny cabin, while her dad worked a local lumber mill. Throughout my own childhood, I have been happily regaled by tails of her adventures rambling around her beloved woodland home as a free spirited wilderness woman.

Elk Mountain juts dramatically from the surrounding grasslands through which the Medicine Bow River gently idles. Stunning and picturesque, this solitary inselburg and once sacred summit of the plains peoples, has been purchased by a single entity and proclaimed private property. No one is able to wander past the foothills these days without permission. Despite this, my mom and I drove up the hillside as far as we could go. We stopped to pick wildflowers and to collect rocks form this motherland; Touchstones connecting to that spunky, curious, wonderful child that forever shines from within my mother’s cornflower blue eyes.

Fall 2023 Wasatch Hills

Back home in Utah, we have enjoyed a spectacular fall. The changing of the leaves from summer greens to russet, amber and ocher set the mountains a flame by late September. This fiery display burned clear through October before cooling slowly to brown and crisping embers. The first snow took us by surprise just after Halloween, dropping temperatures over 20 degrees over night. This I did not love so much.

Through it all, I have continued to find respite, solace and beauty through wandering the wilderness spaces.

Stormy Utah Lake Along the expansive shoreline at Utah Lake this morning, storm clouds mist the wind swept water, as well as myself as I meander through the shallows. Suddenly I catch sight of a large dark shape skimming and then rising above the water line…to big for hawk or gull, it’s shape distinct even from the osprey I see in summer. This is a singular silhouette, formidable, with expansive wings tipped with fierce feathers splayed defiantly against a tempest shrouded sun.

The American bald eagle has left it’s northern abode to feast on carp and other fish abundant in Utah’s pluvial lakes. From now through February these beautiful raptors will find refuge and nourishment in these sheltered valleys.

It is a marker on the wheel of the year for me. This returning of the eagles. A visceral reminder of the invisible process; Time ever spiraling forward on the broad shoulders of a great and ghostly bird.

The Smell of Rain

Winter Storm at Utah Lake

I can never seem to resist going down to the lake in a storm. I know I am not the only one. I see the odd car or two pulled in at the parking lot of Vinyard Beach , aggressive windshield wipers working hard to afford a view.

I encounter less human company out on the beach itself. Secretly (or maybe not so much) I revel in a first hand experience. There is something primal in that energy; wind and water, and electricity. It resonates in, and sometimes chills, the bones.

Waves at Utah Lake — Storm Tossed waves at Utah Lake

Usually placid or gently undulating, Utah Lake stirred by the invisible whisk of a forceful wind, roils and rolls. Because it is a shallow lake, waves peak and drop at an astonishing pace spilling the turbulence onto the shore in great ladles of froth.

Thunders kettle drums rumble and tumble through the canyons along the Wasatch Front, punctuated at last by the whip crack of lightening splitting the slate sky with its zig-zag flail.

Swallow at Utah Lake on a Sunny Day — Swallows High, Staying Dry

Gathering clouds line up to dip and drop their heavy skirts in this meteorological dance. They release sheets of rain that wax and wane as they waltz across the lake.

A cavalry of swallows follows in each wake. The whoosh of their scything wings audible even through the storms cacophony. They catch a feast of insects that have been ungraciously toppled from their thermal rise by the sinking of barometric pressures. To read about a little more about the casualties of shifting barometric pressures link to my post “Lady Bug Wash Up” here.

The old adage Swallows high – staying dry does hold some validity.

Utah Lake in Storm — Spring Storm at Utah Lake

Then, there is that moment when the brow of the storm, a formidable furrow of bruised cumulonimbus, begins to ease giving way to shafts of sunlight. Like the “eureka” after a troubled brood, it is a startling, sudden, relief: Illumination.

Overhead a variegated circlet, the rainbow, apparates. Sometimes mirrored, reversed and doubled, light, through water’s lens reveals a brief window into its invisible workings. Magic in the purest form.

“Why are there so many, songs about rainbows? And what’s on the other side”.

Being of a certain generation, this little verse, so nostalgically belted out by a little green Muppet almost always comes to mind. Yet, rainbows have ever been alive in the myths and lore of cultures and peoples.

