Book: Rare Birds by Elizabeth Gehrman

Subtitled: The Extraordinary Tale of the Bermuda Petrel and the Man Who Brought It Back From Extinction. The man is David Wingate and the tale is his passion for protecting and restoring the native flora and fauna of Bermuda, especially the Bermuda Petrel.  

The Bermuda Petrel is known locally as the cahow. It was never extinct of course but nearly so. It is not a user-friendly bird as it loves dark and stormy nights, nests in odd burrows, is small and out at sea for much of the year, flying tens of thousands of miles over open water as petrels do. 

This is a wonderful book, not only about the cahow, but also about Bermuda and its island topography, its history and climate, animal predation and introduced species (often with unexpected, undesirable consequences), shipwrecks and hurricanes and idyllic periods of time living on Nonsuch with family and summer friends and few amenities. 

"By the time Wingate returned from school, the unoccupied buildings had been written off by the government and were close to ruin, ransacked by vandals and stripped of their fixtures, and even the cottage was in disrepair. Literally all but one of the two-thousand-plus cedars on the island were dead, making it appear from the water like a giant floating wire hairbrush. The understory had been shaved to nothing by overgrazing and, without the cover of trees to protect it, swept away by gales. Even the migratory and land birds had disappeared, heightening the sense of lifelessness. But when Wingate looked at Nonsuch, he saw another world." 

And at the end of the book: "With every one of the thousands of trees he planted, Wingate pictured cahows some day burrowing under its roots....To an outsider, the island's apparent wildness would be impossible to square with the idea of one man meticulously hand-planting every tree and shrub."

A year ago, in November of 2011, Wingate, now in his late 70s and regrettably (to him) no longer in charge of the project which will be forever a part of his heart and soul, was given the opportunity to do a "night watch" out on Nonsuch....He was "mesmerized...He and Madeiros called to the birds, and four subadults began to take an interest in them, fluttering and hovering over the men's heads before pairing off again and then zipping away. Eventually, one of the four dropped out of the sky and landed between Wingate and Madeiros, close enough that the younger man could easily have reached out and picked the bird up...."

His daughter Karen remembers that "Whenever Dad had to come to something at school, my sister and I would be in agony. We knew he'd be late. And if he comes, what will he be wearing? Ripped shorts and a shirt covered in bird poop? He was always scruffy with his hands bleeding and burrs clinging to him, because he'd be off in the bushes after a bird." 

A husband and a father and a man who loved cahows...this is his story. 

Book: The Uncommon Appeal of Clouds by Alexander McCall Smith

An Isabel Dalhousie novel set in Edinburgh, the ninth in this particular series. They are all full of civility and Isabel's musings as she tends to her work (owner and editor of Philosophy of Applied Ethics) and engages with her housekeeper Grace, her now almost 4-year-old little boy Charlie, and her young and handsome husband, Jamie. 

A painting has been stolen from a private country estate and Isabel has been recommended, sort of as a sympathetic advice-giver. And she does exactly that, as she continues living her reasonable, comfortable, (enviable?) and happy life. I wonder, do all women who read these small stories envy Isabel? 

Mr. Smith has at least four other series of books, but I've read mostly the Isabel ones; however, I intend to check out the three books in his Portuguese Irregular Verbs series next. 

Unsure of how to handle the situation, Isabel turns to the window and muses: "And that thought changed everything. To turn a blind eye was morally reprehensible; it was an affront to the whole concept of seeing--and it was the beginning, in so many cases, of significant failure. No, she would not turn a blind eye. She would not allow herself to be a moral coward." 

And so she confronts Grace, who can often be prickly, about not teaching little Charlie mathematics quite yet and certainly not without his parents' permission..

Book: Hard Twisted by C. Joseph Graves

Based loosely on a true story which germinated from the author's discovery of two human skulls in 1994 in "a remote Utah canyon."

It's a little like a Bonnie and Clyde story as Clint and Lucile vagabond their way around the west in the 1930s. Lucile is just a little more than a child and Clint is a psychopath with no redeeming features. 

"At the sound of the first gunshot, she sat upright. the moon was newly risen, and it bathed the canyon floor in a wan and bone-colored light She stood. From the edge of the escarpment she could make out the shape of an old line shack, but nothing else beyond. Not horseman nor buckboard wagon nor the night camp of the Indian drovers. The second gunshot was met by the barking of the sheepdog, and at the third gunshot, the barking stopped."

Vincent Bugliosi (author of Helter Skelter) reviews this as "a remarkably fine novel in prose as stylish and engaging as one will find: a compelling saga of murder, mystery and good and evil at its rawest in the hardscrabble rural Southwest of the 1920s." 

One can read this in a day and it has a great photo on the cover. I almost always choose new books on the basis of reviews and intriguing dust jackets. 

Book: Once Upon a River by Bonnie Jo Campbell

Dave VH had heard about this book on NPR so I wrote down the title and actually remembered to look it up one day in the library. 

It is the tale of a young, nearly feral girl/woman named Margo Crane. She and her parents live on a tributary of the Kalamazoo River in Michigan. Her mother runs off and her father is killed. Margo is beautiful and blossoming (although she has no awareness of herself as an object of desire) and she is raped by a neighbor, the patriarch of a large clan just upriver. 

Interestingly, for Margo, the rape is not really a seminal event in her life although it does set in motion the series of circumstances that determine her life for the next few years. She is remarkable as she is forced to leave and as she travels upriver, socially awkward but not averse to human companionship, spending several months with two vastly different men, and then fleeing again, this time downriver. 

"Rape sounded like a quick and violent act, like making a person empty her wallet at the point of a knife, like shooting someone or stealing a TV. What Cal had done was gentler, more personal, like passing a virus. She had not objected to Cal's actions in the shed, had even been curious about what was happening. For the last year, however, it had been gnawing at her, and Margo had been forming her objection." 

She is a survivalist and can shoot a gun nearly as well as Annie Oakley, her heroine. Always, Margo wonders where her mother is and if she can find her. She does eventually, which is also part of this story...

For me, it was interesting because the milieu is close to where I live. It seemed like a tale out of Appalachia a century ago but really is quite modern. There are wonderfully redemptive characters, especially at the end of the book, but also Cal's wife Joanna, and Michael, one of her upstream lovers.

Through it all, she perseveres and matures as the river continues to be her comfort, her haven, her home. 

She eventually meets Smoke and his friend Fishbone and Margo's life settles somewhat in satisfying ways. Which you will discover should you read it. 

Book: A Lady Cyclist's Guide to Kashgar by Suzanne Joinson

It is 1923, three Englishwomen, Millicent, Eva and Lizzie, start out on a bicycle journey in eastern Turkestan, skirting the Tien Shan Celestial Mountains, with Tibet directly south of them and Mongolia and China to the east. Their intent is missionary work, although for Eva the trip is more of a grand adventure, a release from her sedate life in England. But before they even get a proper start, they come upon a young woman about to deliver a baby. The baby survives but the young mother hemorrhages and dies, and the women are taken to Kashgar under house arrest.

Meanwhile in present day London, Tayeb, a Yemeni living illegally in England, and Frieda, a journalist who travels extensively in the Mideast, meet by chance and they become friends.

The novel switches between these two scenarios as the author richly and with lovely evocative scenes weaves their stories.

I especially liked the descriptions of life in the desert:

"I conveyed to Mr. Mah that I must sleep on an upright kang, not one down under the ground. I must have a proper meal and I must bathe Ai-Lien who, I noticed, had black ridges of dirt behind her ears and her hair was sticking to her head.....The village, like most Mohammedan towns, was surrounded with a protective wall. The gatekeepers were not friendly. Moreover, they were hostile, and I should have realized that it would be unwise to enter. Through one doorway I saw an elegant, long-stemmed blue iris...Back to the hovels and the road then; and what a turn in my mind, what a mix, with the sun taking off layer after layer of my skin...The wind blew constantly, raging my face and I kept Ai-Lein tight against me, wrapped in silk and cotton cloths..."

"Ai-Lien was wrapped up well and nestled in the bicycle basket...It was dusk as we left and the guards on the city gate blew their horns to announce the closing of the gates. Rami had conveyed to me that the Moslem army was gathering outside the mosque and an attack on the Chinese section of the town was imminent. She had given me a full abaya and with my face covered I gave the guards a coin from Rami's money and was allowed through quickly, although they saw my bicycle and obviously knew who I was."

The travels in Kashgar are a counterpoint to modern England and Frieda's life with her awakening senses and realizations about her lover, her parents, about Tayeb and her necessary involvement in a mysterious circumstance which she initially thinks is a mistake.

If you read fiction, this is worth it...

Book: Easy Prey by John Sandford

Murder and mayhem and decadence and drugs and guns.

"They're just souls trying to get through life. It's the culture that does it. It's a death culture, and it's here, right now. It comes out of TV, it comes out of magazines, it comes out of the Internet, it comes out of video games. Look at that television set that poor Martin Scott had. The biggest, most expensive thing he owned, except for this truck. And all those video games. And he was a hardworking man; worked hard. But the culture burned him out, reached out through that satellite dish and grabbed him."

This book was published 12 years ago which is sobering, especially as our nation is currently in a frenzy about mental health, popular culture and guns.

Book: Birds of a Lesser Paradise by Megan Mayhew Bergman

A collection of short stories, most about people and animals.

"The month after I found out my husband, Nate, slept with a woman who rode dressage, I rented a run-down cottage on Abbet's Cove with sloping pine floors and a large front porch that caught the sound-side breeze....Dear Mary, I prayed, let me be celibate and rational. Let me, for once, forget about men and be happy."

Yeah, it's that kind of book but much more. There is a story about a community garden in the inner city, a story about a woman who has to choose her lover or her rescued animals, a story about a veterinarian who had been attacked by a wolf hybrid, a story about a daughter taking care of a mother who is dying of breast cancer, stories about the elderly, a story of a woman and a lemur center and alcohol and staying sober...

"She was tireless. She could stabilize an emaciated horse in the morning, trim a goat's overgrown hooves before lunch, attend a court hearing in the afternoon, and still be home to feel all of the animals she kept herself."

