To Be Prolific

The trip to Tucson/Phoenix served as the christening of a mini-renaissance within me. Not inspired, but invigorated and envious. To be a fly on the wall for a few days as Jeremy makes "The Guilt Complex" whatever it will be - I felt guilty.

For how long I have been coasting. For how little effort I have put towards the activities that have always brought fulfillment. For how arrogant and wasteful I have been with my days. For my indifference. For my lassitude. For allowing weakness.

In the nonchalant rage that was their touring through Arizona, I was lulled into a vulnerability that had only been alluded to when Jeremy played in Denver last week. The mundane and whorish aspects of their self-promotion. Hawking handbills in guitar shops and canvasing prepubescent shopping malls. A preemptive ejaculation in order to purge the weakest seed. In order to leave only the most viral representation of their art for whomever appears for the show.
This purity and intensity - I have only sniffed the last few months. Here and there I stumble upon something of which I am proud. Only every so often have I produced a work that reminded me why I bother.

Surely, the madness of two thousand miles to ponder Jeremy's mystery, not to mention the might of the sonorous Coronado, and the delirious rhythm of an overdue oil change - have transubstantiated my lower proclivity into a seething fecundity.

The read and written word is back. Participation and Intrigue, requiters of the active masses have brought me home. Ostensibly, the time honored postal mission is revisited. Letters are retracing the spent bends of the interstate highway system and the less trafficked troposphere - bringing bits of me back.
Pynchon and my peers fill my head with beer that steers me clear of trite and septic disaffection. Better than the best brewed bubbles have to offer.

The mere fact that I am so eager to write this nothing, is - for me - success. A fever I can only hope to continue carrying. No climate or harbor for relevance!

Education continues..

Last week I spent about five days in a cabin with Kaitlin and family along the Gunnison River, over the Collegiate Mountains - in the sufficiently remote ranch land braced by Signal Peak and Gunnison National Forest.

Gunnison County is home to the Gunnison, East, and Taylor rivers which boast some of the best trout fishing in Colorado - in addition to an average temperature that is ten degrees lower than anywhere in the state. Though Colorado is experiencing an "early winter" (having just turned to autumn) the low of nine degrees our first morning in Gunnison was quite a shock.

The temperatures gradually rose throughout the stay, but falling in a mountain fed river and leaking waiters will certainly give your feet a different perspective.

Above there are pictures from a hike Kaitlin and I ventured on into the West Elk Wilderness - Mill Creek Trail. The week before the canyon had experienced 80mph winds, leaving giant aspen and ponderosa strewn across the valley and in many places blocking the trail.
It is difficult to glean from just photos, but the hike was quite eerie. The canyon was still but for the constant rustling of the aspen leaves. Only birds and small rodents appeared, though we found mountain lion tracks and scat. In fact, we were in prime mountain lion country (large boulders, high yellow grass, downed trees, high canyon walls), a realization that made the hike all the more tense - despite their reclusive nature.
Featured also are just two pictures from days of fly fishing activities. Kaitlin's father (The Gillie Man) tying leaders and flies. Then we have me on day five. After spending most of the day on our hike is West Elk, there was too little daylight left to rent boots, so I hit the Gunnison in my slippers. Not recommended.

Back in Denver now, it might be easy to forget the presence of the wild. My good friend Taylor posed the question to me the other day: How is the American Frontier? Does the American Dream reside in Colorado?

Well, I gave him more than he bargained for and more than I will burden anyone reading this with..

But the answer is of course, "yes" and "no"..

I have come to find, through Ed Abbey and driving in my own steel dinosaur through eastern Utah - that the rail fence that I once thought plagued the American West (lining miles and miles of uninhabited prairie) does not confine nature - it does not make the land our eunuch - it confines us, it protects us. From a force that, despite the industrial mechanization of our lives, can still reek absolute havoc. The fences protect us from facing all of the forces that we no longer have the instinctual capacity to maneuver. In this manner, the frontier is still a vibrant throng, a population unrivaled.
Yet, there are those who come to the frontier with no tolerance, no adventure in their heart. They will remain the urban mob, with no interest in equilibrium. If by chance they do venture into the hills - it is for a resort like cabin with tens of thousands of square footage and fenced in acreage. For these individuals and indeed for most of us in our daily lives, there is no frontier. However, in those rare moments when we dream of wild things and in the rarer moments when we let ourselves be hunted - when we reenter the chain - then we have reclaimed both frontiers (our mind and our surrounding).