Nature speaks to the senses of the sentient. Her whispers reaching beyond the obvious five to the five thousand secret senses that transcend human vocabulary. Her language is universal and without attachment to clan or tribe or classification of being.

Rain on Leaf Take the smell of rain. You know it. I know you do!

It is one of the most ubiquitously recognized and admired aromas. And one of the reasons I can’t resist being out of doors in stormy weather.

Though it hard to describe in a simple word, and perhaps has gone by many names, today we call it Petrichor. Petr for rock and ichor, for the sweet essence that runs through the veins of the Gods.

Austrailian scientist first to documented the process of it’s formation, in 1964. A further investigation took place at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in the 2010s. This study gave an ingredient list of sorts, delineating three distinct processes that when combined create the ‘smell of rain’ or Petrichor.

Below is the recipe; home style. Not that anyone can simply whip this up. But for the sake of this blog let’s just pretend. For the fun of it, of course!

Petrichor

For optimal results gather in the following order.

1 Part Ozone: Split ditomic molecules of oxygen and nitrogen to create nitric oxide and ozone. This can be done by hurtling bolts of lightening through gathering storm clouds. You might have to make an offering to Zeus or Thor or beat a drum to call in the Cloud Peoples in order to accomplish this task. Whichever method you choose, the ozone molecules will attach themselves nicely to mist and rain which will eventually fall to the earth in a place near you.

1 Part Geosmin: Allow the ozone filled raindrops strike the soil forcefully. (Honestly, I don’t know how you might dis- allow this, but you could try yelling a firm “NO!”towards the heavens. However, as we want this to occur there is no need to test this out). Alerted by raindrops kindly knocking at their door, colonies of Actinomycetes, a bacteria living in the soil will begin secrete this this fascinating compound.

Just as a side note: Geosmin can be detected by human noses at less than 5 parts per trillion. It packs some pungent! Perfumers make use of its earthy tones in perfumes and in scented oils such as sandalwood, because of it’s powerful and popular appeal.

1 Part Volatile Plant Oils: During hot and dry weather, vegetation such as trees and shrubs, release oils that accumulate in dirt, rocks, concrete and dry wood. So just let the plants do their thing! Similar to geosmin, these aromatics are just waiting for rains percussive invitation to come out and play

Here in the Great Basin, sages, rabbit brush, wild rose, juniper, gamble oak, maples, and false mahogany among other high desert flora create a scent that is basically the aroma of heaven. In case you are wondering. But I digress…

That’s it! Mix the above together and you’ve got a delicious stew of petrichor to enjoy. At least through the olfactory orifices.

The scent of rain has been informing and delighting the children of earth, however, long before the word petrichor was invented or the ability to describe it’s process existed.

Natures lexicon is one that our grandmothers and grandmother’s grandmothers readily acknowledged. These are the innate wisdoms that have become obscured through the years as populations moved away from working in and with the land to put on the cloak of industry and progress. Yet they are not wholly lost to us.

Like the metaphorical pea hidden under a pile of mattresses, we still still feel their presence: When we sit in stillness out under the stars, or wander through a meadow blooming with wildflowers, or catch the first winter snow on our tongues.

Or when we are drawn out of our cozy houses at the sound of thunder to smell the rain and experience the raw power of a storm.

Misty Rain Storm It is part of our inheritance ( just like the princess in ‘The Princess and the Pea’) revealing who we truly are.

I feel like the earth, astonished at fragrance borne in the air, made pregnant with mystery, from a drop of rain.

Rumi

Feel free to tell me about your stormy experiences or to leave a question or comment , by filling out the comment box under Leave a Reply, below.

Until next time, happy storm chasing and wandering!

Here’s the Scoop and it’s A Pelican Brief: The American White Pelican in Utah

Carl Sagon Questions — Pelicans over Utah Lake

“Is a pelican considered a carnivore”? My fellow pod-caster/wandering companion, Christine, posed this question to me just a few weeks ago.

Christine has a brilliant mind resplendent with curiosity. I really admire this about her.

