Baptism by Butterfly; Baptism by Fire

Originally posted October, 2007

This past weekend I took my seven year-old nephew Brendan to Tenkiller Lake in northeastern Oklahoma for a little nature getaway -- as I have promised to do regularly since moving back.

I believe that those of us not raising children, for whatever reason, are in a unique position as non-active parents to influence kids in ways not always possible by their hard-working and hard-loving parents. Sort of the good-cop/bad-cop dynamic, if you will. It was certainly that way for me growing up as I longed to tumble into the warm hugs of my various unconditionally-loving grandparents, aunts and uncles. If it really does takes a village -- then they certainly provided the soft, subtle edges with which to explore and examine life without the fear of parental objection...i.e. the dreaded "no" and "because I said so".

In returning to live in Oklahoma I arrived with the hope that I might be able to provide a parallel universe for my nephews and nieces; one that created a more significant connection to the natural world and perhaps would also allow for nature to rank an equal if not more compelling landmark in a geography rife with organized sports, television and the computer. Spending time with kids in nature is a responsibility those of us fighting for the welfare of the environment need to take much more seriously – it is without question an investment toward the protection of those sacred outdoor spaces we so dearly love and cherish. I feel the time spent with my nephews and nieces out in nature is not only an investment toward their emotional and physical well-being but might even inspire their future stewardship of our planet.

The trip to Tenkiller Lake was my third outing with Brendan since returning home in August. These adventures are always taken with the hope that those mysterious forces of the natural world would arrive bearing some unimaginably wonderful surprises to create and inspire that sense of wonder so often missing in kids today.

In our first outing, posted previously, Brendan got a very timely, first-hand, close-up lesson from a western diamond-back rattlesnake; so far – so good. In our second outing at the Chickasaw National Recreation Area, he stepped out of an ice-cold swimming hole formed by spring water trapped in slick travertine rock and was instantly covered from head to toe by about a hundred brightly-colored yellow tiger swallowtails.The idea of butterfly kisses took on a whole new meaning in that moment as I watched this shivering boy undulate in the currents of warm air and butterfly wings on this August afternoon.

For a brief moment I thought he might suddenly be carried aloft – slowly rising like a wayward balloon meandering in the thermal currents created by the sheer number of so many softly beating wings. Butterflies and boy together suspended in the fleeting shafts of bright light from the afternoon sun were nothing less than pure poetry and looked as if they had arrived from some other heavenly, ethereal place beyond the pale grasp of this moment. Brendan’s mother, who died during his birth, was crazy about yellow butterflies and it was not hard to imagine that these beautiful winged messengers arrived with her belated but tender kisses. I could only hope this baptism by butterfly would prove to be such a remarkable moment for Brendan that it would keep him engaged and longing to return to the natural world in order to sustain his heightened sense of wonderment.

Last weekend during our outing in the eastern part of Oklahoma still designated as "Cherokee Country" we took an early morning walk on a lightly-traveled path that wound through dense thickets of oak and hickory forest, cut through layers of limestone rock stacked like the loose and crumbling walls of ancient ruins and meandered down to the crystal clear shores of Tenkiller Lake. When we arrived to the shore Brendan announced with wide-eyed bafflement and a sense of nervous alarm that the lake was on fire. A very warm day was followed by a very cool night and now what looked like wisps of smoke were being fanned off the water by the early morning breeze giving the eerie sensation that the water was indeed on fire. Ah, the bountiful grace of nature seldom disappoints and I cannot contain my gratitude as it leaps and bounds in these magical moments.

And within that hazy instance of serendipity and perfect grace marveling at Brendan’s reaction to the smoky mirage on the water -- I realized this moment was not necessarily all for Brendan. Suddenly, I too was seven years old again -- marveling at that same abject sense of wonder I experienced the first time I discovered a whole new world in the mixed woodland and prairie fields hidden on the fringe of my suburban life so many years ago.


It seems I have come full circle and I arrive some forty years later -- seven years old again and reveling in that first moment that the natural world caught my eye and commanded my senses for what would prove to be the entirety of my life. And that’s when it suddenly dawned on me -- standing there next to Brendan as that watery fire danced and swirled and disappeared into the warming air - that this overwhelming drive I had to see the world was born from that unending sense of wonder and discovery the natural world provided during my childhood years.

