Mining Scars In The Valley Below Madera Canyon — image by kenne
We Scar The Things We Love
There is always something worth trekking in the Sonoran Desert. Sometimes, the treks start early in the morning, driving across the Tucson basin over occasional low water crossings and cattle guards on narrow roads, stopping for big yellow buses.
A canyon road leads out of Green Valley, a quiet, peaceful community along the banks of the Santa Cruz River covered with oaks and walnut trees and a rich history with the Tumacacori Mission to the south and San Xavier del Bac to the north.
Crossing one-lane bridges through a grassland bajada, the road climbs toward Madera Canyon nestled between Mt. Wrightson and Mt. Hopkins on the eastern slope of the Santa Rita Mountains, forming one of the Sonoran desert’s Sky Islands, an oasis above this bowl-shaped canyon.
Although some are called “Friends of Madera Canyon” all visitors, be they hikers, birders, walkers, or just those relaxing at one of the beautiful vistas share a love of nature and being outdoors, forming a friendship that helps bond memoirs of a shared love.
“All the while, jumbled memories flirt out on their own,” intruding on nature’s beautiful vistas where a river once ran through, now shadowed by a high wall of tailings surrounding a pond, altering nature’s beautiful vistas above the canyon, producing lasting scars on the sky above and the earth below.
Schistocerca nitens is a species of grasshopper known by several names, including vagrant grasshopper and gray bird grasshopper. It is a close relative of the desert locust, which is in the same genus. This grasshopper is native to southern North America including Mexico and the south-western United States from California to Texas. Can also be found in parts of mid-Atlantic states. Recently found on Long Island, New York. It is also present in parts of Central America. It lives in many habitats including desert, woodland, and lower elevation mountainous areas. It is a large grasshopper, reaching lengths of 4 to 7 centimeters. It is mostly brown and gray spotted or patched in cryptic coloration. This species is known as a pest on ornamental plants and many types of crop plants. — Source: Wikipedia
“This story was originally published by ProPublica.”
ProPublica is a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative newsroom.
The Coal Plant Next Door
by Max Blau for Georgia Health News
Mark Berry raised his right hand, pledging to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The bespectacled mechanical engineer took his seat inside the cherry-wood witness stand. He pulled his microphone close to his yellow bow tie and glanced left toward five of Georgia’s most influential elected officials. As one of Georgia Power’s top environmental lobbyists, Berry had a clear mission on that rainy day in April 2019: Convince those five energy regulators that the company’s customers should foot the bill for one of the most expensive toxic waste cleanup efforts in state history.
When Berry became Georgia Power’s vice president of environmental affairs in 2015, he inherited responsibility for a dark corporate legacy dating back to before he was born. For many decades, power companies had burnt billions of tons of coal, dumping the leftover ash — loaded with toxic contaminants — into human-made “ponds” larger than many lakes. But after a pair of coal-ash pond disasters in Tennessee and North Carolina exposed the environmental and health risks of those largely unregulated dumps, the Obama administration required power companies to stop using the aging disposal sites.
Berry had spent nearly two decades climbing the ranks of Southern Company, America’s second-largest energy provider and the owner of Georgia Power. By the time he was under oath that day, company execs had vowed to store newly burnt coal ash in landfills designed for safely disposing of such waste. But an unprecedented challenge remained: Figuring out what to do with 90 million tons of coal ash — enough to fill more than 50 Major League Baseball stadiums to the brim — that had accumulated over the better part of a century in ash ponds that were now leaking. Read more . . .
August 18, 2019 Post from Kiko’s House blog (Blogger Shaun D. Mullen Passed Away in December 2019)
Dragonflies are among the world’s most ancient creatures and have been performing the mid-summer mating dance that I have observed almost every year of my life for 300 million years. That’s more than 100 million years before dinosaurs appeared.
I can remember being fascinated by this dance as a youngster, although I didn’t understand that it was all about making baby dragonflies.
My brother and I would trap lightning bugs in Mason jars to sell to the man at the agricultural research station. He paid us a dime a jar for his research into what made the bugs’ tails glow, but I would never consider trapping dragonflies for any amount of money. Even then they occupied a special place in my world.
