To Those in the Path of Destruction

Words cannot provide comfort when homes, loved ones, and entire towns and ways of life are destroyed.  This is the second year in a row that extra-seasonal violent storms have impacted the central and southeastern states.  To those who do not live in temperate/tropical convergence zones, do not let that stop you from giving to charitable organizations such as the Red Cross.  Weather can affect anyone in life altering ways, especially as our climate continues to undergo rapid and violent change.  Even well after "problems" have subsided, communities are still in need of assistance.  Joplin, Missouri, has still not completely recovered from their tornado run in last year, but has been largely ignored by the media.  Even in this time of economic distress, we simply cannot afford to ignore the needs of our neighbors.  There may indeed come a time when we will need help ourselves.  At the very least, give blood if you are able to, as it is in short supply even in relatively tranquil areas.  I passed through Joplin myself back in July, and I can assure anyone who asks that the devastation was brutal.

The Red Cross is a particularly helpful organization to donate to.  They do incredible work and even help to provide non-disaster related, basic medical care to people in many countries, but they are mainly well known for being beacons of assistance and stability in otherwise chaotic conditions.  The founder of the American Red Cross, Clara Barton, actually braved raging battlefields during the American Civil War.  She and her people would find themselves in the line of fire time and again to assist those in agony and panic, work that the organization continues unceasingly to this day.

Oh, and she also had a house in Maryland not far from Washington.

Of course, she never asked for it, and she turned it into an office so she could keep on doing what she did best.  It is one of the under-visited sites in the National Capital region of the National Park Service.  Hopefully, while the 150th anniversary of the Civil War is being commemorated, the contributions made by this woman and the people like her will not go unnoticed.  Hopefully our friends and neighbors in the path of destruction will be able to see that sort of help around the corner.

Q & A Session Two

Q: You seem to be under the impression that the Mexican-American war was a bad thing, and yet if it truly was so horrible, why do you love California and the south west so much?

A: In my post regarding the Battle of Chapultepec, I did not expressly opine that the addition of these territories to the United States is a good or a bad thing.  The fact of the matter is, we may never know how the nations of the United States and Mexico might have developed otherwise had Mexico won the battle, thus having more room for negotiation at the bargaining table, and retained control of its territories.  We can conjecture quite a bit about the way things might have turned out with a stronger Mexico, just as soon as we can conjecture that the United States would have tried to purchase and/or take the lands by force anyway.  What I did say in the post was that the war was unjust, which it was.  What I did say in the post was that the destinies of all three of our nations were forever changed by the war, and they were.  The sheer difficulty involved in taking Chapultepec and holding on to Mexico thereafter kept Mexico an independent nation, even while the treaty made afterwards removed roughly half of its territories from it.  More happened at that battle and its following peace than territorial exchanges; attitudes were forever altered on both sides.

What would have happened to the relations between the two countries if the border remained at the front crest of the Rockies, the Nueces river, and the 42nd parallel?  Again, we may never know.  In all likelihood, Mexico would have found much of the territory too distant and vast to manage, unless they experienced a similar migration northwards that many Americans engaged in going west.  New Mexico would have considered breaking away and joining the United States, to whom they were engaged in a lucrative trade relationship already.  Texas would have pushed for a border at the Rio Grande, which the treaty would have gained for them anyway.  California might have broken off relations with Mexico City as Texas did, though the resistance of Californios to annexation by the United States might have left it as a separate nation.  Now, assuming that New Mexico would have taken the entirety of the upper Rio Grande valley, this would have left Arizona, the undeclared Republic of Deseret (Utah), and the Colorado river drainage of Colorado and a little bit of Wyoming left to Mexico, a wedge in the plans of a bunch of potentially hostile neighbors.  Assuming that the United States would not try to acquire this wedge first, the country might have looked to the 54th parallel as a way to fill out a clear path to the Pacific, which would have taken a large portion of land from what would soon become Canada and... well... things might have become very messy at that point.  Instead, history happened, and the United States picked up what has turned out to be prime real estate.