For the last 22 years I have lived the wanderer’s life - traveling the world not only as a career choice – but to feed this unquenchable desire for discovering new places. Six continents and 85 countries later – I finally understand that this desire to travel and discover the world was seeded in those simple, tender moments of play in those childhood fields inspired by that same sense of wonder and awe that only nature exacts.

Update

July 2011

Four years later - back at the sacred water hole.

Celebrating a Life(er)

black swallowtail lifer

bedecked in gold rings, as you once were

follows me as I get out of the cab

riding on my pant leg, resting on my hand

I see you

your metamorphosis is

 complete and spectacular

you are so beautiful

RIP Shirley May.

Voluntourism in Kenya and the Fabulous Flamingos of Lake Nakuru

Storm Clouds and flamingos over Lake Nakuru, Kenya - August 2002

In August of 2002, to celebrate my 40th birthday (11 months and 20 days after the fact) - I took a month off from work and participated in a little voluntourism as a research assistant at Lake Naivasha for Earthwatch's Lakes of the Rift Valley conservation project in Kenya. We lived in tents pitched on the grounds of the Kenyan Wildlife Service on the shores of the lake. It was fantastically down-and-dirty, sleeves-rolled-up, into the muck, dodging black mambas-buffaloes-and-hippos-at-every-turn work from sun up to sun down.

We had one day off - which we dreaded as the work days were thrilling beyond imagination- and all twelve of us volunteers pitched in and paid the local camp staff and research biologists to take us a few hours north and east to Lake Nakuru for a little "safari". Most of our work at Naiviasha was done on the hoof and we really did have to "run for our lives" quite a few times -- so it was nice to hang-out in Nakuru four feet off the ground in a couple of fast moving jeeps for the day.
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"the perils of a middle-of-the night trip in the dark to the distant outhouse would soon prove to impact our nightly Tusker Beer consumption"
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Waterbucks and Pelicans - Voluntourism and Camping on Lake Naivasha

Living in slightly more populated Lake Naivasha we had our daily fill of cape buffaloes, giraffes, hippos, zebras, and waterbucks - all of which moved regularly through our compound and would often graze the grassy lawn after we had gone to bed (the perils of a middle-of-the night trip in the dark to the distant outhouse would soon prove to impact our nightly Tusker Beer consumption). But eventually we longed for a glimpse of the more charismatic megafauna of that part of Africa - the lions and rhinos and leopards and elephants that frequented the park at Lake Nakura -- we would not be disappointed.

Wading Black Rhinoceros and Pink Flamingos

The highlight of that incredible day for all of us would prove to be the flamingos. Lake Nakuru is a shallow alkaline lake that is home to one of the great bird spectacles on earth. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of pink flamingos, both the lesser and greater species, flock to the lake to feed on cyanobacteria commonly called blue-green algae. I can't even begin to describe what it was like to happen upon this impossible sea of pink birds. And these old film exposures from the days before I had real photographic equipment don't do much justice either.

At the end of the day, enormous black storm clouds moved in over the lake without warning and we were able to capture a few shots as the last of the sunlight lit up these hundreds of thousands of pink birds in a haunting swath of light before the storm raged over the lake (top photo).

Chasing Rainbows on Four Mile Beach with Fleeting Shades of Jade

I must confess that to some degree I have, over time, become a slightly jaded traveler. Even as I write I am sitting in my Phnom Penh hotel room, having just arrived from a seven hour boat ride down the Mekong River, hard pressed to muster the energy to schlep to yet another temple or colorful street market, savor another bite of Khmer cuisine, or attempt to photograph one more sweet brown face. All of that will have to wait until later; too much sensory overload and I cuddle up with Facebook to see what the folks back home are doing. Julie in Ohio has got a red wing at the feeder, packing for Honduras and can't find the right word to describe the harpy eagle she saw in Guyana; Debby back in Oklahoma has had a home visit by a blogging teddy bear and was interviewed for a magazine but none of that stopped her from finishing the prairie chicken painting for the bird festival. I just found my old friend Doug - we lost touch for fifteen years and today he shows up on FB - we survived living in Akron together and I had to come to Cambodia to find him in Minneapolis. Mary in North Carolina quit smoking and it seems to be sticking but she wants to eat instead of blog. So in her honor I order the juiciest cheeseburger with bacon and and a big, fat fried egg on top with extra ketchup for the fries. Here's to you Mary!

Where was I? Oh yes -confessing to be an occasionally jaded traveler. I only mention that because these days when I fall for a place - it means something. I've just about seen it all, done it all and been there and back. But last week I fell hard for Port Douglas in northern Queensland, Australia. This is an amazing, one-of-a-kind place.