"I was a thirty-six-year-old single woman living in a poor man's theme park, running birding trips into the swamp. Most of my binocular-laden clients were pushing sixty....I drove them into the swamp in Dad's pickup, left them with a map, a bagged lunch, water, a GPS device, and a phone, and picked them up at twilight in a place that seemed less wild every day. For the most part, I was happy."

I don't even like books of short stories but the title of this one had an owl on the cover.....so I picked it up, read the first few and liked them enough to read all of them. She lives in Vermont and her husband is a veterinarian.

Book: Surviving Survival by Laurence Gonzales

The Art and Science of Resilience

The dust jacket is a photo of a tree bent by severe winds, leaning almost 90 degrees from the vertical...

The chapters in this book are tales of people who have endured and survived horrendous catastrophic events: the death of a child, life in the concentration camps, encounters with bears, crocodiles and sharks; one chapter is about Aron Ralston, the hiker who cut off his arm to survive in a Utah canyon; there are stories of surviving war, of surviving domestic violence, of dealing with metastatic breast cancer.

These are nonfictional accounts. The author tells their stories and he writes of the neuroscience associated with severe trauma and of the different ways people cope and find grace and reasons to live again.

The last chapter is The Rules of Life, not only for survivors but for all of us, since none of us will be exempt from trouble in our lives. Our striving for a life without stress and stressors will never be totally successful so how we choose to live determines our measure of psychic comfort. And most of us can make choices: we can choose to travel (even if only around the block), to stay physically healthy (eat right, exercise and not abuse substances), to learn something new, to help others; we can learn patience and acceptance; we can stay organized; we can refuse to isolate ourselves; we can be grateful, and we can laugh. None of this is new nor is it easy, but while reading of those who survive nearly unimaginable ordeals and who subsequently find a path through the morass of memories and disabilities, perhaps we can be instructed, inspired and even humbled by them.

There are many paragraphs like these:
"What we know is that in study after study, activities with characteristics such as these (physical, repetitive, organized, directed toward a goal) have proved therapeutic for people suffering from trauma or grief."

"The brain and body are possessed of a great many push-pull systems. The sympathetic nervous system excites us, while the parasympathetic nervous system calms us down. One hormone pumps steroids up another brings them down. The amygdala excites an emotional reaction while the thinking brain inhibits it. The brain itself is a push-pull system balancing reason and emotions under normal circumstances."

"A circle with a curlicue in the center makes many people think of a pig. You have a lot more detailed information in your brain about pigs, but those marks are enough to call up a generalized pig. The hippocampus is doing this all the time with everything you perceive through the the senses and through whatever rises up out of memory."

Leon Weliczker survived the Holocaust and his story is truly one of such horror that reading it provoked a visceral reaction. Yet, he had resilience and continued his interrupted life. The author writes: "Leon went on to live a rich life. He taught mathematics at New York University and did research for the Office of naval Research. His work in optics eventually led to the development of the first video-cassette recorders. He carried out one of the primary tasks of the survivor: He made himself useful."

Book: South of Superior by Ellen Airgood

I really liked this novel.....Dave VH had either read it or heard a review on NPR, and I vaguely remembered I had also, so I immediately got it from the library.

This was a satisfying book. I was drawn into the characters and milieu in equal measure. Writing about what she knows (the author lives in Grand Marais, on the shores of Lake Superior), her fictional town of McAllaster is easily imagined for anyone who has ever passed through the northern Upper Peninsula.

It's a small town without big city amenities and/or distractions; no Starbucks, no movie theatre, one grocery store, only a couple of restaurants; no gyms or masseuse or yoga instructor, not even a library...so Madeline, a Chicago girl, wonders what she is doing in McAllaster and whether she will stay.

Originally, she had agreed to come and help with the care of Arbutus, a sweet, elderly, arthritic woman, when asked by Arbutus' sister, Gladys. There are family connections and part of Madeline's reason for leaving Chicago is the pull of her childhood and questions about why her mother abandoned her and why her grandfather refused to help. Also she is unsettled about her future and pending marriage. Soon after she arrives, she is seduced by the wild beauty of Lake Superior, and the quiet dramas of McAllaster and the people who live there begin to give her life a new structure.  I liked how the author drew her characters, simply and realistically, yet revealing their underlying complexity, and of course I loved the descriptions of the natural world, the weather, the seasons, the quality of light unique in proximity to a great lake or ocean.

"Gladys knew very well that Madeline was not like her mother. Jackie had been careless and selfish and immature from the day she was born and obviously Madeline didn't fit that bill. But still, every now and then, Gladys felt a deep stab of uncertainty at what she'd done, pleading with Madeline to come help them, bringing her into their home. Why had she done it, why had she not left well enough alone?"

"Madeline found the cabin, a low-slung building made of massive logs, around a curve in the shore of the vanished lake. In the years of neglect the cedar-shake roof had rotted, exposing the structure to the elements. She ran a hand over the logs and pushed open the front door, which hung by a broken hinge. The interior was nearly empty and the wide plank floor had begun to rot like the roof....She settled her head against her backpack, closed her eyes, and basked in the sun, listening to the buzzing of flies and calls of ravens and jays, the insistent hammering the woodpecker. Smelled the pungent wild roses that were blooming all along the back wall of the cabin. She felt drowsy and relaxed, as happy as she'd been in a long time. "

Up North in Michigan...a good story.

Book: A Surrey State of Affairs by Ceri Radford

Constance is a very proper, middle-aged, contemporary upper-class British lady with a lawyer husband named Jeffrey and two grown children, Sophie and Rupert. She lives in a charming English village. She has a gardener and a cook/housemaid. She is a bell ringer in her church and is on the flower committee. She wears sensible shoes. She has definite opinions of how life should be lived.

She decides to write an anonymous blog for a year. Life happens, affecting her children, her husband, her friends and, of course, Connie herself. It's funny, sweet and entertaining...like some of Meryl Streep's movies.

At one point, Constance has to retrieve her wayward daughter from Ibiza:
"The combined effects of the heat and the emotional stress gave me such a terrible headache that I had to raid the bathroom cabinet for some pills. They perked me up so much that I soon felt like taking a brisk stroll to get some fresh air, and I ended up walking the length of the bay and back fourteen times....Blotting out the near-naked revelers and the ghastly, thundering, monotonous music, the natural beauty of the scene made me feel strangely euphoric...I nursed Sophie back to health, attempting to cook wholesome food in her tiny, dark kitchen, which was stocked with nothing more than a box of stale Frosties and a bottle of ketchup...As soon as Sophie was better, I booked our flights and here we are. Fortunately, she had to remove her tongue stud to pass through the metal detector in the airport."

"Last night I went to the Hilton bar, alone. I realize that in usual circumstances a woman should not drink by herself, but I think the fact that after thirty-three years of marriage my husband has abandoned me in favor of a herd of cattle should be taken as a mitigating factor. The bar in question is very plush, with dark oak fittings, a sweeping view across the city and no men in baggy T-shirts eating crisps in dark corners."

If you like Alexander McCall Smith's books, you'll like this one. He calls it: "Wonderfully amusing...a comic gem."

Book: Night Prey by John Sandford

A Lucas Davenport novel, written in 1994. Setting is Minneapolis. Serial killer who is slicing up women. Is it interesting to get inside the mind of a psychopath? or fascinating? Does a book like this make the inexplicable easier to understand? I continue to maintain that Sandford does characters and dialogue better than most.

The other case in this story, in which Lucas is minimally involved, was less believable...but was only a small and essentially irrelevant part of the book, and I can imagine the author thinking up unique ways in which people are murdered, just trying out an idea....

Book: Spoon Fed by Kim Severson

or How Eight Cooks Saved My Life

If you're a foodie, you will probably like this book. It's Kim story of moving to Alaska and writing about restaurants and food, falling in love, becoming an alcoholic and then finding a way out. She leaves Alaska and moves to the Bay area, newly sober, after landing a job with the San Francisco Chronicle. She eventually became a food writer for the New York Times.

Along the way, she meets Marion Cunningham, Alice Waters, Ruth Reichl, Rachel Ray and other influential cooks and writes about them and her interviews with them.

"Each meal contains a thousand little divine mysteries...What blessed entity invented sugar and cacao pods and vanilla beans or figured out that salt can preserve and brighten anything?....and what of the miracle that is cheese? Things get more mysteriously divine  if you start to think about baking. Or how olive oil and garlic and egg yolk can make a glimmering, thick aioli. Mixing hot stock into a cold roux so it won't make lumps...."

There is a wonderful story of Leah Chase and her New Orleans restaurant, Dooky Chase: "And there was always a table for musicians and African American artists like Jacob Lawrence and Elizabeth Catlett, who would hang their work on her walls. Traveling musicians knew a visit to New Orleans would not be complete without a stop at Dooky's. 'We fed all of them,' she said, 'King Cole, Count Basie, Duke Ellington, everybody. Everybody came. Cab Calloway, Lena Horne, Sarah Vaughn...'"

There is Edna Lewis, now old and demented and frail, and lovingly cared for by"a young chef named Scott Peacock."

She includes her mother's recipe for Spaghetti and Meatballs (the meatballs pretty much like the ones I have always made, although the sauce is different in that it has pepperoncini, chuck roast and pork spareribs in it so is probably tastier).

She goes to see Marcella Hazan who wrote The Classic Italian Book Book, a book her mother had sent when she was 23 and just out of college. When Kim visited her, Marcella lived on Longboat Key in Florida with her attentive husband Victor and, with high expectations, she visits them, but with somewhat disconcerting sequelae as can happen when reality and dreams collide.

All these stories about inspired cooks and cookbooks and food and recipes...

Now I have to find and taste Meyer lemons...

Book: The Bartender's Tale by Ivan Doig

As are many of Doig's previous books, this one is also set in northwestern Montana, between Browning and Choteau, with the incredibly gorgeous front range of the Rockies on the western horizon.

