Jaci Dawn

I think he is a World War 1 cavalry soldier. He is made out of cast iron and the paint is chipped and his horse is missing the off hind leg from the hock down.

That’s the right side, from the knee down.

Here’s the story:

I was a toddler. We lived in Jarbidge, Nevada in the summers and wintered in Elko. I remember that we were in Jarbidge and that my grandparents on my mother’s side were visiting us. That would make it about 1959, when my little sister was born, but it could have been 1958 because there are a lot of family photos of relatives from that side of the family visiting us in Jarbidge in 1958.

It doesn’t really matter. It’s the memories that matter.

We were on a picnic. I remember my dad had a bota bag full of wine and he offered me a drink but I turned my head and the wine squirted into my ear. Everyone seemed to think that was very funny.

I remember the colors: the brown of the earth covered in pine needles and the sunlight filtering through the aspens and evergreens. Yellow-green-light. I remember the sounds of laughter around the camp fire, the picnic table, the other children.

And I remember wanting to be alone.

HSPs are like that, even early in life. I was overwhelmed and needed a moment just to myself. So I was there, on the far side of the station wagon, kicking at the dirt with my toe and listening to the older kids run and laugh and the adults talk.

In my mind, it seems like I was there for a very long moment in time. I believe it is just that time sometimes becomes transcendent and a moment is suspended in our hearts and mind forever. This was one of those moments, and then it was over as my grandfather scooped me up in his arms, declaring, “Here she is!”

OK, I am not certain anyone was even looking for me or that I was missing, so I made up that bit about my grandfather.

What I am not making up is what my foot kicked loose in the dirt. The little soldier on his cavalry mount, minus that bit of leg.

I remember all the adults were impressed with the find. He was an antique then.

And he was mine. No one ever tried to take him from me. And somehow, I have managed to keep him all these years.

I saw one for sale at an antique mall once, many years ago. That soldier was complete and the dealer wanted a lot more money than I was willing to pay. And a lot less money than I am willing to accept for my soldier.

He’s still proud.

He’s so brave.

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On my way home tonight, I debated several ideas for tonight’s blog entry. For one thing, we had a beautiful sunset and I was trying to keep an eye on the changing reds and keep my eye on the road. That’s not as easy as it sounds because I was trying to watch the sunset in my side-view mirrors and traffic was stop-and-go. And I like to be a safe driver. But it was so beautiful and changing with every tick of the clock.

I didn’t have any safe place to pull over to get a photo of the sunset, so blogging about it became a moot point.

I thought about blogging about all the beautiful autumn colors.

I took this through my windshield during lunch. Don’t worry, I wasn’t driving. I didn’t even have the keys in the ignition.

But as pretty as it is, the truth is that most of the trees have lost their leaves already and we are slipping into winter colors rapidly. One good rain-and-wind storm and the deciduous trees will be naked.

Then I arrived home. My daughter was trying to make dinner with a toddler underfoot and a crying four month old baby. I took the baby and held him while she finished up dinner and set something before her toddler.

After dinner, I brought Zephan into my bedroom so he could sit on the bed and play with his blocks (he can’t get them out with the dog around because the dog tries to eat them). The dog is penned all day and needs some freedom in the evening to wander around the house. I can check my email and Zephan can play blocks and the dog can run around without stealing baby toys.

Sam came home very late tonight (he worked 12 hours today) and wanted to eat dinner. Arwen hadn’t eaten, either. So they took Zephan and went to the kitchen to eat and left me in charge of Javan.

And this is what happens when Grandma is left in charge of the baby.

And this.

Extended Parenting. I don’t think of it as babysitting because the kids don’t try to take advantage of me. I offered. And sometimes I say “NO.”

I try to remember how it was when I was young with two under the age of 3. And no help. One crying, one under foot and food on the stove. Wanting to sit and eat but having to hold and feed a baby first.

I think about how it used to be normal for extended family to live in the same household, helping with all the parenting chores.

And I like to think of this.

I’m just a sucker for that.