Granted, the land has become prime real estate because of how it has been developed.  Mexico looked north and saw deserts, missions, and frontier.  The United States looked westward and saw resources, the Pacific Ocean, and a haven for a different way of life for the Mormons, adventurers, rogues, capitalists, etc.  Granted, the land might have developed in a close fashion had the war not destabilized the country so much. Benito Juarez would have still been there, trying to push reforms and a chance at modernization and industrialization, and would have been still backed up by the United States looking for an amiable leader next door from whom they could buy land.  Instead, we had war.  The border was changed, hearts were changed, destiny was forged.  What we have today is simply what we have today, and our role as nations now is to make the experiences of people from both Phoenix and Hermosillo a lot more human and a lot less degrading.  The truth is, as I love the people on both sides of that ever expanding fence, I would love those lands regardless of who is in charge of them!  That said, write to me.  Tell me how you feel about this, tell me what you have studied about it.  The discovery of history never stops, and I am not closed-minded.

Q: What is your favorite National Park?

A: In what region?  Due to my preference for my native land of Northern Ontario, Voyageurs, Isle Royal, and Acadia top the list in the United States.  Parks like them in Canada, such as Pukaskwa and Quetico would cover the Canadian side, though all of these pale in comparison to Algonquin, which is a "mere" provincial park.  As for everywhere else, I really don't know.  I think my most emotional experiences have come from three places out west: The Grand Canyon, Sequoia, and Saguaro national parks.  Here they are as I saw them:

 I was completely unprepared for seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time.  I was expecting an incredible vista, but nothing like the pause bringing, pseudo-mystical feeling I got when I felt so completely unimportant in the face of the power of eternity, standing there on the north rim.  Pictures cannot capture the sensation.  I was preparing myself as best I could to see the Sequoias for the first time.  The redwoods might be taller and a bit more lush, but in essence, a Sequoia resembles the Platonic ideal of a pine (a redwood is a mere spruce, I tell you, a mere spruce!).  Call me a hippy, call me a nature pagan (I most assuredly am neither), but when I walked in the mist and snow to the base of the most massive tree in the world, I felt like I was approaching the favorite personal property of God.  Then I did something I probably should not have, and gently touched the bark, and felt what I can only describe as a sensation of touching something directly consecrated by the hand of the divine.

Finally, we have the cacti.  I had already seen a bunch of chollas, prickly pears, barrels, and such in other parts of the west, but had not yet been to the lower, warmer reaches of the Sonoran desert where the giant stuff could be found.  My first trip there, heading into Tucson from New Mexico on I-10, was on a forty degree day in very foggy skies, in March no less.  I found my first saguaro in a wash east of Benson, and got really excited.  Then I went to Cactus Forest drive in the eastern unit of Saguaro National Park, and saw sights that I will never forget in my entire life.  A forest of saguaros, ocotillos, everything I had imagined... lush, green, alive, and with a smell that I wish I could have bottled and taken home with me wafting through the misty air.  This was actually an experience that made me want to study botany; this "desert" world was just so ethereal that it grabbed my attention and turned me on the path of a new passion.

As usual, leave comments here or e-mail me with questions at BKryda@gmail.com.  By all means, disagree with me and get political!  Discourse can only improve us.

Miners Beach

One of the most visited and alluring attractions at Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore is Miners beach, a typical strand of glacially perfected sand which graces the Michigan shores of Lake Superior.  Most iconic images of the beach will show the typical sunset shot overlooking the mouth of the Miner river, which flows into the lake in a wonderful channel of golden brown water amidst the sands.  Other pictures might have the lake being a bit bluer and brighter, showing off the Caribbean impression that summertime Lake Superior can manage to pull off.  My visit was a bit less glamorous, but certainly more appropriate.

 The day was quite overcast, a little on the cooler side for most people (upper 50s), and while the lake was showing off some teals and pastel blues, they were muted and offset by the dominant bluish grey that one would expect from a Canadian Shield body of water.  This is not to say that I was in any way disappointed, because the whole scene felt very much how it should for being in this sacred part of the world.  The grey soil covered in pine needles, cones, and broken roots which extended into the forest from the beach only added to the northern charm of the place.  The dwarf Balsam fir (Abies Balsamea) added a more intimate touch to an otherwise exposed location at the edge of the inland sea.  Steady medium-sized waves rhythmically washed onto the sands despite the stillness of the air; Lake Superior, after all, is assuredly much more of a sea than a lake.