It's the story of Tom Harry and his 12-year-old son Rusty and their lives in the small town of Gros Ventre in the early 1960s. Rusty has no idea who his mother is, always wondering and trying to figure this out, but settles in with his somewhat mysterious father who owns and runs the Medicine Lodge Bar. (He had lived with an aunt in Arizona until he was 6 years old when his father suddenly appears one day and brings him home to Montana to live with him.)

A few more characters show up, including a young girl and her parents who take over a local restaurant, and I was soon drawn into the story.

I remembered and relived MY first experience in this wild and beautiful landscape. It was 1992 and I was driving the main road along the front range north towards US2 where I would eventually turn west through Glacier National Park. It's a lonely road with stunning scenery. And after leaving Choteau (where I spent the night as sole occupant in a little motel), I was driving one May morning and had to stop because a herd of sheep were moving along and across the road. A cowboy wearing chaps and on his horse apologized for the delay....

This novel has a bit of sheepherding, and fishing reservoirs, small town characters, confusing family intricacies, and an eastern Ivy League-educated young man who arrives and begins recording oral history...

A good old-fashioned tale...with Doig's descriptions of the land the next best thing to actually being there...

"Del and I hung on his every word as he described how twenty thousand people lived any crazy way they could while the wages lasted, in tar paper shacks and drafty government barracks and any other kind of shelter that could be slapped together and called housing. It made the life of Two Medicine sheepherders seem luxurious" (Tom telling of conditions during the building of Fort Peck dam as they gather for a reunion of those who worked on the dam, and whose stories Del is recording.)

"All over town, the cottonwoods were suddenly snowing, the fluffy seed filament they were named for drifting down like the most tardy flakes of the thirty-year winter....and through the heart of this soft storm...a rainbow was glowing....a hypnotic arch stretching from somewhere beyond the Medicine Lodge and the other downtown buildings to the far hay field of the creek valley. I watched, riveted, its full band of colors from red through yellow to violet phenomenally mixed with the snow-white fluff...."

Book: Mad River by John Sandford

Yes, another Sandford book....

Venue is southern Minnesota. This is a Bonnie and Clyde Plus One killing spree tale. With a tornado. And love gone wrong...Hero is Virgil Flowers...

"His father was a tall man, also slender, like Virgil, with graying hair and round shell-rimmed spectacles. He'd played basketball at Luther college, down in Iowa, before boing to the seminary. He clutched in one hand the printout of his serum: he'd been a popular man all of his life and a kind of sneaky kingmaker in local politics."

"The old man told Virgil he'd gotten hurt dragging broken lumber off a downed house, where they were looking for another old man who lived alone. They hadn't found him. The old man with the ripped hand said, "That sonofabitch is trying to get out of our golf game," and then he started to cry."

I continue to like the characters and the dialogue, which rings true to my ear...

Book: The Newlyweds by Nell Freudenberger

I keep describing novels as "fun to read" books, those I like in the same way as a good cup of coffee or something better than average to eat or meeting someone interesting. I love going into the library and finding new, just published books by authors I haven't read before. Often, after reading the reviews on the back cover, I put them aside, but I am pretty good at choosing and discarding before checking out and I do finish most of those I take home. And I can read them in a day and often do...(sort of a half-hearted apology for reading a lot of fiction lately, I guess.....)

Anyway......

The Newlyweds is about a Bangladeshi woman, Amina, who meets her future husband through an online dating service. She moves to Rochester, NY, marries him, and becomes a US citizen. George, her husband, is a good enough man. They settle in but Amina has always had plans to also bring her parents to the States and that is a big part of this story.

What I like about a novel like this is what I learn about a situation that was never a part of my life. It goes beyond the dynamics of the relationship between George and Amina and her assimilation into American culture, her loneliness and the surprises that catch her up. While it is about specific characters and life in a contemporary mid-sized American city, it also incorporates universal, more global issues. There is a the disparity of life in America and life in Bangladesh, the cultural differences between children and their parents, the distorted opinions of what America is, and the tension created as Amina is torn by Islamic and traditional strictures and her new American consciousness.

Ann Patchett: "A big complicated portrait of marriage, culture, family, and love. Freudenberger never settles for an easy answer and what she delivers is a story that feels absolutely true. Every minute I was away from this book I was longing to be back in the world she created."

Book: The Red Book by Deborah Copaken Kogan

A novel which Adam Gopnik said is "The Big Chill" for the Facebook generation and he is right.

The 1989 classes of Harvard and Radcliffe gather for their 20th reunion. Wry, funny, predictable, full of restless, intelligent, self-absorbed characters and borrowing heavily from The Big Chill themes, it is fun to read, well-written...alternately romantic and somewhat real. The children (inexplicably) accompany their parents and some of the best parts concern their antics and interactions.

At random:
"Kant (with whom Jane felt an instantaneous and long-lasting affinity) believe in complete moral virtue as a prerequisite to happiness....Wittgenstein was more concerned with the impossibility of defining the word happiness in a subjective world while experiencing it in a temporal one....'I loved that class,' says Jane, catching another glimpse of ecstatically bouncing Sophie, wondering whether, outside the boundaries of moon bounces and sex, people are ever capable of living solely in the moment."

"Mia's son Eli is still focused on his numbers. 'Okay, so that's five of us, Jane and Sophie, three Griswolds, one Clover, and maybe an extra, right? That makes twelve.' Eli steals a glance at the bowl full of unadorned batter sitting next to the empty griddle.' Wait, What about the bananas and chocolate chips?'
'Got 'em!' says Jonathan, bursting through the door, a charismatic blur of sweat and spent energy hovering above a pair of brand-new Nike Roadsters. Under one arm he clutches a perfect bunch of bananas, stickered over with the word ORGANIC; with the other he holds aloft what looks like a dark brown brick. 'Can you believe it? They had Scharffen Berger at your little local deli! I can't even get our local deli to stock Nestle's.'"

So, not Anna Karenina but not Danielle Steele either....

Book: Turn Right at Machu Picchu by Mark Adams

Rediscovering the Lost City One Step at at Time

Turn Right is partly a modern travel adventure and partly the historical narrative surrounding Machu Picchu, specifically, the exploits of Hiram Bingham III in 1911. The author also reviews Incan history along the way. Of course, Hiram didn't DISCOVER Machu Picchu, but he did bring it to the notice of much of the rest of the world, including Gilbert Grosvenor, then head of the National Geographic Society.

Hiram III's grandfather was Hiram Bingham I who sailed from Boston to Hawaii in 1820 in order to "put Hawaii on the road to salvation." He was the prototype of Michener's missionary Abner Hale in his book Hawaii if one needs a more clear idea of his personality and attitude towards those with "sunburnt, swarthy skins....their destitution, degradation and barbarism."

Mark hooks up with John Leivers who guides him over the mountains and valleys and across and through the rivers and jungles of Peru near Machu Picchu. Mark is not exactly a real-time adventurer but rather a travel editor for adventure magazines. His life was New York City so he needed to train a bit before beginning these treks. John tells him that they would "go north, cut through the mountains, bear left toward the jungle, then double back toward Cusco. For the big finish, all we had to do was follow the river and turn right at Machu Picchu. This last part sounded like a pleasant afternoon stroll....." Well....

Mark rises to the considerable challenges which are part of the story...the fun part, the glimpses into a milieu very remote from his native habitat. This is the armchair adventure part of the book.

I read it over the course of several weeks which is not the best way for me to remember and keep coherent the account of several historial periods, but I got the jist. Machu Picchu is certainly a destination for many (800,000 annually). It is obviously a compelling, fascinating, intriguing place, and I learned more about its myserious allure and some of its secrets.

Book: Mick Jagger by Philip Norman

This is a 600-page unauthorized biography.

Mick Jagger often says he can't remember what happened although the author doesn't exactly believe this. Therefore, the sources are drawn from what is mostly already known. Still, for anyone who liked or likes The Rolling Stones, it's fun to read, full of vignettes about Mick and sometimes Keith and Charlie, Bill and Ronnie. I don't think there is much new information here, rather a reiteration of what everyone knows: the making and writing of music/lyrics and tales of sex and drugs and money on the Stones' road to superstar status. It is interesting because of their talent and success but also because of their longevity; they are still rocking and performing after 50 years of sex and drug addictions, and not as former stars but as megastars still. Pretty amazing....luckily, the heroin, cocaine, LSD, alcohol and hundreds of one-night stands didn't destroy them. Which doesn't exactly make them heroes...but rather survivors who know how to work hard and at least periodically be somewhat disciplined. In our mostly youth-oriented popular culture, their appeal is enormous.

There are stories of Mick's lovers and wives: mainly Chrissie Shrimpton, Marianne Faithfull, Bianca Jagger and Jerry Hall ....and his seven kids who are now grown themselves and who apparently have amicable relationships with him; stories of Brian Jones and Mick Taylor, of Anita Pallenburg and the drug-soaked life she led with Keith, stories of all the musicians whose lives intersected or inspired the Stones...the bluesmen and women, the Beatles, Chicago and Chess records, Altamont, the money deals, the Redlands drug bust, the agents and handlers and the love/hate bitchiness and bickering between Keith and Mick. The book is kind of a long gossipy narrative but one that was written well enough, as it moved along the lifelines of this phenomenal band, to have kept my attention.

I got the impression that Mr. Norman didn't like his subject all that much, although in fairness, he would often describe some of Mick's mostly behind-the-scenes acts of kindness and charity and how those who met Mick for the first time were charmed by his lack of ego. I do think this book is mostly a compilation of bit and pieces of information from previously published material (although a few of the principals apparently did speak at least somewhat with the author).

As for two of Mick's ladies:
Bianca Jagger returned to her native Nicaragua in 1979 "as part of a Red Cross delegation  looking at the country's reconstruction since the 1972 earthquake...From that moment Bianca's life--hitherto about little but clothes and finding wealthy men to protect her--changed completely. Studio 54 lost its queen, and the people of her own and neighboring countries, similarly oppressed by poverty and vicious despots found a passionate, selfless advocate...Her international profile was raised still further when Nicaragua's Somoza clan was finally overthrown by the revolutionary FSLN Party, or Sandinistas, and the US government--fearing the spread of communism in Latin American--began lending covert support to a right-wing counterrevolutionary alliance known as the Contras. Bianca took part in lobbying against this policy and was a leading voice in the subsequent furor, when the Reagan administration was discovered to have secretly sold arms to Iran, its supposed archenemy, to fund the Contras. So the world finally did see a Jagger getting involved in politics and speaking out fearlessly."