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Our trip took us into Salt Lake City during rush hour. We didn’t stop again mostly because we were cruising through country we’ve both seen, we were tired, and we wanted to make the last leg the shortest (from Elko to Reno). The slat flats are always interesting to me, but I’m not so much into the city of Salt Lake City. It’s a city and I live in one.

We made Stateline as the sun dipped completely below the horizon and completed the trip into Elko in the dark.

Terry and I spent our very early years between Elko and Jarbidge, NV, where Dad was a Forest Ranger. Summer months were spent up at Jarbidge and winter months were spent in the Forest Service housing in Elko. I was always overwhelmed when we came to town. Our little sister was born in Elko in 1959.

Even after we moved to another Ranger station in another town, we spent a lot of time visiting old friends in Elko or just passing through on our way to Jarbidge (we spent a lot of vacation time at Jarbidge). There’s a little nostalgia in Elko for us.

We checked into our motel and kicked back. I picked up some advertising rag they had in the room and was shocked to see White King displayed without the backdrop of the Commercial Hotel & Casino. Terry assured me that the Commercial still exists and White King is still reigning there, it had to be some fluke of advertising that they put him on a different page than the casion.

I suppose Elko is all about White King. It’s the first thing that comes to my mind.

When I was a very little girl, White King was a brand new attraction. I remember very clearly the awe I felt when I first viewed the colossal polar bear in his new glass display case just inside the doors of the Commercial. In later years, my sister and I would beg Dad to take us to the Commercial just so we could see the bear. He probably obliged us once, but once was all we needed to keep trying to get to go see the bear.

Terry took me to go visit the polar bear.

He stands 10’4″ (just over 3 meters) and weighed 2200 pounds in life.

I’m still pretty much in awe of him.

He is still reputed to be the largest polar bear ever taken (and he was taken by Native Americans, not by a Great White Hunter). Just an fyi.

Seeing the old bear pretty much made my day.

The rest of the trip was not routine or boring, but I feel a need to bring my story to a close and move onto other subjects. From Elko, we went to Winnemucca, another place where we spent many years of our childhood growing up. And from Winnemucca to Reno where Terry still lives.

We saw antelope, mule deer, a small wolf, a porcupine, a bald eagle, a golden eagle, a coyote and one dead elk. I think that was our wildlife count: Terry might add something.

In Reno, I met up with an internet friend, Heather, and spent an hour over coffee with her. It was wonderful to put a face to someone I know online (and yes, I do this frequently). She’s a wonderful person!

Terry and I made a drive to Fernley to eat at a wonderful little casino and restaurant, mostly on Heather’s advice. Mary & Mo’s Wigwam is not only a bit of a local icon, but is an interesting little Native American Museum. Everywhere you look in the restaurant, you can see displays of arrowheads and other Native American paraphernalia. But it’s almost all arrowheads.

The service is good and so is the food. Definitely a place to stop, even if you are like me and you don’t gamble.

While in Reno, of course I connected with some family members: a cousin and her husband plus my brother’s daughter and her two babies. I haven’t had a chance to meet Kimm’s babies and this was such a wonderful gift to me. Not only did I make the trip to see my dad and my son with his new family, I got to see my niece and her family.

Elijah looks so much like his grandpa at this age. Totally fearless. He’s a few months older than Zephan.

Little Miss Brooke is days older than Justin. Can you see how impressed she is by me?

Unfortunately, I was in the throes of a cold and was afraid to hold the baby much. 😦 Maybe next time I visit I will get to cuddle with this little bundle of sweetness.

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We backtracked a little out of Colorado Springs so we could go north through Fairplay to Walden. The plan was to make it to Wyoming and I-80 by dark, find a motel, then follow I-80 back to Reno.

We thought this was the coolest old building. I think it was the library but I forgot to take a photo of the sign out front. There was also a “replica” of a “frontier town” called South Park City just off the highway through Fairplay, but it was closed for the season. And I am not so sure I’d be lured into it, anyway. But that’s just me.

We crossed the Continental Divide for the second time (the first was on Independence Pass out of Aspen) between Fairplay and Breckenridge. State Route 9 goes up-up-up through Alma and down-down-down on the other side. Yes, it snowed as we crossed the Divide, but it wasn’t sticking to anything and it was very light. The country was wild and beautiful.