She works at a local middle school as a student advocate. Students and co-workers alike, have come to realize that if you want an answer to almost anything you can just ask Christine.

How does she know so much, because she asks ALL the questions no matter how out there or mundane they seem.

Is a pelican a carnivore?

My Quick Rendition of a “Carnivorous Pelican”

Humorously enough, when the I put that question to my own mind, I immediately pictured a gargantuan pelican with a gaping maw full of dagger like teeth terrorizing the shorelines our local lakes.

This, of course, is an irrational image. Pelican’s don’t eat humans, or things that aren’t found swimming in the water, right?

This seemingly straight forward question, as any good question does, lead to me to ponder further about this remarkable bird: the pelican; In particular the American White Pelican which has so recently made it’s vernal return to Utah Lake.

So we will start back with my image of the terrifying “carnivorous pelican”, hungry for beach bound human flesh. Was there once a pelican ancestor like this?

It turns out, that during the late Triassic to the early Cretaceous period, a pterosaur, C. Hanseni, glided over the arid landscape of Utah, sporting a probable flange or wattle pouch, very similar to a pelican.

3 D printed Skull of C. Hanseni by Matt Wedel

And yes, it did claim a mouth full of teeth. 112 plus four jutting fangs to be exact! And it’s wingspan was quite impressive…for it’s era.

Here is where my people eating version starts to break down.

C. Hanseni ‘s wingspan was about 5 feet – that is about 4 feet shy of the American White Pelican of today. And it probably existed on a diet of insects and small reptiles, not frightened humans or even mammals or their prototypes.

The American White Pelican by contrast can have a wing span of over 9 feet and weighs in at anywhere from 15 – 30 lbs. That makes it the second largest bird in North America next to the California condor! But it still it is not nor ever has been a people eater.

Despite this slight disappointment to my imagination, pelicans do claim an an ancient avian heritage having evolved some 30 million years ago into the modern birds they are today.

I have met several people in Utah Valley, where I live, who were surprised to learn that “briefs, “pods”, “pouches”, “scoops” and or “squadrons” of pelican, as they can be collectively referred to, inhabit Utah Lake for a season every year. And to be honest, when I first started visiting the lake regularly I,too, was surprised by this.

Having lived by the Oregon coast as a teen and young adult, I primarily associated pelicans with the ocean.

It turns out that, of the two species of pelican that live in North America, only the Brown Pelican is a salty dog. The American White Pelican is considered a fresh water bird, though, here in Utah, it gives a special sort of nod to its briny cousin.

Gunnison Island, a remote piece of real estate off the shores of The Great Salt Lake is home to the third largest White American Pelican nesting colony in North America. 10-20 percent of the total population of American White Pelicans use this isolated island as a rookery.

The Great Salt Lake, however, is devoid of the pelican’s main food source: fish. Hence the birds rise on the thermals each morning flying miles every day to catch dinner. Many of them go to the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge, but a few take the nearly 100 mile southbound trip to hunt in Utah Lake.

American White Pelicans have a very unique and effective way of feeding. They are fish herders!

Pelican's feeding That’s right, these clever birds, will flock together in the water, using coordinated efforts to force schools of fish into the shallows. Once there, the whole group, just dives right in to collect their tasty snacks.

Below is a wonderful audio description I am sharing from the wonderful Utah Public Radio Production: Wild About Utah.

What about those funny looking pouches, you might be asking? Do they store dinner whole, fish bowl style, while jetting it back to hungry chicks?

The answer is no. Although the pelican pouch can hold up to 3 gallons of water, once these birds engulf or “net” their prey, they drain the water out by tipping their heads before swallowing their captives whole.

Chicks are fed by the ever the so appetizing regurgitation method. Yummy! (I am being a bit anthropomorphic and human-centrist here). This method of feeding young, adopted by many avian species, is both practical and highly efficient when considering the distances these parent birds have to travel between nesting sites and hunting grounds.

American White Pelican in Flight The American White Pelican is impressive in many ways. It is spectacular to observe these pro flyers cruising above the water without flapping a a wing. Resembling some sort of power glider, they can travel this way for quite a distance until at last the wings rotate vertically and webbed feet extend just in time to execute a perfect water landing.