And Jerry Hall comes through as a wonderfully sweet and wild Texas lady...so that at the end of the book, I liked learning about these women at least as much as the dusted-off Mick stories.

OK...so just after posting this I got in my car and headed into town and All Things Considered was on NRP.  They were interviewing each of the Stones on subsequent days this week and each was asked to pick a song. Charlie Watts came on, laughing at HIS disremembrance..."Well, I guess this isn't turning out to be a very good interview...." He had chosen Satisfaction and I realized as this song began and played throughout the few minutes Charlie was "interviewed" that the music is so the thing here....not really the often outlandish lives the Stones have led or what is written about them. Although, a full-blown Stone performance (just once for me) WAS a hell of good time.

And, just for the record, they have done several free and benefit concerts.

Book: After Mandela by Douglas Foster

I finally finished this long book. Or sort of finished it as the final 30 pages were duplicated earlier in this library book, and the actual final pages are missing. But after reading 534 pages, I was ready to move on. I think it was very near the end anyway.

The time period is 2004 to 2012. I was immersed in South Africa while reading, at least the political/social aspects. I learned from every page, not especially difficult as I knew so little before I started.

The four traditional classes in SA were the European (White), the Coloured (Mixed), the Asian (Indian) and the Native (Black), and many of the old ways and customs governing society have certainly not been obliterated since liberation in 1994 and this cannot help but cause frustration and protests and anger.

There was the battle between Mbeki (who succeed Mandela as head of the country) and Jacob Zuma who is the current president of SA. There was the dissension in the ANC (African National Congress) and with Julius Malema who was the increasingly radical head of the ANC Youth League and who has recently been ousted. There was author's (sad and heartbreaking at times) dialogue with various street kids, living on the margins of the new order in SA but really not benefiting in legal ways from democracy. There were visits to small villages where those who remain (there is a constant influx from village to big city) still struggle to survive as SA tries to find ways to govern effectively and protect and nourish its citizens wherever they live. There were the conversations with Zuma himself  and with his children; there were conversations with Mandela's grandchildren. There were the striking disparities in lifestyle between those in power and those at the bottom. There was the grim accounting of SA's reluctance for too many years to confront and tackle AIDs which afflicts 1 in 6 young South Africans. This was a huge problem, along with the problem of Mbeki's friendship and apparent support for the evil Robert Mugabe in neighboring Zimbabwe.

There was/is the usual corruption and bad choices and outcomes by many who should strive for nobility rather than personal gratifications, not unique to SA. And, at least for a time, there was the absolute jubilation and a sense of unity throughout the country when SA was chosen to host soccer's World Cup.

How could SA not be a dynamic changing nation, given it's recent history? 

Other than being a bit too long for me, this book is engaging, easy to read and informative on the status of SA in the two decades after Mandela was released from prison.

Book: Jack Holmes and His Friend by Edmund White

When I got this book at the library, I thought it was nonfiction. Not so; it's a novel about Jack Holmes and his friend, Will.

The book begins at the University of Michigan in the 1960s where Jack is a student. After graduation, he moves to New York City and begins working for a magazine. He meets Will and falls in love, the problem being that Will is heterosexual. Jack has started to discover and accept that he is a homosexual and soon is into the scene of bar/random pickups and one-night stands with men. It's a pretty loose scene in NYC on the cusp of the AIDs cataclysm.

Will moves on, marries and has a family. Part of this novel is Will's voice and part is Jack's.

It's good, with a beginning and an end. Not all novels have acceptable satisfying endings, but this one does.

I learned more about the world of homosexuality and how it is the same but also different from that of heterosexuality. Because Mr. White is such a good writer, the characters are complex, conflicted human beings seeking satisfaction and contentment and love in their lives. As do we all....

There is a wonderful black and white photo on the dust jacket which attracted me in the first place.

Edmund White teaches at Princeton and has written both fiction and nonfiction. So many books; not enough time....

"He felt fussed by his drunken, seemingly breezy conversation with Will. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the cold windowpane. When he shut his eyes, time and space flowed around him....Will was a bad habit it seemed he'd never get over. Jack felt like one of those courtiers who back up when leaving the king's presence...Will was rich and Jack was comfortable. But if they didn't watch out, they'd become dim and devious in their desires, mediocre in their accomplishments. He laughed at himself and stood up, sheathed in his unfamiliar pajamas. He went to the kitchen for a glass of water."

Book: Contents May Have Shifted by Pam Houston

Pam Houston does get around. This is book of 130 vignettes from many of the places she has visited. It's a bit like Eat, Love and Pray but more like Drink, Love and Do New-Agey Stuff. This book was fun to read but really just one more book full of self and searching. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but, yeah, so what else is new. Isn't the trick to make a story universal without the self absorption?

Totally random quotes:
"At the store in Tozeur we haggled over the price in four languages, and Rick finally said, in Spanish, "Amigo, from my heart, I have to make a bargain with you or my woman will think I don't have any balls," and that is when the guy almost started to like him."

"At four that morning in Boulder, my cell phone had splashed into the toilet while I was drying my hair, but I didn't really roast it until I tired to turn it on before it was all the way dry.....I sent an email to Fenton the human that said I was pretty sure Rick had broken up with me for good this time, but by the time I got to Oregon I told Nora that I knew Rick was difficult but I was too, and you could talk all day, psychology up one side an pheromones down the other, but there was nobody alive who could help who they loved."

"At first light I brave the blizzard and head for the barn and they they are, all wild-eyed and fuzzed up against the wind, giant icicles hanging from the manes and tales [not a typo] and tiny ones from their eyelashes. I dig out the barn door and double up on the hay, giving them some grain too, the low-carb kind on account of Deseo's diabetic condition make sure Roany hasn't (as he often does) plucked the defroster out of the horse trough with her teeth. "

I almost didn't finish this book after I started but pushed through and it was good enough, what with the  travelogue tales and her way with words. She is a tough cowgirl, a river runner, a mountain climber and a professor with an interesting life. Plus, I like reading about people who live on ranches in Colorado.

Book: Shucked by Erin Byers Murray

Non-fiction.

Erin trades her stiletto heels and short skirts for the gear she needs to work with Island Creek Oysters, an oyster farm off the coast of Massachusetts. This is her story. If you like oysters and are curious about how they are grown, from seed to slurping, you will enjoy her story. Predictably, she barely survives the first few weeks of hard work, but perseveres and lives to tell us about oysters and those who farm oysters, the salt water, the sea, the sky, the clouds, the tides....

There are recipes at the end of every chapter (Crispy Oysters with Fried Brussels Sprouts and Russian Dressing or Oyster-Mussel Chowder with Pancetta, Sunchokes and Almonds), and a very memorable visit to Per Se, a high-end restaurant, where Erin spent a day in the kitchen watching and learning how to make their signature dish, Oysters and Pearls before settling into the restaurant proper for dinner:

"We were moved on to more complex dishes, like the butter-poached lobster "mitt," a chunk of flawless lobster meat settled over a bed of tiny tortellini. I practically beamed when I saw the slivers of trumpet mushroom laid tenderly across the dish. The same went for the cod shank which was touched with...Ethan's pulverized pepper agro dulce. Next up we got walloped by actual white truffles...."

There are also oyster offering/shucking events in places like Nantucket and Miami, which are parties full of wine and beer and songs and laughter, rewards for the days and days out in the cold wet weather. Still, most of the book is the subtitle: Life on a New England Oyster Farm.

Book: Shock Wave by John Sandford

Another Sandford novel.

I love the way this writer does dialogue and characters. I love the Up North milieu (for the most part). The plots are varied and Sandford researches enough so they are credible (sort of and most of the time).

This book is about a Walmart-type chain with a proposed new store in a small Minnesota town. But, deadly bombings begin, targeted against Pye Mart. That's the main story, but I also was drawn to the concomitant threads of how a Pye Mart will affect the  established local businesses, of selected details in the lives of those who live in small Midwest towns, of the interactions between law enforcement agencies.

Sandford's books are just plain entertaining.

Hardcover at your local library or the paperback edition at bookstores and airports, etc.

Book: The Night Crew by John Sandford

Another JS book with a female protagonist, Anna Batory, who heads the night crew in LA. Their job is to catch on video, first before anyone else, the trauma in the big city...and then quickly sell the tape to the highest TV station bidder. One night they get both an animal rights event and a jumper. Immediated subsequent to this night, people connected to Anna start getting hurt, even murdered. Anna realizing she is being stalked and has no idea why.

This is one of Sandford's better novels with good characters and what I like best about this author: a degree of subtlety usually lacking in other writers of this genre and the natural credible dialogue between the characters.

Books: Off to Big Star with no Internet so only titles at this point...

Dark of the Moon - John Sandford (Virgil Flowers)
Broken Prey - John Sandford (Lucas Davenport)
The Translator - Daoud Hari (Darfur)
Family History - Dani Shapiro (author of Devotion)
The Territory - Tricia Fields (Mexican cartel/Texas border town)

These are library books and need to be returned before I go up north. My reading has strayed to easy fiction lately, books I can read in a night, fortunately or unfortunately...it is what it is...

Book: The Innocent Man by John Grisham

or Murder and Injustice in a Small Town

The town is Ada, Oklahoma, and Grisham spares no words in describing the errors and sloppiness that occurred in nearly every aspect of this case, involving lawyers (prosecution and defense) and the law enforcers (police) in Ada. It is a true story that is sad, outrageous, compelling and nearly unbelievable. John Grisham had "never heard of Ron Williamson and Dennis Fritz" while the events in this story were taking place but saw an obituary in The New York Times which started him thinking and wondering about what had really happened. He began asking questions; he travelled to Ada and other towns, researched the facts, interviewed dozens of people and then wrote this book.