 For a moment, walking along the beach felt like being on some quiet reach of a tranquil, northern lake.  The trees, gentle landscape, and intermixing of grand and diminutive scales were quite deceptive.  Indeed, if it were not for the sheer cliffs at either end of the stretch of sand, one might never know they were in an area of towering dunes and breath-taking cliffs.  Again, this is a lake shore, but it is also the shores of Lake Superior.

 In fact, Miners beach and river are not a few hundred yards away from the photogenic Miners Castle, one of the great scenic natural monuments of Michigan.

 I was just there, among the small crowds that had come to take their obligatory photos before moving on to the next tourist spot.  While the rocks were definitely a sight worthy of repeated visits, and yes, a future post (when I can show pictures of the place in different light conditions), the beach provided for a stronger memory.  The lapping waves, wonderfully smooth yet gritty sand, towering pines, and all those wonderful smells of the boreal northern world conspired to outdo the featured attraction.  Maybe the cliffs were a bit alien to the concept of the northern landscape.  The rocks here are mostly layered sandstone, rather than the granite and gneiss one can find in neighboring Ontario, Wisconsin, or even past Marquette.  The beach, however, had the fortune of being mixed up and tossed around by glaciers, and presents the walker from such places with a more familiar landscape.  My biases are showing through once more!

In any case, this beach has it all: scenery, forests, tranquility, grandeur, surf, sun, and even clams.  Those looking for great, open vistas and miles upon miles of water can find it on one side:

 While turning back, they can find it again in towering forests of Eastern White Pine (Pinus Strobus) which greet the sands in no less a dramatic fashion than the waves:

At the same time, the saplings, lichens, and damp, dark, green closeness of the forest reverts the scale back to our level, as does the foam and bubbles that the even the mightiest waves become.

The best way to experience Miners beach, of course, is to experience it with one's own senses.  As with any place in "le Nord", I highly recommend it.

Looking Down the Mountain

Something simple today, to facilitate our return to more travels around the continent.  A wonderful view from San Jacinto Peak, or at least most of the way to the top.  Down past the Sugar pines there is Palm Springs, baking in the 110 degree sun.  Nearly 9,000 feet up, things were a lovely 70 degrees, with a rare bit of humidity even.

On a clear day from the mountain one has an amazing view of distant vantages.  Mt. Charleston, a peak which sits near Las Vegas and is well over 100 miles distant, can be seen to the north east.  The Gulf of California down in Mexico will show up to the south east.  On the west and points nearby are the great ranges surrounding the Los Angeles basin, as well as the Pacific Ocean and the Channel Islands.  Here, under the dust of the desert and the smog leaking through the nearby San Gorgonio Pass, is the city of Palm Springs and the neighboring desert towns.  The black stripe cutting diagonally across the upper middle of the picture is Interstate 10.  The mountains rendered opaque behind it are the Little San Bernardino Mountains, which are one of the most visible edges of the San Andreas fault in southern California, which runs just at their base, parallel to the highway.  Atop the mountains is Joshua Tree National Park.

The 8,300 feet of prominence is responsible for more than just incredible views.  A journey from the top of the mountain down to the base takes one from pine forests down into canyons that support palms and sycamores, a journey through much of the climactic variation possible in North America, all in the space of several miles.  John Muir personally considered it to be one of the most sublime places in the entire continent, which I find odd coming from a man who grew up in Wisconsin.  Then again, he did always have a thing for Sugar pines.

Greetings to the Faithful

Sometimes, one just runs out of inspiration, and then gets a migraine to boot.  American Voyages is on a little holiday, but should be back tomorrow.  The Saturday history post will be posted this upcoming Saturday.  

A special thanks to all of my viewers for helping this blog find a broader audience.  We reached out to our thousandth viewer on Sunday!  See you all on the road ahead.