This cagey bird also secrets a showy surprise, visible only when wings are extended. A neat row of black flight feathers doubles as a dapper trim. Against the American White Penguins nearly ubiquitous snowy plumage, it recalls to my mind the spectator wing tip oxfords that were so popular in the swing era.

I wonder if the American White Pelican might have inspired the design? If you know the answer to this question, be sure to let me know through leaving a comment.

American White Pelican with Horn — American White Pelican at Utah Lake with Horn

During the early spring, until about May, one might notice a peculiar hump or “horn” as it is often referred to, growing on top of a pelican’s beak. This unique appendage apparently makes an appearance only during the mating season. Occurring on both male and female birds, it simply falls off after young are produced.

Somewhere out on a sandy beach or rocky shoreline, there is a curiosity to be discovered; A pelican horn, kind of like a unicorn horn, only different! Here is a fun and informative blog I enjoyed about this funky feature.

I could go on and on about how interesting these bird peoples are, but that would make this blog quite a tome. And I will leave room for you, dear reader, to investigate further.

Before I end, however, I would like to rewind a bit and revisit Gunnison Island. Although American White Pelican numbers have generally been increasing in the U.S., they are certainly becoming a bird of concern here in Utah. During my research I learned that In 2020 the number of chicks produced on Gunnison island had decreased drastically from what used to be be between 4000 – 5000 chicks per season down to only 500.

Why is this happening?

Pelicanno water There is no question that drought and climate change are effecting this iconic lake. Yet, the biggest hand in this environmental emergency, it turns out is the largely unbridled interests of big industry and agriculture. Aided and abetted by short sighted politicians, precious fresh water tributaries are continually being diverted away from the lake towards the unchecked demands of a growing urban population.

To read an excellent article by the Audubon Society about the crisis at the Great Salt Lake and the precarious fate of the American White Pelican be sure to click on the links at the end of this blog.

When I first began this post, I started with the exercise of writing a poem about the American White Pelican. I do not profess to be a great poet, but I love the practice of this art form. My mind (often a bit on the goofy side) could not resist the idea of writing a poem in canticle form – a “Peli-Canticle” if you will.

I hesitated, at first, to share this activity. Yet, despite the slightly silly title, I think this attempt does capture, at least a little, the current struggle that the White Pelican is facing here in Utah.

I hope you will enjoy it, and that it might give you pause to think and maybe ask more questions of your own.

Peli-canticle for the American White Pelican in Utah

The coyote knows a thing or two – like Moses

Coyote knows to sally forth at the parting of the sea

In this case the Great Salt Lake has birthed a briny passage

Gunnison Island, no more but aye, land! Ironic coyote laughs – poor

Pelican, it’s pallid rookery, brief colony of (once) isolated egg and young

The idyll of this Eden (as with all Edens) fate will not endure

In the sweating city, eternal fountains flow towards thirsty lawns who drink up and yawn,

It is a slow asteroid, for the modern pterasaur, in dryness raining down

Oh yeah! I almost forgot to answer the question posed at the beginning of this blog.

Of course pelicans are considered carnivores, mostly of the pescatarian kind – meaning fish eater. However, American White Pelicans have *also been known to eat a craw fish, turtle, an occasional duck or pigeon and yes, even small mammals! Who knew? I didn’t…

Questioning is the minds way of wandering. It is the blooming of awareness that brings us closer to understanding this beautiful world and our relationship with and to it.

Happy Wandering…

Click HERE to read the Audubon article about the Great Salt Lake.

Click HERE to read further about the 2020 decline at the Pelican rookery on Gunnison Island

Synchronicity and the Giant Purple Balloon

Synchronicity

It is astonishing how many surprises a person can come across when wandering. From unique structures, to bizarre animal behaviors to interesting items left out in the wilderness. But every now and then you stumble across something so extraordinary, so outside of any sort of expectation that you know it is truly a once in a life time experience.

So much is the strange timing of it, that you realize that if you hadn’t stepped into this window somehow, you would have missed it all together. For that window is short and it’s opening narrow. And it makes you wonder….