Ron and Dennis spent time on death row for a murder they did not commit. Especially before DNA testing became widely available, "wrongful convictions" did happen. As Grisham notes, the Innocence Project has exonerated 180 prisoners through DNA testing at the time this book was published.

There are heroes in this story too, or Ron and Dennis might never have been released from prison. Perhaps they would have been executed. Grisham tells of the dedication and integrity these men and women exhibited as a habeas corpus appeal brought the case to their offices. Finally, the egregious mistakes were acknowledged and the mishandling of the case exposed.

Throughout Ron's long incarceration, he was examined repeatedly, but sporadically, by mental health experts as he became increasingly unstable. This is another system that failed as Ron had issues of lack of followup, noncompliance when taking prescribed psychotropic medications, varying diagnoses and often a complete disregard of obvious and significant mental illness.

And there is the rather poignant tale of Ron as a promising young athlete, potentially a player in  baseball's major leagues, and how that dream fell apart, and how through all the years, his sisters Annette and Renee supported him as best they could.

Book: Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry

Wendell Berry has written many wonderful books and this is one of the best.

It is set in the countryside near the fictional town of Port William, Kentucky. It is Hannah's story and is a satisfying tale, full of nostalgia for a bygone era, that of the second half of the 20th century. It is the story of farming folk and hard work, of families bound by friendship and neighborliness. Hannah reminds me of my first mother-in-law, Virginia Phelps, a truly remarkable woman whose farm home was always a welcome respite from any trouble.

"I was beautiful in those days myself, as I believe I can admit now that it no longer matters. A woman doesn't learn she is beautiful by looking in a mirror, which about any woman is apt to do from time to time, but that is only wishing. She learns it so that she actually knows it from men. The way they look at her makes a sort of glimmer she walks in. That tells her. It changes the easy she walks too. "

Hannah raises her children and lives her life on the land, always appreciating what she has. It is a story of life in the country shortly before "screens" began to dominate our lives.

"Danny grew up with the knowledge of the old economy of the natural world that, for nothing and for pleasure, yielded in its seasons game and fish and nuts and berries and herbs and marketable pelts."

Such is Mr. Berry's talent that every page is soothing as Hannah recalls her life, of raising her children, of being a young widow, of marrying again, of living each day close to nature, of her faith and friends and family. The decency and basic goodness of these lives is offered to us, reminding us of what we can be.

PS: I bought this as a used book at a resale store somewhere. There is an inscription in the front:

Dear Nan,

I know you and Ike liked to read out back in the summer. I thought you might appreciate this beautiful story about loss and love and gratitude. The narrator, Hannah, reminds me a lot of you.

Love Mark

It's that kind of book.....

Book: What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank by Nathan Englander

A collection of stories about Jews and the Jewish experience, some set in Israel and others in the United States.

In the United States, I feel that the farther one lives from the east coast or a large city, the less likely one is to know many Jews, and it seems there is often a wariness or a mind set we non-Jewish people have when talking about Jews. This book throws light on what it means to be Jewish, which is reason enough to read it, and how can being Jewish today is tied to the Holocaust for so many.

In one story, Josh is the director of a summer camp on a lake, one side for young kids; the other sort of an Jewish Elder Hostel:

"John's office door is indeed perpetually open.....To anyone with any problem at all. Because of this, the air conditioner stays off--a waste. And because the old folks, at the  best of time, can't hear anything Josh is saying, he's also forced to avoid the whir of a fan. This leaves the office sweltering, a nice touch that Josh appreciates, for people visit to complain, but no one dares stay long."

In my family, we were brought up to avoid those "not our kind" and when that becomes a part of one's psyche, it is often not easy to dislodge. But it is important we do. Reading books that describe other cultures and the different ways of living and dreaming can start the process of opening our minds to an understanding and acceptance of diversity in the faith, customs and choices of those sharing our global village in the 21st century.  

Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson

Mr. Isaacson had written biographies of Einstein and Benjamin Franklin and Steve Jobs wanted him to also write his biography. Typical of this arrogant, amazing man.

"He didn't seek any control over what I wrote or even ask to read it in advance."

The story of Steve Jobs is interesting because the story of Apple Computer is interesting. Today, for instance, Apple stock which had dropped about 50 to 60 points in the last 2 weeks and which closed today at 560, rose with vigor after closing prompting the WSJ to blog:

Alright, Apple believers. You win.

In recent days, the clamor and the selling seemed to be gaining momentum. Would iPhone sales disappoint? Was AAPL’s extraordinary run at an end? The stock fell for 10 of the past 11 days. The company lost about $70 billion in market capitalization. That’s like taking Apple and slicing off a Hewlett-Packard-sized chunk ($48 bill) off of the company, and then hacking another Dell-sized lump ($28 bill) — all in the span of 11 days.

But with yet another crushing earnings beat — Apple topped the earnings consensus estimates by almost 23% — is it time to put those fears to rest?

The stock is up 7.5% in after hours trading at last glance, back up over $600 though not quite enough to totally wipe out the stock’s 12% decline since April 9 — yet.

I have been an Apple believer for a long long time which is why I liked this book. It was the maverick company that made products that were/are elegant and classy and worked intuitively. Almost for certain, without Steve Jobs, there would not have been Apple Computer. That he was often rude and unreasonable is true, but his genius superseded that which this book conveys, and while not stinting in writing about the harsh and sometimes unpleasant side of Steve Jobs,  the author also describes a less public man who could and did at times acknowledge his abrasiveness. He was driven to perfect and control everything. He sought out and coerced people to join Apple who appreciated his vision. There is a wonderful photo of Steve sitting in front of his computer, hands behind his head, looking at a screen photo of his wife and son which softens and humanizes him, or at least it did for me. 
The biographer took his subject and wrote well enough that Steve Jobs became more than a guy in a black turtleneck, more than the legendary one-half of the two guys who started Apple in a garage, more than the intensely private person he was and more than just another rich Silicon Valley billionaire. 

All New People by Annie Lamott

I heard Annie Lamott at Powell's once when I lived in Portland. She had her signature blond dreads. She was funny and generous with her time, and I am certain nearly everyone there already knew her from her stories.

All New People is a story of growing up in the 60s with liberal hippie-ish parents, with her brother Casey, her mother's friend Natalie and her Uncle Ed and Aunt Peg. They lived in Marin County north of San Francisco near the sea. (The title comes from someone telling the main character that "in a hundred years, there will be all new people...." which made me think about transitory nature of our lives, as I am sure it was meant to.)

"Her husband had left her when my father left my mother, but her husband hadn't come back. Husbands were leaving, leaving; every couple of months it seemed another one was gone. Their children would be a the rec center with extra pocket money for snacks. They would have money to burn and would buy us things so that we would hang out wit them. I cultivated friendships with them, like I cultivated friendships with the Catholic children, for tuna-noodle casserole or English muffin pizza on Friday."

Or vintage Annie Lamott:
"My mother spent inordinate amounts of time talking to Jeffrey, and working on politics, stuffing envelopes, taking petitions door-to-door, or setting up tables down on the boardwalk, passing out leaflets, registering Democrats, collecting money for her causes. I still went to church with her every Sunday, although I was no longer sure I believed in God. I just loved the singing. My mother said that maybe I would believe again one day, that she had gone through long periods of disbelief too, and then would again come to feel Jesus hanging around her like a stray cat or dog, and she would finally with exasperation quit resisting, throw up her hands, and tell him he could come in for the night."

Her self-deprecation and humor, intuitive intelligence and humility and her sometimes wild spirit are always present in her work. Her sense of God and faith is refreshing, real and comforting.

She has recently written a new book about Sam, her 19-year-old son who (not according to her plan) becomes a father, making her a grandmother. It happens.

Book: The Berrybender Narratives by Larry McMurtry

I liked this book, although it was lengthy at 910 pages. Still I persevered and got the rhythm about halfway through the book.

The Berrybenders are a wealthy British family whose patriarch, Lord Albany Berrybender, gathers up his family and retinue of servants and comes to the grand prairies of America in the 1830s. He wants to wander about, have adventures, and hunt without discrimination, and he does all of that. He is not a likable man as he is completely self-centered and rather obsessive about satisfying his various appetites. He has several children and much of this lively story concerns his daughter Tasmin, a headstrong, intelligent beauty. She finds and marries a reticent taciturn mountain man, Jim Snow, also known as Raven Brave or The Sin Killer.

 The novel begins on a Missouri River steamer which becomes locked in the ice as cold weather arrives. There is one vivid scene after another: brief encounters with Indians of various tribes, buffalo hunts, historical characters (Kit Carson, Jim Bridger), historical events (the Alamo), river travel, deaths due to disease and fighting and accidents, lusty women, slow travels by ox cart, heartbreak, the vagaries of weather, survival strategies, intrigue... The many characters became flesh and blood in my imagination as this tale progressed, and I felt drawn into their colorful, increasingly hard and often dangerous lives. Copulations happen, babies are born and the Berrybenders keep on moving through most of the four years of this novel. Whether the McMurtry is writing of sweet little boys, or mountain men, or haughty Mexican women, or young Indian braves or of Tasmin and her siblings, he entertains. One is transported to the prairies where the buffalo did roam and the Indians moved freely over endless plains, under never-ending skies. The portrayal of the Native Americans was good, not as exotics or primitives but just as fellow humans surviving in their own ways, living and dying on lands that were soon to be taken from them. I often laughed out loud while reading some passages and occasionally was sobered by the harshness of life, by the quick and unexpected deaths, by the fierceness of fighting and frontier justice.

Book: White Girl Problems by Babe Walker

A book with no merit but wickedly funny at times. Babe is the definition of hedonistic. Do people really live like this? I just googled "Babe Walker" and learned some more stuff about her. So, if you're even a teeny bit interested and are as clueless as I am/was, you can also google "Babe Walker" or even read this book.

The last chapters are about her month in rehab where she went after spending $246,893.50 in Barney's one day. (Is Barney's real?)

I love the cover of the book. And the title.

Book: The Heart and the Fist by Eric Greitens

The Education of a Humanitarian, the Making of a Navy Seal.