Lastly, thirty days until our departure. Nearly every loose end is tied. Kaitlin's grandmother has offered to store my car in her garage in Colorado Springs. The scent of South America is so strong now that it is difficult to pursue any of the administrative details left. I just know that the days are going by and not too long from now we will be on a plane and everything will change. For now though, we will call the airlines, dry-run packing, and make our last excursions in the American West. I leave for Phoenix tomorrow, but will be back by Tuesday. Then later this month we will head five or six hours south to the sand dunes.

There is so much land.

Work Boots - Glacier National Park - Montana

9K feet? - Glacier National Park - Montana

Shot by Kaitlin - North of Wilcox, Saskatchewan

Sunrise - Franz Jevne State Park - Birchdale, Minnesota

Homage for Young America

Phase Three: Life on the Front Range

South Carolina is now a place I once lived. From September 3rd through the 16th I severed the geomantic umbilical chord via Atlanta, Chicago, Madison, Bemidji, Winnipeg, Regina, West Glacier, Provo, and now the golden days of Denver.
MSR backcountry stoves, water pumps, head lamps, packing and unpacking, laughing away exhaustion, vacant hostels and conversationalists have stepped in for falafel, bemoaning restaurants, South Main St. jazz, and the eerie calm of graduation in a college town.
Either the process of growing old or realizing my youth has left me with a deep respect for my peers. The further I plunge into the deluge that is my autonomy.. the more I appreciate the decisions and hospitality of others. Knowing what I have chosen for my time. Knowing that others have decided to welcome and encourage me. To shelter and feed me. To share their plans and aspirations. That we could all live vicariously through each other - at least for a little while - at least to pause from the magnanimity of our lives.
The foothills are a safe place to marvel. And it feels good to marvel again at the bravery of my friends and my imagination. The foothills are a safe place for leisure. All of the natives are gone, though we risk workaday intersections, we skate and skip to the converted coffee shop to read and the Frenchish bistro for pints and soccer - ambivalent. We have already thwarted so many typical disasters..

Whether we be the children of suburbia, the urban refuse, the advocates of journalistic and general integrity, the humble faithful that allow simple contact with the spirit and only wish to share that experience, the young teachers that live from sparkle to glimmer - that grow old with hope, the competent adventurers - parents, trekkers, advocates - even the purists and the elitists (if only such a thing truly existed)...we are earning our leisure.
The brethren that is future ...is here now. At least in me. And I, being one person, is enough to facilitate the virus.

I want to think that though this entry may sound much like previous entries... that my narrative is shifting. That what I am beginning to understand is not only profound in my own mind, but that it is empirically, emotionally, and spiritually - true. And not just true of young Americans, but true of the global youth. And not just the global youth, but that in all people there is an accessible, catholic commitment to truth - hope - love. The only choice we cannot deny if confronted.

Lastly, I want to take this opportunity, on this meager podium, to thank the peers that decorate my life. Most now, are beyond my reach, but I embrace you in every pensive tenor of the time. I champion you in every seeming insignificance...

Trimming the Garden - Making Space to Grow

I spent a good portion of my academic career mulling over the roles man insists on playing with the world. It was first codified sophomore year by Mrs. DeGroat as Transcendentalism... Thoreau and the gang. I was excited by the notion that there was a binding energy within all things. That everything was "connected."
I think it was a fruitful concept for a lonely and ambitious adolescent. I spent the next few years dancing around the implications of Transcendentalism, soon to become Pantheism.
My peers and most elders now call me a man.
I no longer question my will to express, much like I am doing here.
I have accepted the blank stares and stiff silence of those that do not understand.
Because I have been loved by both sexes for my thoughts and actions. I have a circle that has shown me that it expects me to continue to keep going.
That is how I know that what was once a comfort, is still a comfort, but for a different reason that does not diminish its validity.

What do I mean?