About Synchronicity

Synchronicity is a concept first brought into the modern zeitgeist by one of the founding fathers of psychodynamic therapy, Carl Gustav Jung. (c. 1875 – 1961) He later developed this idea with in collaboration with physicist and Nobel laureate Wolfgang Pauli, culminating in a work entitled the Pauli–Jung conjecture.

Jung and Pauli defined synchronicity in several different ways, but the one that I find most resonant is this one which defines synchronicity as; “an acausal connecting principle”, “acausal parallelism“, and as the “meaningful coincidence of two or more events where something other than the probability of chance is involved”.(Jung, Carl G. [1951] 2005. “Synchronicity“. Pp. 91–98 in Jung on Synchronicity and the Paranormal, edited by R. Main. London: Taylor & Francis.)

The Giant Purple Balloon

On a gloomy overcast afternoon in early March of last year, my youngest daughter, Sienna, and I were both feeling a little sludgy, stuck in the dull drums between late winter and spring in a state that I refer to as being in the “ humpty dumps.” To pick up our spirits, we decided to climb up a mountain, which is almost always my go to remedy, of course!

It was getting on towards evening so we decided to hike up a familiar pathway leading north above a natural sink, known as Johnson’s Hole. There we secured ourselves on a rock that overlooks the canyon gates.

To the west, the valley spills out; a once high desert wilderness, now become a river of industry fanning out into a wide delta of human habitation until it meets the shores of Utah Lake, where nature once again commands the scene.

Provo Canyon — The Canyon Gates, Provo, Canyon.

Beyond the western shore, the sun, a giant salmon eye, had begun it’s downward dive, setting the lake on fire in it’s ember glow.

Tranquil for a moment, we sat in silence, as we often do when in this beautiful place. Suddenly, however, Sienna jumped up and pointed towards the crest of the hole.

“What is that”? she cried.

As the evening was darkening it took me a minute to adjust and focus my eyes. Finally I registered a large round object rising out of the depression like some specter summoned by the sweeping skirts of night.

Floating about 6 feet above ground a huge purple orb glided towards our general direction. The nature of it was so surreal that for a moment I couldn’t think of the word for ‘ floating ball thing .’

My daughter jumped up and started running down the slope towards the object, which was traveling, now at some good speed.

“It’s a balloon!” I finally managed, fully realizing that it was already evident to my daughter who was closing in on it before it slipped over the sharp eastward cliff edge.

The balloon was fast, but Sienna was faster! And quick as she is, she snapped up the ribbon to which it was attached just before our UFO reached the point of no return.

IT…WAS…HUGE!!!!

This was no ordinary latex birthday blow up…no average Joe Blow escaped from the confines of some pop up wedding arch. Nope. This was giant purple people eating meter wide helium powered machine!

We both laughed until our sides felt to bursting with disbelief.

Our balloon friend came home with us that day. It took up residence in our living room, until it decided to play a roll it was a natural for, as a unique birthday party gift, complete with added one eye.

To this day it remains a big question mark, however. The origin story of this strange entity.

The where, why and how did it find itself floating freely in a canyon miles from it’s natural habitat; car lot or real estate display. Late winter is a bit cold and early for a festival fugitive.

How it did not get tangled or punctured in the more than capable arms of the gamble oak thickets that are abundant in this landscape, we will never know.

Yet, somehow on March, 4, 2021, precisely around 6:15 p.m. Sienna and I just happened to be in the right place, at the right time, to quite literally catch it.

Needless to say, the ” humpty dumps ” dissipated that day. And soon enough, spring arrived, bringing with it a renewed sense of energy for all living creatures, lifting the whole of us upwards and outwards from the dragging pall of winter’s coat tail.

Deer in Johnson's Hole — Deer Crossing Johnson’s Hole, January 2022

As I write this, we have just barely stepped out onto the icy bank of the cold and dark season.

It is good to think back and remember that day in March of last year.

To remember that life can surprise us.

To know that sometimes things happen without having any rational reason to them. And yet, being without reason, it inversely increases in significance. And in so doing can, suddenly, hold all the meaning in the world. Who knew it could come in the form of a giant purple balloon?

