Return

I have returned to the United States only to throw whatever odds and ends of my life fit in the back of a Toyota Corolla and move once again from my beloved Oregon. In a whirlwind all the scenery of my life changes once more and I am trudging along sandstone ridges thinking of Edward Abbey,

"I sometimes choose to think, no doubt perversely, that man is a dream, thought an illusion, and only rock is real; rock and sun."

The present is so convincing; how could the past have been anything but a dream?

After a very long drive (I had briefly lost an appreciation for how big America really is) I base myself for the summer in Meeker, Colorado. The landscape is sandstone and oil shale, pinion-juniper forest, sagebrush, and all variety of threatened species etching meager survival in the path of oil development.

This is "The American West." The coastal states - California and the Pacific Northwest - may lie most west geographically, but their culture is all their own. It is the Rockies and their immediate vicinity where that archetypical breed of cattle-driving, denim-and-cowboy-boot-wearing, small-town, big-country American still thrive. And my impression after a week here is that it's no show. Everyone drives a truck - not shiny city SUVs, but muddy, dented 4x4s with tailgates. Boots are dust-covered, there is only one oddly stocked grocery store and most everyone is on a first name basis. It's cold here (snowed yesterday) but high and dry, and the sun is something fierce in the thin air. I've never lived for any extent much above sea level and hiking over steep terrain all week at 7000 feet plus a malfunctioning PDA nearly had me cursing and crying today. The combination of cold and parched has me in constant desire for a hot shower.