Walking around the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool

When I was six years old, I picked up my first atlas.  I recall that I did not set it down for about four hours, until I had to turn on a light to read.  My first pages of heavy pondering focused on the eastern seaboard of the United States, starting with Florida.  I suppose I wondered just where it was that we would go with all the palm trees and a lack of snow in the winter.  I also recall staring at the inset map of Washington, D.C., and liking water, was fixated on the long blue rectangles and ovals that stood in front of marked buildings.  When we would drive down to Florida from Ontario, I would thereafter always stare at the nondescript beltway embankments while passing through on I-495.  I wondered what kind of wonderful city was there, full of huge pools.  Who cared about the White House or the memorials, I wanted to see that big reflecting pool!  This past summer, I finally got my chance.

Alas, I did not know that it was under construction.  On top of the heat and bursts (and I mean bursts) of rain that were making a romp through the memorials difficult, this came about as a disappointment.  Thankfully the National Park Service, being the great organization that it is, had signs up explaining what was going on.  The pool had become stagnant and disgusting, and instead of spending a lot more money chlorinating water that kept evaporating anyway, plans to connect the pool to the Potomac were instead drawn up.  The pool will use a filtration system that will not only help keep the waters clean, but recycle clean waters back into the river and local water supply.  Such wonderful news about my beloved pool helped me cope with the evils of summer.  Of course, the moment I started ignoring the heat and humidity, which you actually see in the above photograph, rain started pouring down like mad, and I made a mad dash for Mr. Lincoln, who was being photographed and spoken to by throngs of tourists.  

The monument was a bit too busy to fully appreciate at the time, and the fact that I was soaked to the bone did not help either.  I suppose I was expecting such a hot and humid day to kill the crowds a bit and leave the monuments in something of a more solemn state rather than tourist picture taking opportunities.  Instead, there were throngs everywhere, and people seemed to be far more interested in the vendors and their overpriced souvenirs than on the meaning of the words written on the wall to Mr. Lincoln's right.  I was the only person even looking at them.

I was transfixed by the last words there, taken from his first inaugural address.  I took a picture afterwards, which as you can see, came out fuzzy and veiled.  Perhaps this is fitting, as when the shot was taken, and to this day, this nation remains extremely polarized in political opinions.  Granted, that time was no less polarized, but it was different... The first address is a very telling document in the development of this nation; concessions were made to the continuation of slavery, even while Lincoln and his party had strong feelings against the institution.  Some passages are seemingly brutal and indifferent towards human rights, while others, such as this, evoke strong positive emotional reactions.  The downpour gave me the opportunity to stay and ponder the words, almost in a contemplative silence, even while there were noisy crowds nearby.  A NPS ranger noticed me all alone, and probably knew what I had on my mind, because he just smiled, shrugged, and gestured over to the busy crowd.  That's when it hit me... these monuments, the National Mall, all of it, was all about both the noisy crowds and the resonance of the messages the marble structures were supposed to convey.  This hallowed ground of American history was about all the people, after all, and then about being better than we often act.  Here I was, a Canadian, getting misty about the place "our side" torched back in 1814.  The specific words "broad land" echoed in my thoughts as I braved the rain and headed down towards the Washington Monument.  

While he was referring to the United States in speaking of this broad land, he also made reference in what he spoke, both here in Washington and north at Gettysburg, to just what the spirit of the country would mean to the rest of the world.  To act with the right intentions and produce such a morally positive outcome would not only impact the lands from Maine to California, but indeed the world.  Through the trees I could see the Vietnam War memorial that I had earlier passed, and the Korean War memorial.  The history of this nation and its relationship with the world had been a rocky one for some time, and yet these memorials stood there as public reminders that the United States did not forget about the rocky times.  Indeed, the concept here was that the public should never forget about the world, its people, all of its people.  The weary soldiers cast in bronze, and the solemn list of names chiseled in granite received less people the day I passed by them, but each and every person I saw were acting as if they were in a temple or church rather than at a supposed "tourist destination".  The solemnity was very powerful and contagious.  

I approached the end of the pool when sheets of rain started falling.  By this point of the summer, I had become accustomed to how rain makes everything nice and cool out in the arid west.  Here in the lands classified as "humid subtropical", the effect is quite the opposite.  I took refuge in the Park Service kiosk near the World War II memorial.  Under the protective eaves, I saw something rather remarkable happen.  People fled the open areas and the monuments were all empty.  The rain muted the sounds of the city, and the World War II memorial stood silently nearby, pelted by the crying sky.  