As always, feel free to leave a comment or relevant question and join in on this conversation below. Also, don’t forget to subscribe, to be notified each time a blog or podcast is posted to this site. Thank you so much for stopping by and for reading.

Happy Wandering…

*( This blog post is lovingly dedicated to my dad, who asked me last august, when I was going to write about the purple balloon. Well, now I have, and so I did. I hope you enjoy it, dad. Likewise I hope everyone else who might read this blog will too ).

Purple Haze: Feeling Blue and Seeing Red on a Stormy Day at Utah Lake

Feeling Blue and Seeing Red

Utah Lake Storm Every once and a while the cloud beings band together in force and let loose their long liquid skirts upon this high desert country in torrential rains. And though, we need it this year, and I do feel grateful for it, it’s been one of those days when the heavy, bruised dome above, matches my inner climate.

I often wonder about the color blue…how it is both the color of happiness – as in the blue bird of happiness, blue skies smiling at me, and blue seas for smooth sailing. Yet it is also the color of sadness – singing the blues, down in the blues and just plain being blue. It has of course it’s many shades, as does any hue, but I don’t think any other color shares such a dichotomy for description. Maybe that’s why I am drawn to it so much. Blue…a beautiful experience in continuum. Today though, I am definitely in the sad camp of this color.

I walk in this daze of color and mood, along the equally brooding shore of Utah Lake this afternoon.

My head aches with a dull red, painful ache. I am still trying to recover from this monster, this virus, Covid 19, that has so recently and so violently shaped the landscape of our human experience for the past two years.

On a personal level, I have done everything in my power to be responsible, to be careful and to not contract this virus, and yet, I still have managed to harbor and replicate and become ill with the mechanisms of mysterious organism. It has been a month and a half now. And after yet another visit to my doctor, I am officially falling into the long term category, with symptoms that are often debilitating, or at the very least, creating road blocks in my work and daily living. Though I am hoping not to be there for long! At least that is my constant silent mantra.

I would like more clarity and certainty here, that I probably am not apt to get. But most of all I want to just feel better! If any of you out there are experiencing something similar, or you are grieving from the loss of a loved one due to this virus, please know you are not alone. Though I know it doesn’t make it physically easier.

If I am being candid, as I am now, I have too often entertained a vague sense of betrayal; at the government, at politicians – the arguing and mudslinging of the reds and blues that seems only to breed more division and less actual healing, at the media, at mankind, at loved ones, at the universe even! Just step in line. Though I know this is irrational. My lot, is no different than many others, worse or better. That is all subjective, and mostly out of my control. But today, I admit I am not only feeling blue, but I am also seeing red….I’m angry! And human it turns out, after all.

I walk as I am stewing, these two primary colors swirling my mind into a perfect purple haze.

Purple haze: I can hear the late genius Jimmy Hendrix soulfully wailing, “’Scuse me while I kiss the sky”! I’d much rather kiss the sky than “kiss this guy”. He probably is spreading covid, I think sarcastically recalling this popular mondegreen. Sky wins over guy any day nowadays, in my book. This is my angry mind speaking, dear reader, so please forgive.

(A mondegreen is a word or phrase resulting from mishearing another word or lyrics -in case you wondered….yeah there’s a word for that and now you know it you smarty pants! ).

It has been claimed that Hendrix was writing about a drug experience when he wrote that famous song title. In an NPR blog I read recently, however, Jimmy, himself, debunked this theory in pointing its meaning to the last line in the second stanza of Purple Haze: Never happy or in misery / Whatever it is, that girl put a spell on me.”

A state of uncomfortable confusion…Purple Haze…yeah Jimmy, I’m with you there.

Carl Sandburg: 1958, Poet, journalist, and eminent Lincoln historian: His portrait was created by Avard T. Fairbanks during the Lincoln Sesquicentennial.

I have often wonder if he ever read Carl Sandburg’s poem, Haze. Which is actually where I first connected with this phrase, being the nerdy, introverted, poetry loving, wanderer I was.

