Month: March 2020

No one goes to the place I visited last Sunday. It is not too far from my house. It isn’t popular, has no trailheads, and is mostly an inconvenience for those who must travel through it. But it is remote, quiet, and accessible. After so many days of long hours, a barrage of unpleasant news, and so much uncertainty, I needed some time in nature. Nature, right now, is the only sense of normalcy I can find.

I parked the car and started walking to the west, heading very slowly towards a rocky outcropping crowned with some scraggly juniper trees. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, except for an assurance that the familiar landscape was there, the events that happen when the seasons change were still occurring, and that I was far enough away from the ringing of my cell phone.

The curly dock was just awakening from its long winter’s nap, and it’s green leaves were a joy to see. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a photo of freshly-sprouting dock leaves, but I excitedly got on my knees for the best angle. Those knees cried out in pain when I felt a sharp poke into my left kneecap. Moving my knee, I noticed four pieces of chipped stone sticking defiantly out of the dirt. Evidence of the Archaic culture is found in this area, and these pieces were undoubtedly a result of someone crafting stone projectile points and tools, perhaps as long as 5,000 years ago. Would I have noticed them half-buried in the sand if I had not looked for the perfect angle to take a photo of the dock?

Continued explorations in the dirt led to more stone flakes scattered around the little outcropping. What a beautiful place this would have been to work! Views that go on forever, a good supply of chert deposits on the hills behind me, and a few trees to shelter from the wind. Of course, I have no idea what the environment may have looked like at the time the Archaic people lived here, but it made for some pleasant daydreaming.

In a place where silence is the prevailing sound, something caught my attention that few people have the privilege of hearing. In the distance, weaving its way through the juniper branches, a dust devil materialized, and made its way towards me. The swirling wind struggled to pick up any of the damp dirt, so it’s approach was almost invisible. Knowing that I was in its path, I stepped off the rock I was standing on and braced myself slightly, leaning into the impending blast of wind. The trees around me, previously motionless, began to tremble as the wind caught their branches. Fifty yards…thirty yards…ten yards…the sound became louder and louder as the dust devil enveloped me and my rock outcropping, throwing a few juniper needles in my face, then continued to the east, quickly dissipating. In the space of thirty seconds, all was quiet once again.

I stepped off my rock outcropping, allowing the silence to, once again, surround me. I noticed how I had already claimed some ownership of the locality in the hour or so that I had been wandering. Making my way back to the car, I saw things I had missed on my walk to the outcropping. My eyes were re-attuned to the small discoveries that a quick hike might miss. It was a satisfying feeling.

The two hours I had spent wandering didn’t add many steps on my fitness tracker. But that wasn’t the objective in this saunter. With the increasing concern over Coronavirus COVID19, my increasing workload, and the decreasing availability of time and location to escape the barrage of news and data, I needed a place to reset my mind. And nature gave me that opportunity. The fresh green growth reminded me that the cycles of the seasons are still in place. Slowing down and carefully observing the dirt under my feet literally grounded me for a blissful two hours. And the almost invisible dust devil assured me that events, be it the wind or a virus, come and go. How you weather the event depends on how well you can lean into it. I will take that wisdom with me as return to work.

My day job is a rather intense one, and I sometimes find it hard to keep that balance between work and play in line. To give me some visual assistance, I recently purchased a funky little decorative scale that I keep in my office. On one side of the scale, the pan is filled with challenge coins. Like modern trading cards, challenge coins are often given out within the emergency response community to commemorate a conference, an event, or a particular agency. Challenge coins represent my work life. On the other side, there are an assortment of rocks and shells from various hikes over the years. This represents my play life.

The inexpensive balance doesn’t necessarily rely on weight to change the level of the pans; I can move them according to my mood and they tend to stay where they’re put. When I come in to work, I move the pan with the rocks and shells down to indicate that I had a great weekend off exploring somewhere, or I move the challenge coin pan down if I realize that my week is overbooked and not looking like any fun.

The arrival of the coronavirus COVID19 sent the challenge coin side of my balance crashing to the lowest it could go. My work puts me in the middle of the COVID19 response, even if I don’t have a case in my region. When I had to return to work early from an enjoyable conference, cancel plans I had for the weekend, work overtime, and know that I couldn’t go anywhere out of cell service this weekend, the scales accurately reflected how I felt. I was a bit out of balance.

A camping trip was out of the question, but a day trip where there was cell coverage was doable. As my husband and I drove to Moab for breakfast at the diner, I could envision the little balance in my office trembling slightly, waiting for its chance to move.

With no plans on exactly where to go, I suggested to my husband that we explore a bit in the Green River area. As we traveled down Interstate 70, we decided to do some rockhounding in an area that was introduced to us a year ago. Exiting off the freeway towards Hanksville, we soon turned on the remnants of the old highway that was the main thoroughfare before the Interstate. Almost immediately, we found ourselves enveloped by painted hills of clay, and conglomerate boulders tossed into dry washes. When the hills petered out, we were on a very lonely road, with incredible views, and not a soul to be seen. If social distancing is suggested to help prevent contact with the COVID19 virus, we were in the perfect place.

With rock hammers and trowel in hand, we wandered up a hill where an outcropping of ammonites are found. The temperature was 20 degrees warmer than my house, and I could immediately smell the warming soil. We spend the next hour or so sitting in the dirt, searching for ammonites in petroleum-scented rock. Occasionally, a trowel-full of dirt would unearth a curlicue ammonite fossil, or an overturned rock would expose the imprints of fossilized seashells, coral, or what looked like roots and twigs.

Trying to find a comfortable position for the knees and hips, I stretched out on the dirt until my face was mere inches from the rocks. I focused on the scent of the dirt, and noticed how deep I dug before the dry soil gave way to moisture. I scanned the surface of the little outcropping, keeping my eyes open for the easily identifiable curl on the ammonites. Occasionally I looked up to see where my husband had settled down to dig, and appreciated the colors the dappled sun had painted the nearby red cliffs and high desert grasses. Soon, it dawned on me that I had spent a few hours not thinking a thing about COVID19, the conference calls I had to schedule, the presentations I had to make, or the volumes of paperwork that still had to be completed.

When our knees began to ache from kneeling in the rocky soil, we chose a small sample of our findings to take home, and scattered the rest across the outcropping for others to find. We left our peaceful knoll and drove back towards Moab, stopping briefly to visit some pictographs and petroglyphs on a rock wall near a side road to the highway. The timelessness of this Barrier Canyon style pictograph, gazing down from the cliff face for maybe upwards of 4,000 years, was calming. COVID19 will come and go but, provided we educate ourselves to the importance of preserving the past, the haunting figure will continue to gaze down from the cliff wall long after this outbreak is over.

My spirits were definitely uplifted when I got home. Although a mountain of emails requesting attention greeted me, my focus was on the tangible and intangible treasures I received today in the southeastern Utah desert. Tomorrow, I will add my ammonites to my balance, and watch it move to a more level position.