Two images came to mind.  One was of the silent ruins of the Roman Forum, a monumental landscape of civic pride that, as part of the classical milieu, partially inspired designs and architecture of the city of Washington.  The other image was of the actual men fighting on the battlefields of that (or any) war, stuck in the mud and with rain pelting their helmets.  In the middle of an extremely political city, while open warfare was being engaged in over the debt ceiling by politicians and interest groups mere miles from this spot, memory stood far larger, and nature conspired with history to bring a brief period of peace to an otherwise charged landscape, past and present.  Politics existed back then, and they will continue to exist as long as ambition and agenda dwell in our hearts.  One day, both the stones of this memorial and the trees, grass, and even soil and air around it shall be no more, but the meaning of what this place represents shall live on.  Lincoln certainly agreed, if his words at Gettysburg are any indication.   

And what of this memorial which sits at the end of the pool, and the war which it asks pause and reflection for?  Unlike the arches and statues of the ancient ruins that came to mind in distant Rome, which stand as testimony to the glory of triumph of an empire, this holy place stands as a testament to sacrifice and defiance of tyranny.  This was a quiet place, and I stood in the middle of it, looking back down the pool of my giddy imagination, I noticed people filling back up into the Lincoln memorial and the other nearby sights.  Here though, the monument was quiet, and the fountains gently bubbled as a slight breeze rustled through the nearby trees.  

Ahead, perhaps the most famous and dramatic of monuments that the pool can reflect, is the Washington monument.  

Ironically, the largest monument in a sea of monuments is dedicated to a man who refused to be crowned a king.  There were more people here, and they were busy and noisy.  By this time, however, I had passed by marble and bronze sculpted in memory of those who had gone before us, and the concept "by the people, for the people" started to have more tangible meaning.  Everyone, you see, was looking up, and the focus for all of us seemed to be something other than ourselves.  A "reflecting" pool indeed!  The Roman Forum was built as a gathering space for sharing opinion and exchanging ideas, even while it ended up being a roadway for the glorification of the state.  The reflecting pool, which is being made more accessible and useful, has also long been a place of gathering, but the grand sights which surround it are dedicated "to the better angels of our nature".  Clearly, I have found the space inspiring, even in weather conditions less than healthy for a cold water Canadian fish as myself.  The beauty about this, and other public spaces, of course, is that we can all decide that for ourselves.  

See you tomorrow for another look at some of that past which led to the creation of this place.

Q & A Session One

Apparently, I get remarks directed towards to me now and then about this silly adventure of mine.  Some of them are questions, some of them are... I suppose we can go with comments.  Let's start with some of the bigger questions:

Q: Why are you so crazy about Mexico?

A: The purpose of this blog is to show people what they have in their own backyard.  Most people are unaware of what lies just around the corner.  Most people do not really think about the land on which they rest, its plants and animals, history, and culture.  When they do, concepts and perceptions get compartmentalized and stereotyped.  For example, if someone says "Detroit", most people think "urban wasteland, crumbling American industry, corruption".  If they are from the area, "Black people" gets added on.  For some metro residents, the mere idea of crossing into the city limits invites terror and a heavy foot on the gas pedal to correct their imagined mistake.  Now take that sort of hyperbole and misconception and inflate it and you can begin to take a look at how most people view Mexico.  If someone says "Mexico", what tends to come to mind for you?  Beach resorts, ancient pyramid ruins, poverty, tacos, drug cartels, dirty city streets, sombreros... the list could go on, but you get the idea.  Now, those things do exist, but so do many more incredible things.

Mexico, like the United States and Canada, is an incredibly diverse and storied nation.  They have tropical beaches down there, but they also have deserts with some of the most amazing plant life in existence.  There are snow-capped mountains and huge volcanoes.  There are forests of pines and firs where parrots nest between the needles and cones over sometimes snowy grounds that are roamed by jaguars and ocelots.  Likewise, there are lush jungles full of palms and flowering trees that shelter browsing White-tailed deer and even beavers.  There are countless villages and towns that could easily be confused for quaint European hamlets just as soon as there are packed cities which cling to mountain sides and in which one can sniff passing scents of taquerias.  Then there are big box stores and multi-level shopping malls with huge parking lots and cell phone advertisements everywhere.  I have seen people in their twenties making tortillas the old fashioned way for their restaurants, while nearby an old native woman one would expect to be selling beaded crafts and barely able to speak Spanish is instead on a smart phone speaking English.  I have seen heavily armed police patrolling streets who look intimidating and serve as reminders of the violence that can sometimes shake the country... until they smile back at you.