Eric grew up an all-American boy in St. Louis, Missouri, eventually went to Duke University, was a Rhodes scholar, a boxing champion and then became a Navy SEAL. He was awarded the Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. He served in Afghanistan, Irag, Southeast Asia, the Philippines and Kenya.

Before his military career, Eric spent time doing humanitarian work in India, Rwanda, Albania, Cambodia, Bolivia, Mexico and Croatia. He truly became an "officer and a gentleman" as he matured and tested himself, excelling in the incredibly rigorous SEAL training (which he describes in some detail) but also refusing to believe that might makes right.

Through his experiences as a soldier and as a single human trying in small ways to help others, he works at understanding and respecting different people and cultures. While at Oxford, he "really began to appreciate all of life's beauty: joy, delight, rest, love, tranquillity, peace.These are things worth fighting for, for others and for ourselves."

While reading his narrative, the necessity of using force at times seems less debatable and a more complex issue than many of us would like. Eric writes from seeing the street children of Bolivia who sniff glue all day, the dying in Varanasi, those displaced after the Rwandan massacres in which close to 1 million were killed in the civil war in that country. One MILLION! Eric notes that "Romeo Dallaire, the UN commander in Rwanda, estimated that with just 5000 well-equipped troops, we could have saved 800,000 people." But we didn't do enough to stop the genocide as Bill Clinton acknowledged four years later.

Are the questions of when and where and how to use our military easy? Of course not. The debate continues every day. Earth is the one planet on which we humans live and we are neighbors. I think Eric knows that fighting is sometimes the only alternative and that we must be strong when war is inevitable. But perhaps the old parable of the sun versus the wind should more often be our modus operandi. He was a proud Navy SEAL, proud of his fellows soldiers but always pushing for peaceful ways, non violent ways to provide "healthy and productive" lives wherever people are suffering, both here and outside of the US.

Of course, this is idealistic, and he does not discuss issues surrounding the glut and dearth of oil in the world's countries and how that engages our military. He does not address America's sense of superiority in the increasingly globalized world of today, or our lack of interest in cultures other than our own, our refusal and reluctance to see ourselves as anything but the top dog. He gently chastises our leaders and policies but works within that system, doing what he can.

Eric founded The Mission Continues, an organization that aids "wounded and disabled warriors to serve their country again as citizen leaders here at home."

Tom Brokaw calls Eric his "hero" reiterating that the "heart and fist are just the combination we need."

There is war and there are the men and women who fight those wars. Would that more of them were like Eric Greitens, good and strong.

Books: John Sandford

I am not certain why John Sandford's writing appeals to me but here are four more titles of his books I've read recently:
1. Heat Lightning - late revenge for atrocities by Americans at the end of the Vietnam War.
2. Buried Prey - an old murder case is revived when bodies of two young girls are found.
3. Secret Prey - the CEO and president of the board of a Minnesota bank is murdered on the opening day of deer season.
4. Naked Prey - kidnappings, murder and drug running are the strange brew in this novel.

(I don't particularly like the titles of the "Prey" novels, but then titles are often tricky, I guess...)

These are all books about cops and thus about testosterone, tough guy posturing, profanity, sex, drugs, bad people, car chases, guns and the politics of police work. But if there wasn't nuanced character development in the men and women in Sandford's novels, and especially in the two main characters (Virgil Flowers and Lucas Davenport), I wouldn't keep reading his books. (I did think Secret Prey, written in 1998, was less credible than his other novels as it seemed coarser and less complex..but even so, I finished it.)

The good guys work for the BCA or the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension in Minnesota. They are slightly rogue, smart (of course), appeal to woman (of course) and solve murders.

A couple of random excerpts:

"His (Virgil) thoughts all tumbled over each other, and he got nowhere. He cooled out by thinking briefly about God, and considered praying that there wouldn't be another murder and another middle-of-the-night call. He decided that praying wouldn't help, and went to sleep, and dreamed of the fisherwoman with strong brown arms and gold-flecked married eyes."

"Having been disinvited from lunch, Virgil went to an I-94 diner and had a chicken potpie, with roughly a billion calories in chicken fat, which added flavor to the two pounds of salt included with the pie. He cut the salt with three Cokes, and left feeling like the Hindenburg."

"He was back at this apartment in six minutes, and took another thoughtful six minutes to get into a pair of light khaki slacks, a short-sleeve white shirt, and a navy linen sport coat with a wine-colored tie. He hesitated over the short-sleeve shirt, because Esquire magazine despised them, but then, Esquire editors probably didn't have to walk through slum neighborhoods in ninety-degree heat."

There is always just enough non-cop commentary / description / dialogue to make the characters more real and certainly more interesting.

Another reason I like Sandford is that the milieu is usually Minnesota with evocative passages of the northern woods--the cabins and little resorts, small lakes, walleye fishing, long winters, bars in small towns--all a counterpoint to the action in The Cities (Minneapolis and St. Paul).

On the Road: Devil's Lake, North Dakota to Ashland, Wisconsin

It was 70 miles to Minnesota, but there is a little NWR 3 miles off US2 just west of Grand Forks, North Dakota which is the last town before Minnesota. The refuge is named Kelly's Slough. Maria and I stopped there one time, and I have returned at least twice since then. It is a watery place in the middle of farm country on a gravel road. Of course I had to check it out although there were very few birds around as the prairie potholes were mostly still frozen in spite of temperatures in the 50 and 60s. I saw only occasional ducks and many pairs of Canada geese who seemed to be patiently waiting for open water as they were usually perched on ice that was soon to disappear

As I neared Kelly's Slough, I saw a man with a spotting scope and binoculars near his car looking out over some actual open water. However, as I got closer, I realized it wasn't a gentleman after all but a woman close to my age. We chatted a bit about what she was seeing (tundra swans, some ducks) and I drove on, turned around and as I passed her (she was now in her car heading towards me) she motioned for me to roll down my window and told me about some more ponds up the road. I told her I "had to get home" and she asked where. When I told her Holland, Michigan, she got a look on her face and said, "You've GOT to be kidding!"

Her son teaches organic chemistry at Hope and her daughter-in-law is a physician in Holland. So it goes on the road. I often met people who either knew Holland directly or some place else in western Michigan.

On into Minnesota with a stop in Grand Rapids at a great coffee shop to get espresso along with an almond praline bar and a piece of feta-fennel quiche which I would eat for supper later (thinking ahead and not wanting vending machine food).

Through Duluth, over a high bridge, and into Wisconsin for 80 miles before the UP. Ashland, Wisconsin is a pleasant town on the shores of Lake Superior with many motels, about 50 miles after Duluth, and is the access point for Chaquamegon Bay and the Apostle Islands. I passed a large lodge-motel on the west end of town and drove on, but pulled into a parking lot to scout out where to stay. I was doing this more and more often: stopping and calling on my iPhone for rates. On a whim I called the lodge and they were very reasonable. I also called a motel in the first town in the UP (Ironwood) and was put on hold and then "the computer froze up" and then, after I patiently waited an hour (just kidding, but it seemed way too long) was told that perhaps the rate would be $85 which was a lot more than the nice lodge right on Lake Superior and which is where I stayed of course. I had a bit of a glitch getting Internet as I needed an Ethernet connection rather than WiFi and finally found out the cable they gas me did not plug into the port on the desk lamp but into the wall instead. A young girl at the desk came up and showed me this.

So I worked 4 hours and ate my feta-fennel quiche after I went back to the desk for a fork.

I actually set up my spotting scope and could easily see the golden "tears" on the swans out on the lake confirming they were Tundras, along with displaying Common goldeneyes. The males would suddenly and repeatedly throw their heads all the way backwards and then jerk them forward again. All to impress the females....

There was the lake to the north and a marsh to the south across the road. Of course, the rates in the summer go up considerably, but what a nice place to stay.

On the Road: Havre, Montana to Devil's Lake, North Dakota

A sunny morning which was good but which also meant driving into the blinding brilliance of the sun rising over the prairie. Sunglasses only helped some, but since I hadn't started all that early, the sun soon rose above my windshield.

I truly love the beginning of new days. I loved packing up (I was efficient by this time and only had one trip from motel to car) and started out again. All the travel weariness of the day before was erased by a night's sleep.

I started to see grouse and pheasants grubbing on the sides of the road. While US2 is two lanes, the traffic is usually sparse and by the time I was 20 miles east of Havre, I could make a margin call with no issues so I did: a U turn and onto the shoulder (mostly). I crept up to a grouse while in the car and got very close. Perhaps grouse are not particularly smart? or have a poor sense of self-preservation? since they just stood still looking rather clueless, or perhaps they had intuition and knew I was not out to harm them. At any rate, I saw all the pertinent markings for a good ID. These were sharp-tailed grouse (LB) and I saw several. They look like prairie chickens but have black chevrons on their breast and bellies rather than black bars.

Montana is nearly 700 miles long and I usually underestimate how many miles until I get to Williston which is just over the North Dakota border. And then, way at the eastern end of Montana, there was major road construction...widening the existing highway. I had to wait for pilot cars twice. At one stop, I chatted with a Native American woman who was working at directing traffic (basically making sure cars stopped and then motioning them on when the pilot car approached). She was a great grandmother and attractive, looking to be in her 50s with smooth lovely skin. She said she has been doing this for many years with a few breaks for working as a Home Health nurse. She makes $30 an hour. She told me all about how she takes care of herself on this job...changing her footwear every 4 hours...how she had fashioned some slow drip thing she wears in her hard hat when it is hot.. how she layers her clothing.

For much of the time while driving these high plains, I alternated between listening to French radio (an AM station from Canada) and a Native American station. Most of the time, American radio was country or religious and pretty boring. I understood about 1% of the French but kept hoping it would suddenly click in my brain. I loved the sweetness of the Native American woman on one station who was called "Miss Fancy." She played an eclectic mix of music...drum, country western, a bit of rock and roll, about half done in Native language...perhaps Crow. There were tribute songs to birthdays and deaths and a pending marriage "at the casino at 3 p.m. on Saturday afternoon."