Breckenridge was the next point on the map: BORING. All new construction, lots of condominums and townhomes, a fancy bypass and nothing with character. Where Aspen retained some character with old homes, tight little shops, narrow streets and a cozy outdoorsy feel, Breckenridge just oozed of new money, fancy malls, and high taxes.

Entering into Silverthorne, we were greeted by a man in a wizard’s costume dancing in the median. I have no idea why he was there, but he was there. Middle Earth all over again.

From Silverthorne north, the country turned brown. The terrain was more familiar high desert country with towering mountains, sagebrush and long empty stretches. We made good time and didn’t stop for any more interesting sights, caught US Route 40 while it was daylight and figured we’d make Rawlins or Rock Springs, Wyoming before it got too late. But darkness fell by the time we reached the junction to Walden. We drove about three miles and decided we really didn’t want to make that stretch when Steamboat Springs was closer. So we turned around and returned to US Route 40 for Steamboat Springs. And crossed the Continental Divide yet again.

We drove back up Rabbit Ears Summit to get this photo. And, yes, it was snowing.

It turned out to be a great decision: we learned there were high winds on I-80 to the north of us, but US Route 40 stays low and we had fair weather. And we got to see more cool little towns. Unfortunately, we didn’t stop to take photos.

But if you ever get out that way: Craig, Colorado is one sweet little town. The city park was a maze of chainsaw sculpture: it appeared that any sick or dying tree became a carving. There were bronze statues around town as well. We looked for but somehow kept missing the Museum of Northwest Colorado. Don’t ask me how we missed it, we just did.

In Maybell, Colorado we had to take a detour due to a fallen tree. Maybell is worth a repeat visit as well.

We stopped in Dinosaur. One: I needed to take a Nature Walk (yes, one of those) and two: it was Dinosaur. Funky little one-horse town at a crossroads whose claim to fame is the Dinosaur National Monument.

They really don’t get many visitors in Dinosaur.

You could get lost in those canyons. I could get lost looking at those canyons. What incredible country!

Wind-swept, lonely, and beautiful. I love the desert. I love desert colors.

We stayed on US Route 40, stopping in Vernal for gas and in Ft. Duchesne for a lunch of cold pizza.Which brings me to the last stupid sign of the trip:

Maybe it was all the travel, but Terry and I thought this was a very funny sign.

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It was overcast and foggy much of the three days, so we did not go to the Garden of the Gods. There were a number of other places to go, but we really didn’t have the time to ride the cog railway or run around checking out every tourist attraction in the area.

But – Terry & I decided to do some touristy things, like visit the Manitou Springs Cliff Dwellings. Sounded good, but one we were out of the car and meandering through, something seemed “off.” Maybe it was the mortar or the excellent state of preservation or maybe it was the fact that you could touch and climb and there were no park rangers breathing down your neck… But it was “off” enough that as soon as we were by a computer again, Terry looked them up.

Not so authentic, but interesting anyway.

Well, that was fascinating, but very disappointing in that we had to find out via the Internet that it wasn’t exactly authentic (there could have been some sort of disclaimer on site).

We decided to go check out historic tourist-trap Manitou Springs

next. Originally known for the mineral water springs, Manitou Springs sported a hospital for terminally ill patients (many tuberculosis cases) and a myriad of different springs that reputedly tasted slightly different from each other. Eventually the springs dried up (some say they were cursed by the local Indians who felt it was wrong to charge for the healing powers) and the hospital closed. Today, several of the springs are capped and walled in in some artsy motif (different for each spring) and the town boasts a number of tourist shops, mountain biking, and a general feeling of having stepped into Middle Earth. I’m certain we saw Gandalf the Grey’s younger cousin walking around town, but I hesitated to ask him if I could snap a photo. I was afraid he’d ask for money.

I only counted four springs, but I think there were more.

There were a lot of lovely old houses with turrets and gables and stairs (the town is built in a narrow canyon). Manitou Springs was a lot more interesting and fun than the cave dwellings, plus it was free to wander around.