Perhaps it was because their dance reminded me of dog-fighting World War I flying machines, which captured my imagination at an early age, but I would like to think that the connection was more subtle.
I lived in Japan and traveled the Far East for a few years. The dragonfly is revered in that part of the world and is depicted on everything from pottery to textiles. I recall one particularly glorious afternoon when I observed their mating dance in the backwater of a stream in the foothills below Mount Fuji.
After I returned to the States, I would take long walks up a dirt road next to a slow-flowing creek on hot mid-summer days, turn down a narrow footpath through high weeds and slip into the water. It was refreshingly cool four or five feet beneath the surface and I loved to feel the chill percolate up into my chest and then my head.
Dragonflies colonize around creeks and ponds, so it usually wasn’t long before they were performing their dance around me. Sometimes they would alight on my forehead – even in mating tandems — if I sat perfectly still and thought yoga thoughts and breathed yoga breaths.
It was during this period that I first began reading about odonata, as this insect family is called.
I learned that the three species indigenous to my neck of the woods are members of the libellula genus. These include my companions over many a summer — the bar-winged skimmer (Libellula axilena) and the less common great blue skimmer (Libellula vibrans). There also is the apparently elusive Jane’s meadowhawk (Sympetrum janeae), which is recognizable by its reddish body but has escaped my gaze.
I also learned that these species of dragonflies are short lived (seven to 10 weeks, although some species can live up to four years). They also are territorial.
The mating dance is initiated by the male showing his genitals, of which he is endowed with two sets. This display allows male and female to make sure that they are of the same species and therefore suitable mates. The male then bends his abdomen so that one set of genitals touches the other, which is a sure-fire turn-on for the female, who curls her abdomen forward to make contact with the secondary genitalia and receives the sperm.
As I have often observed, the ritual can vary.
Sometimes the male grabs the female by the head or thorax for a “quickie” without going through the dance. Other times the dance is long and elaborate, involving much diving and spinning, including mad charges in reverse, but in either event copulation takes less than a second.
Sometimes male and female remain in tandem for several minutes, as if to say, “Was it as good for you as it was for me?” The females are acutely sensitive to pollution and will lay their eggs only if the water is clean. Other times they lay them on waterside plants.
Sometimes the male acts as a lookout for the female as she lays the eggs he fertilized. In fact, scientists say that males are so committed to their mating partners that they can display signs of jealousy if other males try to nose in.
A few years later, I lived in an old house a short walk from the creek and two particularly lovely spots — Ring Rock and the Burned Out Bridge.
Ring Rock (also known as the Rock That David Sat On) is a massive limestone remnant of the furthest extent of the last Ice Age that protrudes from the water at a 25 degree angle. It is so named because an iron ring had been pounded into the rock perhaps 200 years ago so that the locals could tether their wagons to it and lower them into the creek to be cleaned — an early version of the car wash. I never learned who David was, but I would slide into the creek below the rock — which was six or seven feet deep even in the mid-summer heat — and watch the dragonflies dance.
Alas, the rock attracted hikers and the occasional swimmer, so I moved on to the Burned Out Bridge.
A pair of overgrown fieldstone foundations on either side of the creek are all that remain of this 19th century covered bridge, which is said to have been torched by a man in the early 1950s so that he and his son could fish undisturbed. This is at a point just below where the west and middle branches of the creek converge, an area that is heavily silted and quite shallow. It took all of one summer and part of the next, but I methodically moved sand and piled rocks until I had fashioned a pool about four feet deep where I could resume my dragonfly encounters. My kids were too young to be of much help, but our big goofus of a black Labrador retriever became pretty good at picking up rocks and dropping them onto the sides of our pool.
It was here that I began seriously expanding my horizons to other fauna as I would sit quietly at periscope depth.
There were rainbow trout (Oncorhynchus kykiss), restocked each spring for sport fishermen by the state fish and wildlife agency, and the occasional sunny (Lepomis machrochirus), as well as some wee fishies that I was never able to identify. There were water-walking spiders (Dolomedes triton), black snakes (Elaphe obsoleta), a water moccasin (Ancistrodon piscivorus), which was a very rare sighting that far north of its southern habitat, and all sorts of toads and frogs, including little frogs called spring peepers (Pseudacris crucifer crucifer), so named because of the time of their arrival each year and their high-pitched trill. The black lab would slog into the marshy areas between the creek and woods and ingest mouthsful of them.
