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.