The fourth stanza of this poem reads:

“Yesterday and tomorrow cross and mix on the skyline. The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets, one waits”.

Purple Haze…again, a place of indeterminate being, kind of lost uncertainty, and certainly not a place of clarity, yep…down with you too Sandburg. I’m deep in the discomfort of it

Lady Bug Wash Up

Ever Expanding Shoreline of Utah Lake

Ever Expan

I keep my eyes sweeping along the waters edge, at least that’s a definition I can grasp on to. Though, this edge has crept ever further inward towards her sister shore it has seemed almost daily. This summers long procession has revealed so many surprises, such as vintage, intact soda, bottles, old toys and tools and even artifacts from the indigenous civilizations that utilized and cared for this beautiful resource long before the pioneers set their industrious eyes upon it. These treasures have delighted and fascinated me, despite the fact that it’s expanding shoreline is a result of a severe drought that we have been experiencing in Utah this past year.

Lady But Wash Up I stop to examine a little gray rock, where several little lady bugs have oddly congregated. As I walk further down the shore, I notice other such gatherings on concrete, or old logs, and some laying still and silent piled up into frowning rows just above the water line.

I think about how, when paddle boarding, I have often run into lots of these bright coated winged ones, floating, helpless in the water. And I have more than once scooped them from a certain watery grave to give them a lift back to safe harbor on my board. Though, it turns out, there are always far too many for me to feel much a hero.

What is happening here? Why do these little land insects end up on the shores or in the waters of this lake and others? Do they have covid and have they consequently lost their tiny pin tip minds? Is this is their last hurrah because they are so very frustrated with life? Oh wait…nope, that’s me, trying to anthropomorphize this insect behavior with my own situation. But really, I wonder, what is happening?

It turns out, there is a phenomenon known as Ladybug Wash up.

Say what?

Yep, Lady Bug Wash Up is a thing! Sadly, this is not some sort of happy bath house where six legged spotted red coats gather to casually gossip and bath in tiny little pools of water while sipping aphid-tinis.

I’m going to digress here for just a moment: Actually lady bugs aren’t always spotted or even red! Some are spotless, pink and or yellow…Mind Blown…I know right?! Next I will be telling you that the blue jay’s feather is only blue from the outside! I forgot to mention this in my blog about feathers. It’s a pretty cool fact, none the less. If you shine a light underneath the jay feather, it will appear to be brown and not the brilliant azure that is so very striking when sunlight reflects off of it. Those magic birds are full of tricks!

But let’s get back to the topic at hand. A Lady Bug Wash Up is an occurrence where several lady bugs, hundreds, thousands even into the millions, as once occurred on the Libyan Desert coast of Egypt in April 1939, end up floating in sea or lake water and washing up in clumps, both dead and alive along the shorelines of large and small bodies of water.

The fact is, no one really knows for certain why such morbid lady bug parties tend to occur, but there are plenty of theories.

One theory that has gained credence since a 2008 study that was published by a student at Cornell University, maintains the idea that certain types of breezes generated by warm temperatures, unseasonable weather or following a storm, create havoc for these hapless creatures. The idea is that they are flying during such times or at altitudes that lend them susceptible to being relocated out into the bodies of water that are generating them. This is more apt to occur during times of the year where lady bugs are gathering for wintering over or for mating. You can read more about it, and about lady bugs, here in this excellent blog called The Lost Lady Bug Project.

In other words, these poor little beetles, just flying about, minding their own buggy business, suddenly find themselves caught up in a perfect purple haze of their own, but instead of kissing the sky, as the winged folk so effortlessly do, or even this guy, which would indeed be preferable to the following, they find themselves washing around in a liquid danger zone where yesterday and tomorrow mingle into the mystery of beyond.

I’m for sure with you lady bugs…this purple haze has got us all feeling the blue and seeing red.

Good news is, that it has been determined in that same study, that lady bugs can float for an average of 33 hours, up to 150 hours before expiring. That’s not too shabby! Furthermore, despite the fact that several of these tiny drifters do float on beyond the horizon of this existence, enough of them make it to shore, to eat, drink and make more little lady bugs for another day.