Williston is changing as is much of North Dakota because of the Bakken oil field and one sees evidence of the industry everywhere in western ND. Huge, monstrous equipment, oil rigs and derricks and storage units, thousands of trucks, hastily built "man camps" for the oil workers which essentially were enclaves of 50 to 100 stark rectangular, trailer-like structures lined precisely in a grid. Many were starkly new, but some were older as stuff was beginning to accumulate around individual units, and many had plywood enclosures attached to the entry areas. It seemed Soviet. Richard says prostitutes are also getting rich out there which I don't doubt. While there must be women working in the actual oil industry, testosterone was in the air, along with the dust and noise and the smell of money. A new version of the old West.

I didn't even want stay in Minot which was also bustling and so much busier than just a few years ago, so I continued to Devil's Lake and stayed in a Holiday Inn Express, another very pleasant and comfortable motel with reasonable rates this time of year. I guess the oil boom is mostly to the west as there were few workers here.

Another vending machine supper....

On the Road: Lolo, Montana to Havre, Montana

This morning, it was 30 degrees with a very light snow. Missoula is notorious for inversion weather so I guess this was not that unusual. Weather check via iPhone assured sunshine and warmer temperatures at Shelby, Chinook, Choteau and Havre so I headed in that direction. (Kalispell would have been 120 miles directly north of Missoula but I went east first and then north on the east side of the mountains.)

I went along the Blackfeet river (A River Runs Through It) and into sunshine...through Lincoln, over Rogers Pass and turned north on US287, listening several times to Leonard Cohen CD I had bought at a Starbucks. I have run out of superlatives to describe the Western landscape, but this road seduced me the first time I traveled it, in the spring of 1992. I remember having to stop for a flock of sheep which were blocking the road, and a chagrined cowboy in chaps and on his horse apologizing to me. The mountains rise form the prairies abruptly to the west and this road runs parallel to what is called the Rocky Mountain Front for 100 miles. It passes through the small towns of Augusta and Choteau and a couple of large Hutteritte colonies, over open rangeland, up and down substantial hills and across small creeks. Golden grasses and grains stretch forever to the east and to the mountains in the west. It is usually windy.

I made a short side trip just south of Choteau hoping to find Lapland Longspurs but only saw a soaring Bald Eagle and Horned Larks which I saw in every state whenever I slowed down enough to check out the small birds at the sides of the roads. They are quite tame and I could often see them clearly...even their little black horns and yellow (or sometimes white) throats.

The detour was the Bellview Road, and within a mile there was an odd sight: a dozen military personnel working in a small fenced enclosure doing something. Once, years ago, I was stopped in this area because of fire restrictions, and the official who questioned my intentions and asked why I was wandering about off the main road, told me I had probably been at the "underground missile site" when I told him I had gotten a bit lost and had just turned around at a small fenced enclosure. So today, I figured something similar was in progress, and later, after I drove due west for 6 miles and had turned around, I passed a large black pickup parked along the side of this remote road with the words "SECURITY" on it and also saw a couple of Humvees painted in camouflage. Of course I was curious but of course I had the sense not to stop and take photos. I did feel they were checking me out though.

On US2, I passed a golden eagle pair sitting on a huge stick nest near a small pond, water being uncommon in this part of Montana.

I stayed in Havre in a Best Western which was wonderful. What a difference $20 makes in motel amenities and services. I had a large suite on the second floor and worked four hours with a stable Internet connection watching the late afternoon / evening sky from my second-floor room.

I began craving a salad and soup so called the restuarant across the street (The Duck Inn) since they were advertising things like king crab and huge red meat entrees. What I wanted was a salad with lots of crab and avocado and fresh iceberg lettuce and a wonderful dressing and a perfect hot delicious soup. But that wasn't to be; the pleasant woman didn't "get it" and wanted me to call the adjoining bar as they had "soup" and could help me. I knew it wouldn't meet my standards, so I ate from the vending machine in the motel...popcorn and sun chips.

On the Road: John Day, Oregon to Lolo, Montana

Today was definitely an early spring day with many changes in the weather....

I left John Day by 8 a.m., dismayed when I looked out the motel window to see snow on the ground and snow still coming down, but I drove a long way today and saw the most amazing country. Between John Day and Ontario, Oregon, I had to go over more mountain passes which were snow-covered with poor visibility. I just went slowly hoping it wouldn't get worse. Usually, I was behind another car or truck so I could follow their tracks.

Finally, near the eastern side of the state, the snow stopped briefly, but then it started again in Idaho. Such was my day....intermittent snow showers and then relatively dry roads. I took a wrong turn in Idaho and soon realized I was heading south instead of north and turned around only to immediately see a coffee shop. I decided to get an espresso; it was the Big Star Coffee Shop. How cool is that?

I drove straight north in Idaho to Riggins (the "whitewater capital" of the country) beyond which town the route became incredibly scenic as it followed the Salmon River with massive mountains all around and then went over what is called the White Bird Grade into Grangeville. This is Nez Perce / Chief Joseph country. There are several memorials and signs explaining their travails. I could see into heaven on the top of White Bird Grade....

Driving in the early spring before significant snow-melt adds a dimension that highlights the mountain geometry, the little valleys and avalanche chutes, the thousands of trees, the peaks above the treelines. It would be challenging in mid-winter if the roads were even open, and sometimes these passes are closed temporarily. Today, however, the roads were mostly dry. The snow on the mountains from Riggins nearly all the way to Lolo, Montana, kept me awestruck as the magnificent vistas changed with each curve in the road. Words are not adequate to describe what I saw. And then, rather suddenly, coming down the other side of White Bird Grade, the sky turned a brilliant blue with bright sunshine and snow-covered evergreens and a horizon 50 miles distant.

I got gas and a sickeningly sweet Hot Buttered Rum cappuccino in Grangeville where several inches of snow had obviously just fallen, but which was already melting.

So, I decided to continue on over Lolo Pass, along the Lochsa River ("winding road next 99 miles") to Missoula. The first part was a short scenic byway, route 13 to Kooksia, through the Nez Perce Indian rez along the Clearwater River which was a lovely, fast-moving stream, the sun glinting off the water and rocks and sun-warmed banks. Several fly fishermen were chest-high in the cold water. I was glad that the Nez Perce live here and that it isn't a hyped up tourist spot.

I obviously did get over Lolo Pass but not without apprehension. The Lochsa is a designated Wild and Scenic river. There is almost no commerce on US 12 along this route, and the road runs with the river on one side and mountains on the other. There were occasional pullouts but often barely any shoulder. I kept having some niggles about snow over the pass. I called "511" for a road report and was advised about "slush and icy patches" which didn't seem TOO prohibitive. It is a two-lane of course and 18-wheelers also use this route to get across the mountains (the Bitterroots) so one has to pay attention and be sharp-eyed as there isn't wiggle room, especially not on "slush and icy patches."

I was keeping track of mileage and hoping I would get to Montana before dark. At 40 miles from the pass, slush and icy patches began and continued for 42 miles. I just went slowly and kept steadily climbing. Wherever there was shade, there was slush and the road became increaingly snow-covered. Then there would be half a mile of exposed road which would be relatively clear. I began to wonder if I was perhaps a bit reckless, but I sure as hell was not going to turn back.

The Lochsa is one definition of natural beauty. The river rocks were covered with several inches of snow, as well as the log jams and little islands. It is a fast river, but there are also a few still pools and shallow pebbled sandbars...Andree and Steve once saw a bear swimming across this river and I watched kayakers run significant whitewater while driving this route. It's one of my favorite roads.

Then, as the road really began to climb (like the last 5 miles before the summit), surprisingly, the driving got much better. There were high protective swow banks on either side, the road widened and there was more gravel for traction, especially along the edges. (No salt is used out west, or at least not in Idaho or Montana.)

And I was over Lolo Pass (still in daylight) and down, down, down to the town of Lolo, where I saw a Day's Inn and impulsively pulled in. Which was a mistake as this was by far the worst motel yet on my trip: Door was open to my room; dead fly in standing water in the bathroom; heat was marginal and I finally covered up one-third of the heater as it was blowing cold air even though I had turned it up to 80; there was a discarded empty small catsup container on the floor; AND, the Internet connection was slow and unstable causing two hours of frustration.

Why did I stay?

I was too tired to change rooms or motels, and of course didn't immediately realize the heat / Internet issue. This motel was also run by East Indians which happened several times across country, and usually they were efficient and helpful but not so here.

On the Road: Eugene, Oregon to John Day, Oregon

I left Eugene late morning. Andree brought the kids to school and then ran. Steve was sleeping as he worked until 2 a.m. and I wanted to say goodbye before I left so I walked through Hendricks Park to the coffee shop.

Hendriks is a wonderful and large city park, about 75 acres, and 25% of it has hundreds of rhododendrons and an area of native plants; the remainder is native trees like Douglas Firs and Big-Leaf Maples. Some rhodies were already in full and glorious bloom and others had buds soon to open. I saw several Varied Thrushes working through some grass, just like Robins do. I spotted a RC Kinglet and even saw the tiny red slit on the head and then saw a chickadee which turned out to be a Chestnut-backed Chickadee, a bird I had never seen before! It was very windy and I think the presence of so many birds was partly a fall-out. Usually it is difficult to even see birds here because there is so much cover, and the trees are gigantic, but earlier I had seen Song Sparrows (darker and rustier than those I see in Michigan), many twitchy Ruby-crowned Kinglets and Black-capped Chickadees.

Small branches were littering the ground from the srong wind, which Steve said was not that common.

Andree called to say an oil truck had overturned four miles west of Oakridge and that major road across the Cascades was closed, but I hadn't planned on that route anyway. There isn't a whole lot of choice going east. Steve and I looked at a web cam of the McKenzie River route and I almost decided to just take the interstate to Portland and go along hte Columbia River as there was some snow at the higher elevaton near the pass. But, then I just decided to go for it since I really did not want to go north at that point.

Mostly, it was OK, although the roads definitely did get snow-covered and "chains or traction tires" were advised. I drove very conservatively and was glad to get to Sisters.