Port Douglas, population 4000, is the gateway to both the Great Barrier Reef and the Daintree Rainforest and home to Cape Tribulation. The sweet little town itself is a delightful cross of 1960's Key West with 1970's Lahaina. A place where breathtaking, unspoiled rainforest spills right onto miles of even more breathtaking, unspoiled beaches. The hour drive from the airport was like cruising through a wild animal park - wallabies, crocodiles, bustards, fruit bats, imperials doves, turkeys and cassowary crossing signs. I have never in all my travels seen a community whose ecological footprint was so small. Swallows make their nests in the hotel lobby chandelier and nobody blinks an eye, except to avoid the bird poop as it drips on the furniture. Without exception, this is a role mode tourist destination for the rest of the world to follow. Less is truly more. You get the real sense that Port Douglasonians know how to live in harmony with their surroundings. I am impressed indeed. And what beautiful surroundings they are!

With nighttime skies so clear you could reach out pluck the moon.

molten sunrises

tidal flats

delightfully un-manicured beaches

mangrove estuaries

geometry

shooting stars

and rainbows!

Lorikeets. Rainbow Lorikeets

right on the beach in front of my hotel.

You've got to love a place that has rainbow lorikeets in the same tree that has rainbow.....

bee-eaters!

back-flipping

insect hawking

color saturated

rainbow bee-eaters!

All this praise but I should forewarn you that Port Douglas is not necessarily for the faint of heart. It's also home to man-eating crocodiles, lethal-stinging box jelly fish, disemboweling cassowaries, and most recently known as the place where crikey-loving Steve Irwin finally met his match at the end of a stingray tail. Perhaps it's why I love this place - a sort of mutual respect for the wildness of place seems to be the rule of order in this pristine community. The perfect place to become completely enamored with travel again.

Not Today

Death Valley Junction
On the border between California and Nevada

October 2006 - In Death Valley the earth spins a little faster; we swoon. It’s a strange feeling – vertigo at sea level. Nearby in the Amargosa Opera House the stage is going dark on an aging ballerina who moves like a marionette wired to the past - and we arrive weary pilgrims hoping to pay our respects to this icon and legend.

Earlier in the day it was a race against both the sun and certain extinction to find the hole in the southern Nevada desert where swims an endangered 20,000 year old fish; the Devil's Hole pupfish (Cyprinodon diabolis) fights for its life in this subterranean oasis.

Suddenly, clouds burst out of the Sierra Nevadas with no warning and roll off the mountains like giant smoke signals. The message that unfurls against that deep desert sky would prove to say: Not today.

Today both pupfish and ballerina are a no-show. The wild mustangs of Death Valley Junction don't come down to the river either, not today. The road to China Ranch is washed out -- vanished into a sea of sand. How I’ve longed to slake my thirst with their famous milkshakes made of dates; but not today.

Months have now turned into years but I've heard somewhere in the Nevada desert still waits an 84 year old ballerina, a 20,000 year old endangered fish and a beloved long lost cousin sipping on a date shake. I have not given up the hope of at last finding them – but not today.*

SkyWatch #13 is here

*It's rumored that Marta Becket, 84 year old ballerina and the last remaining resident of Death Valley Junction, will give her final performance sometime in the spring of 2009. Some two years later, I will return to this desert once again to attempt to see her - along with the pupfish, the mustangs and the delicious date shake - remembering of course that it's the journey and not the destination.

Old Bikes for an Old Friend

Saundra Rinearson and I first met in beginning drama class in 10th grade under the brooding glare of Ms. Woody and we both watched in appalling disbelief as any future dreams of academy award glory quickly evaporated into thin air under her menacing presence; acceptance speeches were hurriedly abandoned and more latent talents were left to be discovered and pursued later in life.

Months later we met again as co-workers at Bevo's Restaurant on N.W. 23rd Street -- this time under the watchful gaze of a lecherous boss and a 30 foot fiberglass black angus cow holding court in the parking lot. Saundra was the tall, pretty girl with the front counter position taking orders from customers phoning from their dining booths (remember that restaurant fad?) -- I was the little wisp of nothing standing on plastic crates in the sweat shop-like back room charged with the task of battering onion rings and frozen slabs of chicken fried steak for hours on end.