It is mid-summer again. It’s been too hot to trek up to the creek, but I was sitting near a fountain in the quiet university town where I used to live.
I put down the book I was reading, took off my sunglasses and let the sun beat on my face. My mind drifted back to my childhood and the illustrations in a favorite picture book. The young hero is sick and has been put to bed by his mother where he imagines that the quilt spread out below him is a make-believe world with villages, roads and farm fields. Armies clash across this terrain and dog fighting aeroplanes bob, weave and loop overhead. I grew drowsy and my mind drifted further when something drew me from my reverie and I opened my eyes.
It was dragonflies doing their dance over the fountain.
“If surface water can be compared with interest income, and non-renewable groundwater with capital, then much of the West was living mainly on interest income.”
lost in its harsh beauty we walk the fence line drawn to the once riparian land on the other side
fences cannot hide the splendor nor the disgrace now tattooed across a fragile land abused and neglected by cultures past and present
a place where water once stood now disappearing to caverns below playing hide ‘n seek from pipes sucking their very subsistence on to nearby pecan groves
not learning to share we fight for water destroying the source leaving behind death only to cycle back after all is gone
a lone jackrabbit runs ahead of us darting from bush to bush seeking to outlast the hand of death pulling at us
urging us to follow
Naturalist Debbie Bird Leads 3rd Graders On Nature Walk — Image by kenne
For January, I’m the Thursday Day Coordinator for the SCVN Elementary School Nature Program, which means I’m the one responsible for coordinating with the teacher the class field trip to Sabino Canyon. Once the class arrives, I make sure everything runs smoothly, and the students have a great nature experience. It’s a classic “managing by walking around” experience. During that time I also take pictures — https://www.flickr.com/photos/kennetu/albums/72157702835523912
One of the nature walks was being led by naturalist Debbie Bird when I noticed she had picked up a couple of hitch-hikers from the north. I can see why they were following Debbie’s group because she is very informative.
As we moved about, I asked the couple, “Now tell me the truth, are following this group of third graders because you want to learn something about nature or is it that you want to be part of the Class of 2028?”
We drive the twisting Catalina Highway leaving the desert for alpine forests on Mt. Lemmon — one hour away.
Today I guide hikers on the Aspen Draw trail among the tall trees next to the steep slopes of Mt. Lemmon Ski Valley — north America’s southernmost.
Wildflowers of the Sky Islands are in full bloom celebrating the summer monsoon rains below the towering conifers — temperate species of Apache pine and Chihuahuan pine.
Recent heavy rains have eroded the trail exposing trees roots not always easy to see in shadows on the trail — I reminded the hikers.
Moving with more speed on the downhill return careful of foot but not careful enough as I tripped over a root now shouldering the pain.
The clock that strikes five before the sun – A dark horror grips lonely people, In the evening-garden bleak trees swish, The dead one’s countenance stirs at the window. Perhaps this hour stands still. Before dull eyes blue images flutter To the rhythm of the ships, which rock in the river. At the wharf a row of nuns blows by. Pale and blind girls play in the hazel bush, Like lovers, who embrace in sleep. Perhaps flies sing around a carcass there, Perhaps also a child weeps in the mother’s lap. From hands asters sink blue and red, The youth’s mouth slips away strange and wise; And eyelids flutter fear-confused and quiet; Through fevered blackness a scent of bread blows. It seems one also hears horrible screaming; Bones shimmer through decayed walls. An evil heart laughs loudly in beautiful rooms; A dog runs past a dreamer. An empty coffin gets lost in the darkness. A room wants to light up palely for the murderer, Meanwhile, lanterns are smashed in the night’s storm. Laurel adorns the noble one’s white temple.
“That’s Super Stuff!” “Make Stuff” “I Love Free Stuff” “The Good Stuff” “My Stuff” “Stuff in My Life” “Stuff That Works”
“The Right Stuff”
“How’s Your Stuff?”
