THE DESK
Circa June 2005
The desk. The single most obvious connection to work there is. A desk does nothing else but imply work; it is designed to hold work by cradling all the equipment needed to complete assignments. However, components such as computers and phones all can be linked to entertainment, but not the desk. Try as you may, dressing up your work space with personal knick knacks does not disguise this fact. The desk is what it is, work piles up on the desk, the bills get tossed on the desk and children begin formal learning from a desk. We have help desks, information desks and reference desks. Forgot your razor? Need more shampoo? Head on down to the Front desk. No one can escape the desk.
Adopting the notion that it takes work to find peace, an adventure is sought and an attempt to escape the desk is calling. After all, without work, being away from it would not mean as much. Without the responsibility of our occupations, leisure time would blend and it could be said that if you are not leaving something behind, you are not getting as much out of being away; the bigger the escape the better the trip and the more you need the break the more you anticipate the trip. It’s been said that “you can’t take it with you.” If so, then why do we program our computers to auto-reply to emails and our voicemails to announce the date of our return? To a degree, the desk and its supporting cast of characters still work for us in our absence. We need work for all the obvious reasons, but most importantly we need it to give us an excuse to get away. When setting out on an excursion, leaving it behind is the point, but hitting the road for that journey is all the better when you have something to leave behind. Without one the other is not so sweet, so, to coin another phase, “don’t quit your day job.” We may not be able to escape it, but it is critical that we do our best to get away from it.
I, outdoor enthusiast, hereby bestow my desk complete with files, rolodex and assorted office equipment. I seek adventure and wide open spaces. I leave you to decipher my passwords and respond to those interruptive ring tones. Do not cry for I am in a better place. A place where the air is thin, yet I breathe better, taking in big gulps just to taste the difference. I will seek a place no one else is and pretend I am the first to get there. To sit in that stillness and wonder how it is possible for everything to be so quiet, so motionless, and so perfect. I want to click with my inner explorer instead of clicking the Internet Explorer. Sniff the air instead of the white-out. And I prefer the hours of dawn to dusk instead of 9-5. I am seeking the perfect peak to see the sun dip behind the mountains, casting shades Crayola wishes they could duplicate and later counting the colors the jumping flames create on the firewood. It’s time to Google at something rather than for something. To make my camera my new window to the world and surf the digital images retracing my steps to freedom and leaving the stock quotes, sports scores and breaking news back on the desk. When I return, the red-orange dust that is airbrushed to the side of my car will leave passengers wondering and their cars jealous. The dust will defy rain and by-pass the car wash so it can serve as a temporary bumper sticker with a permanent message of inspiration. A dust that speaks volumes simply by being tattooed above my wheel wells. The residual dirt will translate into an adventure had, a story to be told or a memory to savor. That same dirt will be stuck to my shoes and stain my socks, both serving as scars, telling tales of time well spent.
Upon returning, the absence from the desk has not made my heart grow fonder. A shower may have washed away the vacation leftovers, but rolling my chair back behind the desk I can again taste a grit, but this time it is the grit of work. The type that lingers and hides in your skin, the type you reluctantly chew. A grit that is much harder to swallow in this office environment versus a natural one. With each message returned and question answered, another shackle clamps me in and I start to suffocate behind my familiar confines. The trap has been set and I am the prey, unable to escape, I opt for survival. The only hope is for a quick accumulation of vacation days with a new excursion to plan and set on the horizon. I must bide my time and wait my turn and for now as the papers and to-do lists pile up; daydreams of that trip will have to suffice me.
A QUESTION OF NATURE
Circa December 2005
I recently read an article in the newspaper about the lack of nature experiences available to today’s youth. It revealed that children’s lack of interaction with nature can have negative long term effects including diminished use of senses, attention difficulties and higher rates of physical and emotional illness. Author Richard Louv’s new book, Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder, says research shows nature experiences can help kids with their confidence, test scores, critical thinking and decision making. As an outdoor enthusiast on my personal time and a recreation provider by profession the theory disturbs me on both levels. If it is true that children are missing out on learning valuable lessons by not exploring the outside world when and where will those lessons be obtained?