I guess, that means, I might have to wade through the purple haze of this covid experience for at least as long in human terms. Which I do not know how I would calculate. But the message is clear. If in the haze, just keep swimming…the shore is out there, and it even may be expanding towards you and you might get there sooner than later, or later than sooner, but you will get there, and that is the point. Or as a lady bug might say, the spot. Unless it’s a pink one with no spots….

‘Scuse me while I kiss the sky.

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Thank you for reading, as always, feel free to connect with us below and happy wandering!

Juni-Jen

The Wonder of Wandering

Have you ever wandered just for wanderings sake? Meandered down a trail and then wondered what lay beyond a curious boulder outcropping – so much so, that you let go of any inclination you had to get to a destination, such as the end of the trail or a particular viewpoint?

If so, then this is a blog for you. A blog about letting go of check lists, destinations and expectation. A blog about the items, places, creatures, things and discoveries made by simply exploring.

Juniper Tree — Me in one of my juniper tree friends

I consider myself a consummate wanderer. Sure, you could say I hike, but that might be misleading. Instead, I may start at a specific trail, yet rarely do I end up at the intended destination. Sometimes I travel far from the beaten path and other times I meander only a few hundred steps before I find what I am “looking” for. Always I discover something intriguing, mysterious, funny, or puzzling.

I am fortunate to live in an area that is both remarkably close to a beautiful lake and a magnificent mountain range. However, wandering does not require either of these. Wandering can be done in an empty lot, a nearby park or even the urban jungle. There are many different kinds of wilderness spaces. I think you will be surprised at what you might find, once you let go of trying to get somewhere or fulfill a checklist.

Me at Utah Lake Image by Rachel Hamilton

View of Utah Lake from Wasatch Mountains

How, What and Why Wander

The super good news is that you don’t need special equipment or clothing to take up wandering. Some sensible footwear, possibly, depending on where you wander and appropriate attire for your location. ‘Could be from Good Will. As long as it works for you, it’s perfect!

You also don’t have to be an athlete or even be particularly athletic, though wandering in general might lead towards some gain in fitness, depending on how far it takes you. But again, it is not the aim as wandering eschews such aims, (see below). You also don’t need to partake of a special diet consisting only of twigs and leaves and maybe donuts, because life without a donuts!?

Unicorn, donut — No Resisting Unicorns or Donuts

Lastly there is no requirement to become a member of a secret society. So no bloodletting , or hat-tipping, nose- nodding or demands that you run naked through the woods while blind folded. (Not a bad idea to try sometime – just for fun, minus the blindfold).

All that is required is a healthy curiosity and the willingness to take a little risk. That risk being, giving yourself permission to open up to the full sensory experience; to become completely present in the moment. Something we all did almost everyday, as children, so you’ve most likely already had lots of practice, even if you are a bit rusty from all the adulting you’ve had to endure.

I sometimes like to turn this oft quoted phrase a bit to say “Lost not are those who wander”.

Wandering by it’s very connotation is about straying a bit from an expected course,(let’s face it – you know you’ve always wanted to) be it a literal trail or some explicit or implicit agenda. A wanderer’s path is not aimless, though it’s purpose is to have no purpose other than allowing discovery to unfold. In this way wandering is state of BEING, much more than it is of doing. Far from being lost, wandering is the doorway to finding, to infinite discovery…both inner and outer.

For the wanderer, to miss out on a beautiful journey, for the sake of “accomplishing” a constructed destination would mean being lost…hopefully you are getting the gist, or even better yet, maybe you’ve had it long before I spelled it out on this page.

John Muir, the American naturalist and environmental philosopher known as the “Father of the National Parks” sums it up perfectly:

“Off into the woods I go to lose my mind and find my soul”.

I hope you will follow me, and also my fellow wander woman, good friend and contributor to this blog, Christine, through our wandering escapades. And read on to discover a world that is sometimes weird, always wonderful and often beyond belief. Or better yet, I hope that this blog might lead to adventures of your own.

And as always…happy wandering!

Feel free to tell me about where you wander and what you find in the comment section below. I would love to hear about your discoveries.