Mexico is very misunderstood.  I enjoy debunking misconceptions, and I also enjoy good food and palms and pines growing beside each other.  The answer to your question is that I am as crazy about Mexico as I am about the two countries north.

Q: Why do you spend so much time talking about trees and showing pictures of them?

A: When I was growing up, I traveled a lot.  I spent time in southern Ontario, northern Ontario, and southern Florida.  The first two places, while seemingly close together, are quite different culturally and botanically.  The last one might as well be on a different planet, as it is one of the most unique ecosystems on Earth, and the furthest removed from everything typical to it, as far as geography goes.  I was also one of those kids that did not sleep in the car all the time, or spend the waking hours playing a hand held video game that I would wrestle with my brother over.  Most of the time, I was looking outside.  When I went to some attraction somewhere, and the gift shop inevitably reared its tantalizing head, the first thing I looked for was a book explaining where I was, not a toy (even though I did end up asking for both).  When I was 8 years old, I already had Latin names of tree species memorized.  Needless to say, once I started figuring out that trees were different in different places, and having the advantage of being introduced to both Royal palm hammocks and Black spruce bogs on a regular basis, I started paying attention the to trees wherever I would go.

I would develop sensitivity for the landscape.  Part of me would die whenever I would have to leave behind the pines and granite outcrops of the Canadian Shield, and part of me would burn with an inner vitality the moment I would see my first saw palmettos growing beneath the endless pine stands of the Carolinas en route to the land of everything palm that was Fort Lauderdale.  Trees would always stand out the most, even while I would notice the differences in the soil or the smells in the air in every different place I would go.  Trees are a very visible part of what uniqueness there is to every square mile of our planet, and they have played important symbolic roles in nearly every culture there is.  Take the Bible, for instance.  A tree is present at the fall of humanity, and a tree is also used as an instrument for the redemption of humanity.  I could probably go on and wax poetically, but I think you get the idea.  What I can do, at least, is show you two of my favorite trees, complete in their natural setting.

 Courtesy of Bob and Diana McElroy.  Check them out at their website!

The taller trees in this image are Eastern White pine (Pinus Strobus).  They are my favorite tree (another question answered) and in my opinion, one of the most impressive trees in the entire world.  The tallest specimens reach over 200 feet from top to bottom, and have trunks that can be nearly twenty feet across at shoulder height.  They can reach proportions found in trees that have much easier conditions to deal with.  They can grow in almost any kind of soil in their range.  A subspecies can even be found in Mexico.  They are incredibly graceful, beautiful looking trees that are the state and provincial symbols of Michigan, Ontario, and Maine.  They grow on the lawns of both Rideau Hall and the White House.  They welcome me to the north again when I pass over the Severn River and enter the Canadian Shield and its boreal forest.  They stand as sentinels giving a farewell as I pass into the western lands and see the last cultivated specimens somewhere near York, Nebraska.

This is a natural oasis of California Fan palms (Washingtonia Filifera), the only native palm in the western United States, and the most widely planted palm in the world.  This oasis is named Mara, and is easy to get to, standing just outside of the visitor center at Joshua Tree National Park.  They can burn to a crisp and completely recover in less than a year.  They can tolerate everything from 130 degree heat to sagging under a blanket of snow.  They are unique in that they grow in the two hottest deserts of the world (Mojave and Sonoran), yet also are as dependent on and associated with water as much as any mangrove or baldcypress.    I easily could have spent days staring up at these things, probably because while I like palms, I like seeing them as they were meant to be seen in their own ecosystem even more.

What more can I say?  I will always notice trees (or grass and cacti, depending on the environment) first wherever I go.

Feel free to e-mail me, or leave comments here, with any questions.  I will probably devote Thursdays and Fridays to responses.