Does this mean fire flies will never again see the inside of a washed out mayonnaise jar and stare up at those crudely punched air holes? And who’s going to mix and “bake” mud and grass balls and feed them to the dog? Can an Xbox be better than the sun, a magnifying glass and a sidewalk full of ants? Will the clouds simply float by un-noticed without imaginations casting them as characters or shapes? Are parents happy that they no longer have to worry about effective ways to remove grass stains? Sounds like blisters on Joey’s stick thumbs have replaced that inevitable summer bee sting.
Richard Louv also theorizes that society is to blame by the way neighborhoods and cities are designed and that those very designs hinder nature areas or omit them altogether. If this is true will the rope swings hang idle and backyard forts become vacant? What then will happen to all those discarded refrigerator boxes? Are the earth worms now safe from flashlights and quick reflexes after a rain storm? Will the mosquito production levels become dangerously low? Since leg cramps and limbs falling asleep won’t require a trip to the ER these youngsters will be spared the hassle of answering “How’d ya get that scar?” for the rest of their lives. Can kids even hear the redundant ice cream truck melodies from their computer desks? If too much fresh air no longer quickly puts kids to sleep will staring at a screen until their eyes cross into their skull eventually force their eyelids to close? Is no one left to pluck the heads off dandelions or skip rocks across a pond on a lazy afternoon?
It seems that since the drive-ins have all but vanished it was only a matter of time before we found a new way to combine movies with our vehicles. But is it too much to ask that the movie watching stay in the home and away from the car? Is staring out the window on a road trip asking questions about the landscape, the small towns and possibly learning to read a map so bad? Have the kids run out of questions or are the parents too lazy to answer them? Apparently plugging in is easier then sharing a conversation. Teach the kids to fold the map, if you can find someone who knows themselves, that’s a puzzle that will take a lifetime of road trips to master, if at all. Roll down a window at some point and test wind resistance with your hands and forget that the air rushing in means giving up the radio for a few minutes. Without natural areas to explore what will happen to the loser of a game of rock, paper, scissors that doesn’t have to venture into the scary neighbors overgrown back yard? Who is jumping on their bikes to sneak off to that intriguing area their parents warned them not to play in? EBay eventually got the baseball cards out of the spokes but does it matter now since the bikes don’t even see daylight?
But possibly the biggest question of all is that if children do not learn to appreciate nature as children what will inspire them in the future to save and protect it once they become adults?
A MOOSE PURSUIT
Circa June 2006
I am nestled motionless on a huge granite rock surrounded by hundreds of wild flowers. Purples, reds, whites, yellows and one that looks like a fuzzy burgundy caterpillar. I’m less concerned with names and more excited about colors, vivid vibrant shades that jump out at you making themselves impossible to miss. I have ventured into the woods off the heavy traveled path and I sit among them mystified by my surroundings. Pine cones flood the ground and the trees they escaped from stretch toward a clear sky dotted with smoky, shapeless clouds. Water is nearby and a pair of moose stand approximately 50 feet away, the moose I see the water I hear. The water and flowers are what brought me up this mountain, the moose are what brought me to this rock, a welcome detour. A breeze sways the tall grass and balloons my sweaty t-shirt causing a summer chill. The water rushing in the distance is the only sound other then my clicking camera and the breaking of branches as the moose feast on lunch. I’m supposed to be hiking to breath taking views and secret lakes but for now I am content on this rock. My quest to see a moose began the day I first moved to Utah, eight years ago. I was always the one who arrived 5 minutes after they left the area. I’ve endured all the stories of what an amazing site it was, moose with their young or moose in the middle of a mountain lake under a blazing sunset. Overtime these accounts became more like tall tales to me and I half expected to hear about a moose, a unicorn and the Easter bunny enjoying a picnic lunch together, a gathering I undoubtedly “just missed”. A few more miles logged on the soles of my hiking boots was all I expected out of this afternoon’s jaunt. Moose existence had become for me a ruse of nature, but seeing is believing making this particular rock very important to me. For a good thirty minutes it is only the three of us and the bugs. Even the persistent mosquitoes cannot budge me from my perch. No other hikers in sight I cherish every second of this solitude with them knowing it won’t last. I exchange a long gaze with the male and the eye contact is long enough to make me nervous. I don’t start breathing again until he resumes eating. Technically I have won this staring contest but I am more thankful he became bored with me. The cow moves out of sight munching her way forward and soon after the bull follows her lead. He enters some thick shrubs giving me a glance back before he goes. I imagine he is nodding me a thank you for visiting and wishing me a pleasant afternoon. I remain in my spot feeling as much a part of the area now as the pine needles. A bush rustles just beyond the spot I last saw my two new pals and only I know it is not the wind.