Kaitlin and I are closing in on our fourth week in Kershaw County. We left the brutal summer behind last week in finishing the sapling extractions and pine straw laying.
Last weekend we had a get together to celebrate changes. Kristen will leave for the University of Frankfurt at the end of September, Kaitlin and I will leave for Colorado September 2nd, and I turned twenty-three.

Friends and family that have known and loved us from all points in our life were present. I will one day think of a new cliche for the, "this is not good bye, merely 'until next time'" but it is a fitting sentiment. I am happy that we have handled this transition in this way. Heart open, arms wide, with smiles.

I remarked to Kaitlin the other night that these moments are the reward for living boldly. A year ago we hinted timidly at our wildest dreams for our lives after graduation. So far, we're on track. A week from now, we'll set out on the next phase of that vision. Each day is another vote of confidence. Each evening by the fire, reflecting on our decision, we are bolstered. As dearly as we love our friends and family, the sky is dark here - we are isolated and happy.

Between the two of us and roasting sassafras we are both bare under the night and full of our loved ones. I hope that is enough to get us through anything. I hope that is the minimum we require. We do love everything else, but if that is all we get - we'll be okay.

Less than a week from now, we'll hit the road for Colorado - where aspen and fly fishing await.

It's just past two o'clock. The midday sun is on the decline and that means only about an hour before Kaitlin and I get back to the grind. No more hocking hummus and pita bread. No more refills, no more sidework, no more unreliable coworkers. It's just us.

We successfully made the "move" from Columbia to Lugoff. I say "move" because ten days later and we are still living out of our bags. We actually moved into my Sity's former home in Camden. Due to a bunch of technical mumbo-jumbo my parents were not able to settle the estate before we arrived (two days after in fact) - so thus, they were unable to move out of the house in Lugoff.

It hasn't been all bad. We have long been accustomed to the absence of internet and television, and better for it! We spent the first week getting organized, reading, sitting in the breakfast nook watching the day evaporate the morning fog. This is the life!

Then the work began. The process has been less than organized. We have been frustrated by the parochial way of making appointments - which is not to keep them. The plumbers, the carpet guy, the cable guy, people offering to pick up linens as donations, all have reneged on previously agreed appointments - some on multiple occasions. The sum has been a haphazard smattering of odd jobs that "need" to be done, but are not the top priority.

As I speak the carpet in the den is being stretched, enabling furniture from the house in Lugoff to be moved here. The plumbers are digging a new line to the sewer. Things are happening, but in the ten days that it has taken to get people out here to do work - we have been forced to scrounge for productivity.

We've been outside mostly. I recall Kaitlin's defeat almost two months ago, "Jack, I'm...hot" - Welcome to the Southland. But even I, who have been acclimated to this place over the last twenty-one years am struggling with the last few days. Moving furniture and reclaiming a wild lawn through triple digit heat over consecutive days has left us both depleted. And we've only just begun..

There is enough yard work and painting yet to be done outside that could last us well through the month. We've only recently become organized enough to work in the morning and evening (as we originally intended) - hopefully this will allow us to retain our endurance.

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In the downtime we have signed up for WWOOF. We received our list of farms in Chile and have mapped them out using GoogleMaps - so now we will read the descriptions and decide where we'll try to end up.

The trip is still months away though. I am very anxious for the last week in South Carolina when I can spend some quality time with my family. And then September 2nd when we begin our two weeks on the road. It will be another step closer. Another destination.

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Meanwhile, it is still the beginning of August and it is still getting hotter. The next ten days will be the real test. How long can we hold out before we start falling apart, whether it be physically, or emotionally, or both? I think we can do it. I am happy to be exhausted, to suffer blood blisters, and punctures from tools and shrubs. To be drenched in sweat before eleven in the morning. To see such a change come over the places that have always been so familiar to me. It is valuable work. There is real progress. We must be sure to step back in our exhaustion, to put our hands on our hips, and look at what we have done. This will remind us that our efforts are put to use and that we have more to give, more to create.

I always want to be able to do this. Whether it is to help raise a barn in Chile or to nudge an adolescent out of the nest onto the passionate winds of literature and sport. To experience motion in things.