A few months later I upgraded my position in life to chief milkshake maker and ice cream dipper at Braums' Ice Cream & Dairy Store #1 and by then Saundra was more befittingly employed as a glamorous retail clerk in a local department store surrounded by pretty things and pretty people. Few roads pass between the worlds of ice cream and fashion and ours did not cross again for some time.

Twelve years later I showed up at our ten-year class reunion fresh off the plane from Paris with a polka-dot tie that matched her polka-dot dress to uncanny perfection and our fate as friends for life was sealed that very night on the dance floor of the Quail Creek Country Club. Twenty years later and often continents apart we have sustained both a friendship and a mutual wanderlust for distant places.

One of the delights in living back home is getting to see Saundra (now Saundra Godwin) on a more regular basis. For years Saundra has worked for the award-winning independent weekly newspaper, Oklahoma Gazette - and she brings the savvy insider's perspective, not to mention the free concert tickets, to my new Oklahoma life. Contrary to former classmate Garth Brooks' catchy tune - seems like I've finally got friends in high places!

As Saundra is much, much older than I am (two days to be exact) - I mean "old friend" in all the possible ways. Her birthday is August 8th - and this year, according to Chinese custom -- it is also the official very fortuitous, auspicious, day of once-in-a-lifetime good luck - 8/8/08 and thus the night selected for the 2008 Olympic Games Opening Ceremony. Saundra had very much hoped to be here in Beijing on her birthday and I had very much hoped not to be in Beijing for mine. The world works in unexplainable ways and I am here and she is there and neither the 'tween shall meet nor have regrets (by now its obvious that I am loving it here).

One of Saundra's, and her husband Steve's, favorite memories from a vacation here in China a few years ago is all the old bikes: a city once full of people riding them but less so now as this country modernizes at rapid speed.

And so here you are dear old friend - the picture you've been asking for of proof that the bike culture is alive and well in Beijing. Yes it is. Declining - very much so - but lets not lament that loss as it is proof that this country is now better able to feed its people and provide public transportation for its masses; there is an efficient and immaculate subway system in place now and an extensive network of bus routes with fares less than a penny and a half.

Instead, I say we celebrate the old ways and the people that cherish them and keep them alive and ride their bikes in the rain even though they no longer have to. And while we're at it -- let's celebrate friendships that have survived the likes of Ms. Woody, and bad Bevo's bosses, and first jobs, and polka dots.

See you soon!

Dancing Beijing and the Dragon Ladies of Beihai Park

Dancing Beijing is the Chinese chop or seal chosen as the emblem to represent China's long journey to the 2008 Olympic Games. It is said that Dancing Beijing represents "the heart of an ancient culture embracing the modern world and the spirit of a people moving toward a new destiny." From my more than three week perspective living and working here - I could not agree more and this emblematic tribute perfectly befits this fascinating, much misunderstood nation.

Quite honestly, my overseas colleagues and fellow long-time Olympic collaborators and I dreaded for months having to come here. And most all of us - if not all of us, over the days, weeks and months now spent here, have had our eyes and our minds heaved wide open to this fantastic place called Zhong Guo; the nation that has so quickly captured our hearts and so easily forgiven us our doubts. We are both delighted and humbled by our experience, so far, and we ponder how we might have been so wrong.

I am not here to discuss or excuse the controversial aspects of this nation; I have no doubt to the validity of those concerns. But I can tell you this without hesitation: the foreign media's disservice to China is absolutely unfathomable; Beijing is a vibrant, fascinating city that celebrates both its ancient heritage and its modern awakening; and every single person I have met here has embraced me with a kindness and courtesy that is unmatched in my previous travels anywhere else in this world. I can also tell you that there are two sides to every story and you just get to hear one. As the Opening Ceremony of the 2008 Olympic Games begins tonight, you have a chance to glimpse another side.

The people I've met, from co-workers and taxi cab drivers and everyone else in between, in no way deserve the disdain the world is so quick to exact. So tonight, come dance with Beijing -- take a moment to watch the first part of the Opening Ceremony that so stunningly conveys the fluid, graceful, and oft hidden beauty that is the people and the place called Zhong Guo - and celebrate with them as this nation rises up from the middle kingdom bearing a torch to light the world.

In the spirit of Dancing Beijing I leave you with the dragon ladies of Beihai Park, who, like the Dancing Beijing emblem, embody the boundless spirit of this nation with their sinuous silky curves cutting fluid arcs of dragon tails in the early morning hours of this mesmerizing city.