From there, I headed east-northeast through high desert country, much of it rugged and scenic, with a few widely-spaced small towns, ranches, massive rock formations, winding roads and national forests. The skies were grey and the wind continued blowing tumbleweeds across the road.

I got to the mid-Oregon town of John Day while it was still light and had horrid nachos in a restaurant across the street from the marginal motel. I only ate a bit of them, took the rest to the motel and left it there the next morning. There was only one other gentleman in the restaurant, also eating by himself. And no wine....

On the Road: Susanville, California to Eugene, Oregon

It was now Wednesday and I missed arriving in Eugene to help celebrate Andree's 40th birthday party which was the day before. I had talked with Steve while driving through Sedona and thought briefly about trying to get there in time, but it was 1200 miles and they were going to a winery at 2 p.m. on Tuesday. No way could I make that.

It was sunny again, and I drove through a McDonald's for coffee but it was actually a Taco Bell (I THOUGHT I was at a McDonalds but obviously wasn't paying attention) so I ordered coffee there and then somehow it was also a Cinnabon place and I ordered four mini fried sugar-coated doughnut things with a vague lemony cream filling which, of course, were delicious. But as I was driving out I spotted an adjacent Starbucks so poured out my Taco Bell/Cinnabon drink and got Starbucks coffee.

The first 20 miles north of Susanville were very birdy: a pond with many assorted ducks, a large flock of Snow Geese, Western Meadowlarks, and a running-over-the-ground flock of California Quail. These are one of the quail species with that adorable little curved topknot feather on the top of their heads. They are about pigeon-sized and were hanging out near a farm field, frantically running here and there in a pack.

Maria, I thought of Debbie as I was headed mostly northwest and skirting Mt. Shasta with more majestic landscape and still some snow, Ponderosa pines and, every so often, a flash of blue as a Western Bluebird flew across the road. So the colors were: green, white, blue (sky and bird) and all the muted earthy colors of browns, reds, greys and yellows.

I was approaching the border between Oregon and California when I realized I was driving through the Modoc NWR and immediately there were eagles and hawks and cranes and ducks. I stopped and watched several Northern Harriers flying low over the marshes with their signature white rump patch, and then saw a larger bird, circling and soaring just to my right. I got very good looks and nothing was ringing a bell, so I went to the field guide, and it was a classic juvenile Golden Eagle with the white patches in the dark wings and dark terminal band on the still white tail....definitely another unforgettable moment of this trip. And, perched on irrigators on the other side of the road were at least six more eagles. The highway wasn't exactly the place for a spotting scope so I went on without positively identifying them as Balds or Goldens but I think both were present. A single Sandhill Crane flew right across the road in front of my car and a large flock of Snow Geese were in the fields. One more time.... these national / state refuges draw me in and are the true rest stops on a long trip.

After leaving Klamath Falls (where Steve and Andree lived for 2 years after his residency) I drove north until I could head to Eugene over the Cascades. It was still sunny with blue skies. The firs, cedars, pines and hemlocks in Oregon are three times the height of comparable Michigan evergreens and, as there was still quite a bit of snow at higher elevations, it was (what adjective haven't I used??) one more very lovely drive. The air was fragrant and cool, but the sun so strong that the snow-melt on the road was steaming. I followed a huge hay-hauling truck down the mountain at 20 mph as there were still some icy spots, and the road was all down hill with hairpin curves for miles.

I got totally lost in Eugene, as the very first iPhone direction was a non-existent exit but after repeatedly pulling off and again consulting my iPhone from my "current location" and with some memories of a previous visit, I finally found the SODAs, relieved to not have to drive for several days.

I love their home and will write and send photos soon...

On the Road: Nevada

I left Cedar City, drove straight west into Nevada and after an hour turned directly north to Ely. It was one of the most scenic roads I've been on, in spite of it being Nevada, with 100 miles of mountains to the west and the east, very little traffic, sunshine...all making for good early morning travel. I bought a hot dog for breakfast at the convenience store where I started north...just a plain old-fashioned hot dog with onions, pickle relish and catsup. A sweet-looking Shih Tzu came up to my car with me like she wanted to come along (or maybe it wasn't a Shih Tzu but it was a dog I wouldn't expect to see there.)

I came upon carrion in the road with ravens lifting off at the last possible minute but also one large bird. I was 90% certain it was a Golden Eagle, just not 100%, and by the time I could slow down and stop (remember, I was usually driving 75 mph and road margins were variable, although often I could and did stop in the middle of the road since the traffic was that sparse), it had flown too far to ID.

Ely seemed a rather dreary town with no visible aesthetic qualities...a working man's town with bars and casinos and old hotels.

I headed west on "The Loneliest Road in America" which is US50. I went over seven passes and then would drop down to desert again. The landscape became drier with very few homesteads, ranches, towns...and only occasional minor roads leading off to the north and south. I found a country music station on the radio and listened to songs with lyrics like "Tequila makes her clothes fall off.." or "She thinks my tractor is sexy...." and the music was appropriate for the mood on this road in this state. But then the DJ mentioned the "storm...coming this way...looks like it is currently in Eureka..." which was exactly where I was headed. I looked to the northwest; jeez...there WAS significant cloud cover. For awhile I skirted the edge of it convincing myself I would just miss it which was wishful thinking. The few towns were all about 75 miles apart but US50 does have occasional traffic and I had enough stuff in the car to survive should I get stranded, but still....

After Eureka, I was headed to Austin and the temperature began to drop and the sun began to disappear...and bits of snow started blowing in the strong wind, at first only sideways across the road which remained dry. BUT, as I headed up the pass before Austin, the temp dropped a degree every minute and got to 22 and the snow was sticking and I was swearing, figuring I would have to stay in Austin. It was only noon and the few motels didn't exactly meet my criteria which isn't even all that demanding. I had Birkies on and stepped out into a couple of inches of snow, so I changed to wool socks and tennis shoes and went into the gas station where three gentleman of various ages briefly looked me up and down when I inquired about the road west. They told me it would be fine..."it isn't sticking..." so I went on and it WAS sticking off and on for about 25 miles, but then generally was OK. Lonely, for sure, but OK. I felt reprieved and drove and drove and drove, even briefly seeing the sun. The clouds were dramatic and made the trip all part of the adventure. There was almost nothing indicative of humans along the road (except the highway itself) but it wasn't what I would call boring, though most people would and did when I was asked about my travels (at the motel that night and a Starbucks I happened upon near Reno....).

I only saw a few flocks of twittery birds and stopped once to see what they were: Snow Buntings. I turned around to take a photo of a tree with 1000 shoes on the branches and wondered if this spot was perhaps near Burning Man. (It wasn't; I just googled it...)

I got near Reno mid afternoon, stopped for gas and saw a Starbucks across the street. It was an OASIS! I got an chicken salad sandwich for my dinner later on, coffee and a salted caramel bar. Remember, Deborah, you first told me about these in Holland one birding day marathon? So I was happy, eating zuzu, drinking good coffee again.

I did the interstate for a little bit and then took US 395 north to Susanville, another road with the snow-covered Sierras on the left, and the high dry desert to the east. The sun was out and I had survived Nevada but this 600-mile day was really too much.

I stopped for the night in Susanville, California, ate my Starbuck's sandwich and worked for 4 hours.

On the Road: Grand Canyon to Cedar City, Utah

I had to go east at first to get around the Canyon. Along this route were several ramshackle, wood structures, open on one side, that the Natives use to sell their arts and crafts. Occasionally, there was one person with his/her jewelry laid on a table, but this is not the tourist season. I would see a few hogans but many more trailers, surrounded by litters and discards, in the open with no trees. I only saw sheep once, and also two men on horseback one time, raising a dust trail in the distance.

Arizona and then Utah is a panoply of red dotted with trees and scrub and sage in various colors of grey and green and the blue sky. Along the route around the Grand Canyon to the east and north are the Vermilion Cliffs. I tried to think of the precise color and rust comes the closest. It is a melange of browns and reds, the brown muted the reds but not dominating. There are striations of the colors and sinuous, smooth wave-like formations of striking beauty.

In Utah, I drove through Zion NP and was literally breathless with the beauty of the gigantic rock formations. It is another place where words fail and photographs only touch on the reality, which truly is overwhelming.

I WAS not prepared for the "dark tunnel." There had been signs about "tunnel escorts for $15" at the entrance but I hadn't paid attention, thinking these were for trucks. As cars approached the tunnel, drivers were advised to take off sunglasses, keep lights on and watch for bicyclists. Periodically, there were windows where the stone had been cut through to to allow natural light, but it was DARK! The road beyond (from east to west) wound down to the valley with hairpins and precipitous dropoffs, all requiring attention, though there were pull offs.

Our protected national places are the grace notes in our landscape.

I took an Interstate north to Cedar City, Utah, and stayed at The Crystal Inn since it had a big sign out front stating "Special Prices for Tonight Only." It was one of the nicest motels I've stayed in and I ate in the restaurant which had an English theme with menu items like Bangers and Mash and waitresses sort of dressed in old English style. There was classical music and heavy silverware and napkins. I had salmon baked in parchment with a buttery wine sauce, fresh herbs and citrus slices. And a good hot fudge sundae for dessert. Even the ice cream was above average. I took half the salmon with me.

The darling waitress told me all about taking an "alcohol class" just last week. This was in response to my questions about Utah and alcohol. She said people think Utah is so restrictive because they often stop there after being in Vegas where there is "so much alcohol" but that, really, Utah can and does serve alcohol everywhere. In general, the state regulates this, although individual towns also can as to when, how much, where, etc. So, for instance, four people can go in a bar and one will order fries and then all can be served a drink, which is done, and no one even eats the fries.

There was an Asian family with two young kids parked near my room and they had everything from their vehicle piled on the grass...a significant mound of clothing and maps and shoes and toys and various containers. The Dad was sorting, discarding and re-arranging and I could totally relate. I did the same thing since it was still relatively warm and sunny.

Cedar City has mountains to the south and east and homes on hills easily seen from the parking lot. One could live in a worse place.