I dragged Terry into the dulcimer shop. The guy who owns it repairs old musical instruments and builds new ones, too.  Very cool.

The residents were very friendly, too. Think this guy owns the street?

Terry and I drove around Colorado Springs and looked at historic houses. There’s something about the architecture of the late 1800s that is just inviting. Since I live in a historic little town where many of the homes are on the National Historic Registry, I found it interesting that not so many of Colorado Springs’ homes were so marked. Maybe we just didn’t notice. Or it could be a difference of 50 years: Oregon City was established in 1829 and Colorado Springs was established in 1871.

There are several colleges in Colorado Springs and while it is a larger community than Oregon City by about ten times, it seemed to be a livable area.

I thought Colorado Springs was every bit as friendly and lovely as Portland and about the same size of city. It was easy to navigate (something Portland is not) around and the streets were (get this!!) wide. Now that’s a real switch from driving in Portland where the streets are often narrow and paved with cobblestone.

I like where I live, but I liked Colorado Springs, too.

I have one more photo to share. My favorite “sculpture”:

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I finally got to hold my newest grandson! Doesn’t he look impressed?

My son with his son. Look at that wild hair!

My beautiful daughter-in-law trying to ignore the camera.

Kissable cheeks, flyaway hair!

Fat baby and his mom

Levi bought the street sign in South Korea.

Moments with family are precious. I didn’t get to spend nearly enough time with my son, his wife, and my grandson. We just had too many miles to drive. But the few moments we had will be treasured in my heart forever.

What a sweet sweet little face!

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We meandered along the old highway instead of taking I-70 west. The plan was to go as far as Vail and head south, but we ended up heading south much earlier.

Leaving Grand Junction

This was the first of many such gas stations. I find it wrong on so many levels, but that’s just me.

Puts a new twist to growing up in dirt. Elevation 5432 (feet). No idea what the population is.

The park in New Castle. I’m not sure if dogs are allowed or not, but whatever you do, keep them on a leash and clean up after them. Another Sign Fail. New Castle looked like a nice town, too, and certainly more deserving of exploration than we gave it.

It was in Glenwood Springs that we got sidetracked on State Route 82 and found ourselves headed south toward Aspen instead of east to Vail. That was quite all right: Aspen is nestled in a high scenic valley and State Route 82 turns into A Forest Service road on the eastern edge of town. Narrow, sometimes single-lane, and no guard rails, but certainly not a scary road to be on (unless it were to snow. I don’t think I’d want to be on an unmaintained highway when it snows). Besides, as we traveled through the aspen and pine forest, it slowly dawned on me that maybe i was wrong to have focused so much energy on hunting jackalope. Because we were definitely in Bigfoot country now.

We stopped to look at old mining ruins. The mountains jutted up all around us and the air was thin. Beaver worked the streams. You can see we were just below timberline here (about 11,500 feet).

The last steep push to Independence Pass, looking back west.

12,095 feet (3686 meters). Every direction you turn, you are surrounded by snow-capped mountains jutting into the timberline. I love mountains.

The road off the pass got with the program: down-down-down. It was a pleasant enough drive, not too rugged, and a lot of old mining sites dotting the hillside. I kept my eyes peeled for Bigfoot, but saw no trace of him.

Then we were finally off the mountain in in the long north-south vale below, headed to Buena Vista. A large LED highway sign warned us that we were coming into Important Deer Crossing. And guess what? We saw the Important Deer. Lots of them. All grazing in the alfalfa fields around Buena Vista, contentedly chuckling at all the deer hunters scouring the high country for big bucks.

Darkness descended before we completed the passage across the last plateau between Buena Vista and Colorado Springs. We saw a small wolf lope across the highway and a fat porcupine waddle along a bar pit; several bored-looking antelope resting beside lonely fence posts, and not a few bored bovines.

The fog was coming in thick and the temps were hovering right around freezing, so all we really wanted to do was get into a motel and settle in for the night before the roads got slippery.

But I couldn’t wait and I had to call my son to tell him we’d arrived. I just had to get my hands on this little guy.

Hi Justin! Grandma’s here! (Doesn’t he look impressed?)

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