DRIVING UNDER THE INFLUENCE
Circa October 2006
I am abruptly startled back into reality; my eyes wide, quickly scanning the road in front of me. My heart pounding faster and my hands gripping the wheel tighter. The air freshener on the mirror makes big sweeps back and forth coming close to hitting me in the face. Everything reacting to the sudden sound and contact of wheels grazing the bumpy grid of the road’s shoulder. This is not the first time I have veered off course; in fact it has happened countless times before. I can never blame it on too much alcohol or any mind numbing drugs. Nor on searching for the perfect CD, chatting on a cell phone or digging for that final french fry that always manages to sneak to the bottom of the sack. The time of day or season of the year never matters. One eye on the road the other off on a distant peak, low clouds, lush greens, drops of sun. Throw in a full moon looming above and you can search for me in the nearest ditch. I’m a hazard. I should only be allowed to drive myself through barren, isolated deserts or Nebraska.
Passing alongside of me I appear to be the model driver, head pointed forward and my hands roughly in the ten and two vicinity, seemingly attentive. But as a fellow driver, it’s my eyes you have to worry about. They are often diverted to the rear view mirrors staring and following the scenery I have just left behind. Tempted to turn back to stare at the cotton candy clouds hovering over the peaks or how the stark white snowfall practically glows against a blue sky. Drifting into neighboring lanes, barely missing orange cones I’m bound to be pulled over sooner or later. Officers can stop me to make me walk the line, arms outstretched. Chances are, stone sober, I will still fail the test by losing my balance as I check the view over my shoulder.
Cruise past the post office, hang a right at the gas station, over the rail road crossing; with my aerial distraction the routine drive home is anything but. Stoplight arrows often point left while my head usually points right, gazing through rooftops trying to catch a glimpse of the shadows as they slowly eat the remaining sunlight. A season later my car will be stopped at the same corner with me ignoring the same left turn signal. This time looking past the power lines to the colorful tree tops mimicking an artist’s palette. My mind pondering how those last remaining patches of snow survive. A quick horn tap usually snaps me out of it and propels me forward again. If we meet by accident, I’m blaming the mountains.
They have given me more than simply the ability to confidently distinguish between east and west. At their mouth lies a giant “welcome”mat and accepting the invitation puts my already suspect driving skills to a test. Tight curves, hair pin turns, breathless bicyclists struggling to summit; focus is mandatory. Opening my sunroof only adds another angle for my neck to contort towards. My head swivels as quickly as an office chair at quitting time. My gaze regularly gets stuck, my foot forgets to accelerate, thoughts are lost, speech interrupted; they clearly distract me. Nightly a majestic tennis match ensues between the two sides. As one range’s luster changes, a quick turn of the head provides an entirely different panorama, within minutes the whole prospective changes. No matter which side I find myself on any particular evening I always come out a winner. My greed and selfishness keep me coming back for more day after day. The ever changing view ensures that no two scenes will be alike. Day after day I mutter the same question to whoever will listen: “Did you see the mountains today?”
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