There are so many variations on the use of the word stuff. This last May we attended the last “Ken and Mary’s Blues Project” house concert in Porter, Texas. Before the music started, Kenneth Harris told the story of how the Project came about from his listening to Sunday blues on Houston’s KPFT. One Sunday he was listening to Nuri Nuri’s Blues Brunch.
“. . . he [Nuri] was interviewing this guy, and they played some of his stuff, and I called Nuri on the phone, and I said Nuri do you know anybody in the Houston area that can do that type of stuff, and he told me you meet me at Billy Blue’s like next Saturday night.”
Long story short, Kenneth found that stuff in the form of the Moe Hansum Band.
As I listen to Kenneth’s story I couldn’t help but think of Guy Clark’s “Stuff that Works.”
Stuff that works, stuff that holds up The kind of stuff you don’ hang on the wall Stuff that’ real, stuff you feel The kind of stuff you reach for when you fall
Continuing on this theme of “Stuff,” in the 1970’s there was a jazz-funk band called “Stuff.” The members were Gordon Edwards (bass), Richard Tee (keyboards), Eric Gale (guitar), Cornell Dupree (guitar), Chris Parker (drums), and later Steve Gadd (drums).
There is good stuff and not so good stuff, because of what we do with our stuff. We have too much stuff. Earth’s beauty is being scarred by the stuff we throw away daily. As someone who spends a lot of time outdoors admiring nature’s beauty, I see stuff on our trails, hanging in trees, blowing in the wind, in our lakes and streams.
In December of 2007, a short documentary was released. The documentary was critical of excessive consumerism and promotes sustainability, which has gone from a movie to a movement over the last ten years — a Community of more than a million changemakers worldwide, working to build a more healthy and just planet. This land is our land! You can join the movement.
Bee on a Desert Chicory Wildflower — Computer Art by kenne
The Song of the Bee
Buzz! buzz! buzz! This is the song of the bee. His legs are yellow; A jolly, good fellow, And yet a great worker is he.
In days that are sunny He’s getting his honey, In days that are cloudy He’s making his wax: On pinks and on lilies, And gay daffodillies, And columbine blossoms, He levies a tax
Buzz! buzz! buzz! The sweet-smelling clover, He, humming, hangs over; The scent of the roses Makes fragrant his wings: He never gets lazy; From thistle and daisy, And weeds of the meadow, Some treasure he brings.
Buzz! buzz! buzz! From morning’s first light Till the coming of night, He’s singing and toiling The summer day through. Oh! We may get weary, And think work is dreary; ‘Tis harder by far To have nothing to do.
— Marian Douglas
(from The Book of Virtues”: A Treasury of Great Moral Stories by William J. Bennett)
Insect lover of the sun,
Joy of thy dominion! Sailor of the atmosphere, Swimmer through the waves of air, Voyager of light and noon, Epicurean of June,
Wait I prithee, till I come Within ear-shot of thy hum,– All without is martyrdom.
Nicaraguan Women Pumping and Carrying Water to Their Families — Images by kenne
In 2007 I had an opportunity to visit a rural Nicaraguan water project that is part of the Rainbow Network. When it comes to the availability of water, it’s on the backs and heads of women. Even when hand driven water pumps are made available, it is the women who pump and carry the water back to their communities.
The practice of women being responsible for finding and collecting water for drinking, washing, cooking, cleaning is common in many countries. ” They walk miles, carry heavy burdens, wait for hours and pay exorbitant prices. The work is back-breaking and all-consuming. Often the water is contaminated, even deadly. In these instances, they face an impossible choice – certain death without water or possible death from illness.” You can learn more about women and the water crisis at water.org.
Living in southern Arizona one is frequently reminded of the need for sustainable water sources, and global warming will continue to challenge our ability meet water needs. An article in today’s New York Times, “A Parched and Sinking Capital — Mexico City’s Water Crisis Pushes It Toward the Brink,” is one more reminder of the social, economical and health issues caused by the water crisis.
— kenne
Rural Nicaraguan girls start at a young age carrying water for their families.
Naturalist David Lazaroff and several other naturalists with the 2011 SCVN Training Class, Day 1 — Image by kenne
I was a member of the 2011 Sabino Canyon Volunteer Naturalists (SCVN) class. During the fall training I wrote the following poem, posting it on this blog:
STANDING AT THE ALTAR OF NATURE
When we stand at the altar of nature, we stand with the greats; Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and John Muir, each having helped define our relationship with nature and language – “every natural fact is a symbol of some spiritual fact, . . . words are signs of natural facts.”
Nature’s beauty becomes a source of spiritual energy connecting all things into a universal whole with the energy of our
thoughts and will. We stand at nature’s altar not separate from her, seeing her in the flowers, insects, animals, mountains, creating a unified landscape of our inward and outward senses.
Like all relationships, the experience depends on the degree of harmony between us and nature, therefore becoming a gift granted while walking with nature as she is embraced in our minds – Enlighten, she shares her secrets, making the universe more “transparent.” Yet the gift may only offer a glimpse, to be shared in images and words,
charming all living things.
Commenting on my poem, SCVN member, Walt Tornow, wrote that my poem ”. . . captures beautifully my feelings about being in the mountains.” He went on to share the following:
GOD, GRACE, AND GRATITUDE
Finding God in the wilderness …
The majesty of our mountains, the magnificence of views/ vistas they afford, and the splendor and munificence of the many gifts that nature has to offer
The awe and humility that comes from being witness to the grandeur of it all, juxtaposed with realizing the relative smallness and fleetingness of our existence
Never feeling or being alone … lots of company by nature’s creatures, and taking in the beauty of nature’s show
Feeling vulnerable, yet trusting, being in the wilderness — potential prey to wildlife, and exposed to the elements
Experiencing awe, joy and inspiration by being here
Feeling connected … becoming one with myself, with nature, and the universe
Finding peace, serenity, and sense of holiness … my place of worship and meditation
Here for the grace of God am I …
Grateful to be, to be here, and be given the opportunity and capacity to enjoy the many gifts/ blessings around me.
– Walt Tornow
If you feel our passion for nature, we want to share it with you by inviting you to become a Sabino Canyon Volunteer Naturalist.
We are currently recruiting people who share our passion for nature
to take part in our 2017 SCVN Training Class from the beginning of October to January.
After completing the training you will start next January teaching kindergarten and/or elementary students approximately 1 morning per week. All training curriculum materials provide for an excellent learning experience, along with many guest nature experts.
Additionally, you can take part in adult Public Interpretations nature programs about Sabino Canyon.
You can learn more about this wonderful volunteer nature program and get an application by visiting our website
Please pass on this information on to persons you will be interested in becoming an SCVN member. Feel free to contact me with any questions you may have — kenneturner@gmail.com
kenne
Naturalist, Gwen Swanson, demonstrates “panning” to students in the “Strike It Rich” program.
This creekside activity allows children to learn about the difference between rocks and minerals by panning for garnets in the sand along Sabino Creek, and the importance of water in forming the canyon.
Image by kenne
SCVN Training nature walk with naturalist, Bill Kaufman (Fall 2011) — Image by kenne
“Fenceline” — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Naturalist Debbie Bird Leads 3rd Graders On Nature Walk — Image by kenne
Golden Columbine On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Grunge Art by kenne
Kenneth Harris (May 20, 2017) — Image by kenne
Bee on a Desert Chicory Wildflower — Computer Art by kenne
Bee On Fairy Duster — Image by kenne
In 2007 I had an opportunity to visit a rural Nicaraguan water project that is part of the Rainbow Network. When it comes to the availability of water, it’s on the backs and heads of women. Even when hand driven water pumps are made available, it is the women who pump and carry the water back to their communities.
The practice of women being responsible for finding and collecting water for drinking, washing, cooking, cleaning is common in many countries. ” They walk miles, carry heavy burdens, wait for hours and pay exorbitant prices. The work is back-breaking and all-consuming. Often the water is contaminated, even deadly. In these instances, they face an impossible choice – certain death without water or possible death from illness.” You can learn more about women and the water crisis at water.org.
Living in southern Arizona one is frequently reminded of the need for sustainable water sources, and global warming will continue to challenge our ability meet water needs. An article in today’s New York Times, “A Parched and Sinking Capital — Mexico City’s Water Crisis Pushes It Toward the Brink,” is one more reminder of the social, economical and health issues caused by the water crisis.
— kenne
Share this:
Like this: