The Tragedy of Liberia: Part III… The Monumental Challenge of Rebuilding

March 5, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 24 Comments

AP photo of Leymah Gbowee

Liberian women were centrally involved in Taylor’s downfall. Much of the credit goes to Leymah Gbowee. She provides a powerful example of what a committed individual can accomplish, even in the face of almost insurmountable odds. A deeply religious woman, Gbowee grew up and raised a family during the chaos of Liberia’s two civil wars. She first became involved by working with children soldiers who had been deeply traumatized. This in turn led her to become a peace activist with a strong belief that women needed to be involved in efforts to end the violence in Liberia.

By 2002, Gbowee had become a recognized leader of the peace movement and had organized thousands of Christian and Muslim women to gather in Monrovia for nonviolent demonstrations to end the war. She even organized a sex strike: No peace, no sex.

Finally, on April 23, 2003, Taylor granted a hearing for the women. Gbowee served as the spokesperson. Her words: “We are tired of war. We are tired of running. We are tired of begging for bulgur wheat. We are tired of our children being raped. We are now taking this stand, to secure the future of our children. Because we believe, as custodians of society, tomorrow our children will ask us, “Mama, what was your role during the crisis?”

When peace talks began in Accra, Ghana two months later, Gbowee was there with a group of Liberian women to pressure the various factions into signing a peace agreement. Her message was even more direct: “Butchers and murderers of the Liberian people — STOP!” On August 18, an agreement was finally signed between the warring factions.

United Nations photo of Ellen Sirleaf Johnson

2006 marked the election of Ellen Johnson Sirleaf as President of Liberia and, hopefully, the beginning of a new chapter for the war-torn country. Sirleaf is the first female head of state in Sub-Saharan Africa. She has a long history of participating in and surviving Liberian politics that dates back to Tolbert’s government. She has spent months in jail and years in exile for her political activities. While she initially supported Taylor as an alternative to Doe, she ran against him for President in 1997 and became a vocal opponent of his policies. She has a strong background in finance and has worked for the United Nations. In 2011 Sirleaf was elected to a second term, and, along with Leymah Gbowee, received a Nobel Peace Prize for her efforts to restore peace in Liberia.

The challenge of rebuilding Liberia is monumental, however. The infrastructure of Monrovia and major communities throughout the country were left in ruins by the war. Today, ten years after Taylor was driven from power, less than ten percent of Monrovia’s population has access to clean water and much of the city remains off of the grid in terms of electricity. Sewer systems, medical care facilities and roads suffer from a similar level of development.

Sam, the young Kpelle man who had worked for us in Gbarnga, eventually went on to become a physician (Dr. Kylkon Mawkwi). When he was employed at Phoebe Hospital after the war, electricity was available for only a few hours per day; clean water was limited; and medical drugs were either nonexistent or in extreme short supply. When he left in 2012, little had changed.

Huge numbers of unemployed people are a challenge to the stability of any government and Liberia has tens of thousands unemployed people in Monrovia. Many are ex-soldiers. These soldiers have seen the worst that war has to offer. Imagine being forced into a war as a child, having to fight naked while being heavily drugged.

How do your repatriate these men into becoming productive, supportive members of a democratic society? How do you give them hope that life can be better? Lack of medical care and psychological support combined with unemployment is obviously not the answer. As it stands, these ex-soldiers provide a potential source of recruits for the next demagogue to rise out of Liberia’s troubled waters. And some of the old demagogues are still around.

It frightens me to realize that the supposedly reformed but unpunished General Butt Naked roams freely in Monrovia. And I am concerned that Prince Y. Johnson is now a Senator from Nimba County while Jewel Taylor, the ex-wife of Charles Taylor, is a Senator from Bong County. While both redemption and reform may be possible for individuals, these people have a dark history. Are they truly committed to what is best for Liberia or are they driven by ambition and greed? Will they and their compatriots serve as forces to pull the nation together or drive it apart?

Corruption, a legacy from the days of Americo-Liberian government, continues to haunt the country. In a world where bribery is seen as a way of life, low paid civil servants such as police officers see nothing wrong with supplementing their income by using their positions to demand bribes. Such actions undermine belief in government’s ability to provide fair and just treatment. As the corruption climbs up the ladder to teachers, judges and other government officials, the potential damage is multiplied.

So what are the answers? Nothing simple, that’s for sure. Two things seem clear to me. First, change has to come from within. Liberians have to perceive and want a different future from what they presently have. They need to believe that such a future is possible, and they have to work together to achieve it. Leymah Gbowee provided an excellent role model. She proved that Liberians could work together in a common cause regardless of tribal background or religious affiliation.

Second, much of what outside governments and non-government organizations have done to help has had minimum impact. For example, relief efforts may be necessary to solve an immediate crisis, but do little to prevent the reoccurrence of the crisis. Even programs designed to address underlying issues will fail unless those being helped take ownership. For this to happen, the recipients have to perceive a need for the program and participate in its development.

My friend, Kylkon Mawkwi, provided an example of what happens when recipients of programs aren’t stakeholders. Proper sanitation is an important step in improving people’s health. Simply washing hands after “serving nature,” as my Liberian students called it, can have a tremendous impact. Therefore, it isn’t surprising that an aid organization decided to build modern toilet facilities in a village where going to the bathroom meant walking out into the bush and squatting. A few months later the organization checked back in. The villagers were still heading out into the bush. The chief had decided that the best way to keep his shiny new restroom shiny and new was to lock the door. A lack of perceived need, combined with minimal community involvement in the design, development, and maintenance of the facility had doomed it to fail.

Beyond the desire to change and a commitment to make it happen, Liberia’s future depends upon maintaining peace and stability, reducing corruption, developing infrastructure and providing opportunities for individuals and families to improve their lives. It’s a tall order, one that will require people from different tribes working together with the descendants of Americo-Liberians, and Christians working together beside Muslims. And it will require continuing support from outside.

NEXT BLOG: Peace Corps returns to Liberia

The Tragedy of Liberia: Part II… The Civil Wars

March 1, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 16 Comments

Kpelle footbridge near Gbarnga, Liberia circa 1965.

The devastation of the civil wars impacted the lives of everyone in Liberia. Those who could escaped. The luckiest made it out to the US or Europe. Tens of thousands ended up in refugee camps in the surrounding countries. Many simply disappeared into the Liberian rainforest, crossing over bridges like the one I am standing on, in desperate hope that the war wouldn’t follow.

At one a.m. on April 12, 1980– one year after the rice riots and ten days before the executions on the beach, Master Sergeant Samuel Doe, Liberia’s highest ranked non-commissioned officer and a member of the Krahn Tribe, led a group of 16 soldiers into the Executive Mansion in a coup d’état and assassinated Tolbert.

The majority of Liberians considered Doe’s rise to power positive. For the first time, tribal Liberians, along with the more liberal, change oriented Americo-Liberians, would have a chance at governing. While Doe’s military-based, People’s Redemption Council would rule temporarily, he promised a return to constitutional government. Open elections would be held by 1985. Doe also took an anti-communist stand and offered Liberia as a staging area for American troops if necessary. The US was pleased; aid to Liberia was doubled.

Ultimately, however, Doe was unwilling to relinquish power. He returned to using tactics that Americo-Liberians had used for decades. Freedom of speech and freedom of the press were curtailed. Dissidents and opposition leaders were thrown in jail on trumped-up charges. Doe and his military junta began accumulating wealth. “Same taxi, new driver” became a common motto of the opposition by 1984. With the approach of the 1985 elections, Doe moved to solidify his power and emasculate or eliminate any challenges. When students and faculty at the University of Liberia protested, he sent in the troops. Open elections became a farce. Violence and intimidation became the rule. When elections were finally held in 1985, Doe had his own people count the ballots. Nobody was surprised that the final tally showed that he had won by 50.9%. The only surprise was that the percentage wasn’t higher.

The US, unfortunately, turned a blind eye toward the political corruption and intimidation. Ronald Reagan’s Assistant Secretary of State, Chester Cocker, reflected the administration’s position by declaring that the “election day went off very well… and was a rare achievement in Africa…” As was often the case during the Cold War, a leader’s position on Communism was much more important than his or her position on democracy.

To make matters worse, Doe surrounded himself with members of his own Krahn ethnic group and stirred up a toxic brew of tribal animosities. An armed invasion of Monrovia and assassination attempt by Thomas Quiwonkpa from Nimba County led to a brutal repression of the Mano and Gio ethnic groups by Doe’s Krahn led military. This, in turn, led to the next step of Liberia’s descent into dark chaos.

The perpetrator, Charles Taylor, was locked up in an American jail at the beginning of 1985. By the time Taylor’s reign of terror was over in Liberia in 2003, he would be the first sitting head of state since the Nuremberg trials to be charged with war crimes and crimes against humanity in an international court.

Charles Taylor’s father was Americo-Liberian and his mother a member of the Gola ethnic group. Like many Liberians, he obtained his college education in America. After attending Bentley College in Massachusetts, he returned to Liberia where he served as Director of the General Services Agency under Doe until he was accused of embezzling 900 thousand dollars in 1983 and fled to the US. Taylor was arrested and held in a Massachusetts jail at the request of the Liberian government. He managed to escape in 1985, probably with outside help. He would later claim that the CIA enabled his escape. Maybe, but the exile community of Americo-Liberians living in the US is another possibility. Many initially supported Taylor.

His escape led him to Libya where he received training and support under Muammar Gaddafi. By 1989 he was working out of the Cote d’Ivoire organizing a military force from Mano and Gio ethnic groups who were eager for revenge on Doe. Taylor’s objective was to exploit their tribal anger to attack and overthrow the government. One of his former commanders struck first.

In 1990, Prince Y. Johnson, a commander of Taylor’s from Nimba County, split off to pursue his own ambitions. Such disaffections of military commanders became common during Liberia’s long civil wars. These ‘warlords,’ operating on a regional basis, controlled subsections of Liberia. Johnson’s forces made it into Monrovia before Taylor. He seized Doe and then tortured him to death– an event that was captured on video and turned over to the press.

The twist and turns of what would happen between 1990 and 2003 are beyond the scope of this book, but what ensued was an almost constant, brutal civil war where various groups vied for power. The depth to which Liberia fell is best illustrated by the rise of General Butt Naked, Joshua Milton Blahyi. Blahyi earned his nickname in the early 90s by going into battle wearing nothing but shoes. Being naked, he believed, provided protection against bullets. He also believed that sacrificing children and practicing cannibalism were important to his success. Many of his soldiers were young boys who fought drugged and naked or wearing dresses. After he was “saved” and saw the light, Butt Naked claimed, “The Devil made me do it.” Today he is an evangelical minister in Monrovia.

With Prince Johnson occupying Monrovia, Charles Taylor used Gbarnga for his headquarters. A brokered peace by the United Nations in 1997 ended the first civil war and allowed Taylor to run for President of Liberia, which he won in a landslide. One of his more popular slogans was, “He killed my ma, he killed my pa, but I’ll vote for him.” As President, he mounted a PR campaign in the US to re-engineer his image. Among the stranger aspects of the campaign was providing the Baptist preacher, Pat Robertson, with gold mining rights in Liberia. Robertson went to bat for Taylor, but it wasn’t enough.

Taylor’s efforts at re-engineering failed. Liberia was soon engulfed in a second civil war. Taylor’s participation in another civil war, next door in Sierra Leone, and active involvement in the blood diamond trade eventually led to his being tried and convicted at The Hague. In 2003 he was forced to resign and in 2006 was arrested. In 2012 he was found guilty or war crimes and crimes against humanity, and was sentenced to 50 years in prison. Among the charges were terrorism, murder, rape, conscription of children, and enslavement.

NEXT BLOG: The incredibly difficult challenges of recovery.

The Tragedy of Liberia… Part I

February 26, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 21 Comments

Liberian Peace Corps photo by Curtis Mekemson.

A fading black and white photo shows children in Gbarnga, Liberia mugging for my camera in 1965. Life wasn’t easy– check out the head loads. But as adults these children would be thrown into Liberia’s Civil Wars, and life would get much worse. Many would not survive.

Earlier, I blogged about my experience as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Liberia, West Africa during the 60s. While life for tribal Liberians was tough at the time, is was about to get worse, tragically so. You can read about my two years in Liberia by going here and scrolling forward. Presently, I am reworking the posts into book format. In addition to having my book professionally edited, I have added several chapters. Hopefully the final product will reflect what I believe were two of the most interesting years of my life.

The book ends with my leaving Liberia, but I decided to add an epilogue that reflects what has happened in the country since. The Tragedy of Liberia, after editing, will become the epilogue. There are four parts in this series.–Curt

On April 22, 1980, thirteen Americo-Liberians were driven down to Monrovia’s Barclay Beach in a VW van, tied to telephone poles, and shot without blindfolds. One soldier was so drunk he couldn’t hit the man he had been assigned to kill. Afterwards, the bodies were stacked in a pile and sprayed with bullets before being tumbled into a mass grave. It marked the beginning of a tragedy that would see the death of over 200, 000 Liberians.

The international press was invited to witness the event. The names of those executed were a who’s who of Liberia’s history. Their fathers, grandfathers and great grandfathers had ruled the country for period of time stretching back over 150 years.

The public executions were as savage as they were inexcusable. But they were also understandable, possibly even inevitable. Thirteen years earlier I had talked into the small hours of the morning at my home in Gbarnga with a representative from the US State Department about the future of Liberia. One of his first requests was that Sam, the young Kpelle man who worked for us, not be present.

Revolution of some kind, I had argued, was going to happen unless drastic changes were made in how Americo-Liberians ruled Liberia. Five percent of the population owned the majority of the nation’s wealth and controlled 100% of the political power. Tribal Liberians were widely exploited and treated as second-class citizens, or worse. Deep resentment was building; a time bomb was ticking. It would explode unless Americo-Liberians were willing to share economic and political power.

I was not optimistic. I related my experiences with setting up a student government at Gboveh High School and in writing a Liberian second grade reader. My goals had been moderate. I wanted my high school students to learn about democracy and my elementary students to increase their reading skills. I certainly was not involved in revolutionary activity. I was merely doing what Peace Corps Volunteers had been brought into the country to do: help educate and train Liberians for the future.

The drastic reaction of Americo-Liberians to my efforts reflected the deep paranoia that existed within the ruling class. The second grade reader, which featured folktales and stories about tribal children pursuing such common activities as playing soccer, was regarded as a revolutionary tract– not because it was anti-government, it wasn’t, but because it didn’t emphasize the Americo Liberian perspective. Even though Peace Corps staff had received initial approval from the Department of Education and arranged an editor, curriculum specialist and graphic artist to work with me, I was directed to abandon the project and never talk about it.

The response to the student government was even more dramatic. My students had decided it would be fun to create two parties to run against each other, like the Republicans and Democrats. Apparently this was a direct challenge to the True Whig Party, the foundation of Americo-Liberian power. Within days, word came down from Monrovia that my students were to be arrested and I was to be run out of the country unless the ‘political parties’ were eliminated immediately.

Americo-Liberians were not stupid, far from it. Many were highly educated and had attended some of the best universities in the world. They knew they were sitting on a powder keg. Change was coming and they could choose to embrace that change and help guide it, or they could resist and fight against it. They chose the latter course. Their power, their wealth, and their privilege were simply too much. They had controlled the tribal population since the inception of the country and believed they could continue to. People who challenged this assumption, even Americo-Liberians who believed that change was needed, were shut down, sometimes violently. Any change would be gradual, even glacial, and would only be allowed with acceptance of the status quo. It was a recipe for disaster.

Tribalism was another issue we discussed on that long ago night in July of 1967 as rain pounded down on our zinc roof, lightning lit up the sky, and thunder rolled across the jungle. When primary loyalty is to the tribe rather than the country, building a modern nation becomes much more difficult. It may also have the impact of dehumanizing people, as I was to learn.

My wife and I were walking home from Massaquoi Elementary School at the beginning of our two-year stint when we found one of our students lying on the ground, obviously very sick. His classmates were walking around him, like he wasn’t there. Jo Ann was furious.

“Why aren’t you stopping to help?” she had demanded.

“He’s not from our tribe,” was the answer. It was a matter-of-fact type statement. The point that he was a fellow human being was secondary.

The problems of tribalism are not insurmountable. I felt my high school students had moved beyond the deeper currents of tribalism. Or I hoped they had. They were proud to be Liberians. Tribal differences were noted with a sense of humor rather than passion. Education, it seemed, could overcome the harmful elements of tribalism.

I expressed one final concern with the State Department official; actually, it was more of a nagging worry. The dark side of juju, or tribal sorcery, lurked beneath the surface in Liberia. Newspapers occasionally included stories about people who had been killed and cut up for their body parts, which were then used in rituals to increase the power of the killer. People were also made sick, or poisoned. When Mamadee Wattee, one of the candidates for student body president, came to my house late one night out of fear that the opposition had obtained juju to make him ill, I took his concern seriously. Every culture has its dark side. Think about the Salem witch trials. Kept in check, such practices have minimal impact. But what if the normal laws and customs of traditional and modern society break down? Would the use of ‘magic’ become more prevalent? And what would be the result?

In 1971, four years after I left Liberia, William Shadrach Tubman, President of the country since 1944, died in a London Hospital. His Vice President, William Tolbert, assumed the reins of power. Tubman had been a master politician with strong connections to both the Americo-Liberians and tribal leadership. Tolbert lacked Tubman’s charisma and leadership abilities.

He did, however, move forward with Tubman’s unification program. Some of the more odious Americo-Liberian customs, such as the celebration of Matilda Newport’s birthday (her claim to fame was mowing down tribal Liberians with a canon), were downgraded or eliminated. The University of Liberia was expanded and improved to provide more tribal youth with an opportunity for higher education. Roads were added throughout the tribal areas. Tolbert also continued, Tubman’s open door economic policy. In a move that ruffled feathers in the United States, he even invited Communist countries to invest in Liberia. The US had long considered Liberia as its African beachhead in the fight against Communism.

In the end, Tolbert’s efforts benefitted the Americo-Liberians much more than they did the tribal population. Extra money invested in the country ended up in the pockets of Americo-Liberians. Roads to interior opened up vast new tracts of land for Americo-Liberian farms. They also provided a way for the government to more effectively tax tribal people.

No one profited more from Tolbert’s actions than his own family. Twenty-two of his relatives held high positions in the Liberian Government and/or on boards of major corporations doing business in Liberia. Wealth accumulated rapidly. The small Liberian community of Bensonville located outside of Monrovia was renamed Bentol in honor of Tolbert and became a family enclave complete with mansion-lined streets, a private zoo and a private lake. The town’s extreme wealth provided stark contrast to Monrovia’s hopeless poverty.

In April of 1979, Tolbert made a fatal error. He arbitrarily increased the price of rice by 50%. Rice was the primary staple of the Liberian diet. The increase meant that urban Liberians would now be spending over one-third of their average monthly income of $80 on rice. Students from the University of Liberia and other dissidents called for a major protest. Police ended up killing a number of the protesters and riots ensued. Tolbert restored order by bringing in troops from Guinea. He shut down the University, rounded up dissidents, and charged a number of them with treason. It was the beginning of the end for Tolbert, and for exclusive rule by Americo-Liberians.

NEXT BLOG: The story of Liberia’s civil wars.

A Rocky Beginning to Date Day… The Crater Rock Museum in Oregon

February 23, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 36 Comments

A thunder egg displaying Caspar the Friendly Ghost at Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Imagine cutting open a thunder egg rock and finding Caspar, the Friendly Ghost, staring out at you. Caspar is one of the best known rocks at the Crater Rock Museum.

Date Day is a long-standing tradition in the Mekemson household. It began as Date Night in 1990. Peggy and I had just met and, shall we say, taken an interest in each other. But there were innumerable roadblocks to our blooming romance. Two teenagers were at the top of the list. (Tasha was dedicated to protecting her mom from the strange man. Smart girl.She made Peggy a sweatshirt that said “Don’t mess with the mama.”) But the list went on– jobs, family, friends, etc. We decided to declare Wednesday night ours, which was easier said than done. It took a lot of training. The kids and friends were actually easy. It was other family members and jobs that were resistant.

“What do you mean you can’t come to the family dinner on Wednesday night?” Peg’s sister, Jane, demanded.

“But Wednesday night is the only night I can meet,” the PTA President objected. (Peggy was principal of the school.)

In the end we prevailed. “I know, I know,” Jane would sigh dramatically, “it’s Date Night.” And the PTA Board would unanimously declare, “It’s Date Night!” as did all of the other committees and boards and family and bosses and friends. Once in a while we would make an exception, but it was rare.

Having worked so hard to train everyone, we decided to continue the tradition, even after we were married. And we still do– 24 years later. The major difference is that after we retired, we turned Date Night into Date Day. Why skimp on a good thing? Altogether, we have had over a thousand date night/days. What we do isn’t nearly as important as simply being together, but we use the day to explore new areas, peruse bookstores, go to movies, eat out, etc. Play is the operative word here.

Last Wednesday, our Date Day had a rocky start; we went to the Crater Rock Museum. It’s about 30 miles from where we live just off of Interstate 5 in Central Point, Oregon. Peggy and I had driven by the road to the museum several times and each time we would comment that we needed to visit. A new acquisition, Pterry the Pterosaur, moved Crater Rock to the top of our places-to-explore list. Pterosaurs were large flying reptiles that existed from 228-66 million years ago. Pterry now graced the ceiling of the museum.

We quickly discovered that the museum had much more than Pterry. There was Caspar, the Friendly Ghost, who resided in a thunder egg, a collection of student works of the world-famous glass artist, Dale Chihuly, Native American artifacts, and one of the finest collections of rocks and minerals in the western United States, all beautifully displayed. There was even a poignant reminder of why I exist; check out the photo on COPCO.

Pterry, a 60 million year old plus, pterosaur, swoops down from the ceiling of the Crater Rock Museum like a B-52 Bomber.

Close up of Pterry the Pterosaur at the Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

A close up of Pterry’s rather impressive mouth full of teeth. I prefer flying creatures to be much smaller and without teeth. Think sparrow.

Polished agates at the Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Who doesn’t love agates that have been tumbled and polished. Rock hounds have been gathering them off of Oregon beaches for decades.

Glass sculpture created by student of Dale Chihuly on display at the Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

I had expected to find beautiful rocks at the Crater Rock Museum; it sort of goes with the name. What I hadn’t expected were student works of the world-famous glass artist, Dale Chihuly.

Student art work of Dale Chihuly at the Crater Rock Museum. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Peggy and I are great fans of Chihuly, having first come across his works in Nashville, Tennessee.

Woven glass sculpture by student of Dale Chihuly at the Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

A final work by one of Chihuly’s students featuring woven glass.

Dragon at Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Nor was I expecting to find this dragon at the museum.

Suchomimus at the Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

This Suchomimus (meaning crocodile mimic) was keeping Pterry company. He was apparently a teenager some 100 million years ago– approximately 36 feet long and weighing upwards to 4 tons.

Dinosaur poop on display at the Crater Rock Museum in Central Point. Oregon.

This might be an appropriate place to throw in this rock. Can you guess what it is? My bet is little boys are fascinated with it and little girls say, “Ooh gross!” To enquiring minds that want to know: it’s petrified dinosaur poop.

Fossil fish at the Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

I was impressed by this fossil fish. Check out its eye. It looks like he was having a bad day. Or maybe he was just bad.

Speaking of bad, check out the canines on this Saber toothed kitty.

Speaking of bad, note out the canines on this Saber Toothed Cat. The canines could reach up to 19 inches in length. It’s beyond me to imagine how they could drop their jaws far enough to sink their teeth into anything. Maybe they just scared their prey to death. BTW: these guys are closely related to your favorite kitty.

Large geode and Peggy Mekemson at the Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon.

Geodes can be large, as this photo with Peggy shows.

Geode at Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

The difference between geodes and thunder eggs, I was to learn, is that geodes have an empty center while the core of thunder eggs is solid.

Geode rock at Crater Rock Museum. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

So this would be another geode…

Thunder egg titled the Swam Thing at Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

And here we have a thunder egg. The ‘scenes’ inside of thunder eggs can be absolutely amazing, as was shown by Caspar at the beginning of the blog and in this one titled “the Swamp Thing” by the folks at Crater Rock.

I promised a brief tale about my beginnings. My dad worked for COPCO in the 30s stringing power lines across Northern California and Southern Oregon. He was on top of a 50-foot pole one morning and his ground man was teasing him about a date he had the night before. He turned to make a retort and came in contact with the 11,000 volt line. Zap, he was an Oregon fried pop. Months later he was staying at a boarding house in Medford and still recovering when he met my mother, who was also staying there. Without the accident, he wouldn't have met her and I wouldn't be here typing this blog.

A high voltage tale: My dad worked for COPCO in the 30s. He was on top of a 50-foot pole one morning and his ground man was teasing him about a date he had the night before. He turned to make a retort and came in contact with the live 11,000 volt line. Zap. Months later he was staying in Medford and still recovering when he met my mother. Without the accident, he wouldn’t have met her and I wouldn’t be writing this blog.

Scrimshaw collection at Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon.

“Thar she blows.” The museum also has a significant scrimshaw collection, donated by David Holmes of Harry and David. The Harry and David plant is in Medford.

Petrified wood at Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Petrified wood can vary dramatically depending on the minerals that have replaced the wood fibers.

Petrified wood found at the Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Here is another example of petrified wood.

Crystals at the Crater Rock Museum in Central Point, Oregon. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

It seems appropriate to conclude this post with a photo of crystals, always a top draw at any rock show.

Next blog: I intend to start a three-part series on the tragedy of Liberia, West Africa, where I served as a Peace Corps Volunteer from 1965-67.

The American River Parkway: Part 2… Featuring Flowers

February 19, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 28 Comments

California Buckeye found on the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California. Photo by Curtis Mekemson

This beauty found along the American River Parkway in spring is the California Buckeye. Each individual flower is a potential buckeye.

The concept of creating the American River Parkway can be traced back as far as the 1920s, but the actual creation of the park took place in the 1950s, 60s and 70s. Impetus came when land speculators begin buying up the relatively inexpensive land along the river for future development.

Conservation-minded visionaries of the time realized a regional treasure was about to be lost. A prized riparian habitat of great beauty and recreational value to the community of Sacramento would soon give way to bulldozers, for sale signs, and limited public access. Armed with passion and facts, these early environmental leaders were able to persuade the City and County of Sacramento to create the parkway.

And for that, we owe the environmentalists and elected officials a deep vote of gratitude. The American River Parkway is an urban asset that few communities throughout the US, or for that matter around the world, can claim.

The battle to maintain the natural resources of the parkway continues. The balance between recreational use and protection of the riparian habitat is a delicate one. Tough financial times and deep budget cuts led local politicians to insist that the parkway pay more of its maintenance costs. And this, unfortunately, has led to a demand for increased recreational use to pick up the tab, which is threatening the natural environment. Birds, plants and animals don’t contribute to the public till, at least not directly. Nor do they vote.

Although free parks benefit everyone, there is nothing wrong with insisting that people who use the park help pay for its maintenance. And it is healthy that volunteers have stepped in to take up the slack created by fewer park staff. Continued government support is needed as well, however.

The City of Sacramento recently voted to spend $250 million dollars to build a basketball stadium downtown. While it isn’t my purpose to oppose the stadium, it does seem to me if local politicians can find money to support what is basically a private venture that will serve some 700 thousand basketball fans per year, they should be able to find funds to support the community’s greatest asset that serves 5 million people per year. And will continue to– far into the future. Don’t you think?

The American River Parkway is used by people of all ages and persuasions. Below is a photo of Peggy with her dad, John Dallen, on the river. When John and his wife Helen reached their mid-80s, their children– Peggy, Jane Hagedorn, and John Jr.– insisted that they come out and live in Sacramento. John Sr. was not happy leaving his nature walks behind in Florida so I started taking him out to the parkway on Wednesday mornings. He absolutely fell in love with it, and I like to believe that the parkway made his last years much happier. The experience reminded me just how valuable the parkway, and other such natural areas around the world , are to the billions of people who live in urban centers.

John Dallen and his daughter, Peggy Mekemson, on the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California.

John Dallen and Peggy Mekemson on the American River Parkway

Three community-based organizations work exclusively to preserve the American River Parkway and deserve public support. These organizations are:

The Save the American River Association (SARA) was founded in the 1960s to advocate for the American River Parkway. Its mission “is to protect and enhance the wildlife habitat, fishery, and recreational resources of the American River Parkway.”

The American River Parkway Foundation (ARPF) “coordinates programs and works with volunteers to foster environmental stewardship, facilitate volunteer opportunities, as well as fund and implement Parkway projects.”

The American River Natural History Association (ARNHA), “supports educational and interpretive activities in the American River Parkway through operating and funding Effie Yeaw Nature Center, a program that introduces thousands of school children each year to the beauty and diversity of the American River Parkway.”

Each spring, the parkway bursts out in bloom. So my photographs this time will feature flowers of the American River Parkway.

California Buckeye trees along the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Bursting with bloom, these buckeye trees are found at William Pond Park. A close up of the flowers is found above.

Almond tree blossoms along the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Pioneer farmers once raised crops along what is now the parkway. These are blossoms from a remaining almond tree.

Dutchman's Pipe plant on the American River Parkway. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Dutchman’s Pipe is one of my favorite flowers. It obtained its name, so they say, by looking like a Dutchman’s pipe.

Pipevine caterpillar dining on Dutchman Pipevine Plant on the American River Parkway.

Here we have the Pipevine Caterpillar chomping away on a pipevine plant.

Pipevine Swallowtail Butterfly on the American River Parkway

The caterpillar morphs into the Pipevine Swallowtail Butterfly. The pipevine plant is poisonous, which doesn’t harm the caterpillar or the butterfly, but does harm predators that might want to eat them.The distinct marking on the butterfly’s wings translates into an “eat me and die” sign. Other butterflies mimic the wings in hopes of taking advantage of the message..

Opening Jimsonweed flower on the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Speaking of poisonous, this stunning flower belongs to the Jimsonweed plant, which is a member of the nightshade family. It is just opening up in this photo.

Jimsonweed flower on the American River Parkway.

Most people are more familiar with the flower looking like this, which is a perspective made famous by Georgia O’Keeffe. Note the extremely long pistil.

Evening Primrose found near the Effie Yeaw Nature Center on the American River Parkway. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

An Evening Primrose, which I found near the Effie Yeaw Nature Center.

Scotch Broom found on the American River Parkway. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Another yellow beauty, Scotch Broom. This plant was brought over from Scotland because of its beauty. Unfortunately it is a highly invasive plant that replaces native plants. Efforts are underway to eradicate it on the parkway.

Yellow Iris growing on the American River Parkway.

And a yellow iris.

Blue Elderberry flowers along the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Elderberry flowers. The blue fruit of the plant was prized by Native Americans. An elderly woman once tried to entice my father, who was in his late 70s at the time, by making him elderberry wine. He refused to comment on the success of the strategy.

Winter Vetch along the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Another invader, winter vetch was originally brought in from Europe as a forage plant for livestock.

California Poppies and Winter Vetch growing together on the American River Parkway.

A mixed bouquet of California Poppies and Winter Vetch.

Plants don’t have to be flowering to be attractive, as the following photos demonstrate,

Seeding Milk Thistle plant on the American River Parkway. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

This Milk Thistle is in the process of distributing its seeds. Note the insect that seems to fit right in.

Dried Milk Thistle on the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

An older Milk Thistle looking a bit ferocious. I think it would be interesting in a dried flower arrangement.

Dead leaves form a California Buckeye on the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

I found these dead leaves to be rather attractive as well. I believe they were on a buckeye tree.

Cluster of young, wild grapes found on the American River Parkway. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

You can see grapes developing on this wild cousin to domestic grapes.

I conclude this post with a wild rose.

The American River Parkway… Sacramento’s Greatest Treasure: Part 1

February 14, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 33 Comments

The American River as it flows through William Pond Park on the American River Parkway.

The City and County of Sacramento, with strong urging by local citizen groups, made the decision in the 1960s and 70s to create a corridor along the American River that would protect its natural beauty and create recreation opportunities for the people of Sacramento for generations to come. This photo was taken in William Pond Park looking upriver.

“The American River Parkway is a true treasure in the landscape of Sacramento. The parkway is a 23 mile, 4,600-acre expanse of land, water and nature. Our forefathers were smart in wanting to protect this wonderful resource hence creating a regional park.” American River Parkway Foundation

I was in Sacramento last week and decided to go for a hike on the American River Parkway. It wasn’t my first. If you count the years it was my primary bike route into town, I estimate I’ve been out on the parkway at least 2000 times. Beyond biking, the parkway served as my escape to the woods when I needed a quick break from the city, which was often. So I know a bit about it.

Drought and tight government budgets had taken their toll on the parkway, but it was still beautiful and crowded with visitors. (Some five million people use the parkway annually, which is as many who stop off at the Grand Canyon.)

I wandered along and happily visited my old haunts– first checking out William Pond Park and then hiking across the Harold Richey Memorial Bridge to River Bend Park. I once had a five-mile route that wound through the two parks. This time I kept it to three.

William Pond was the Director of Parks during the 1960s when the parkway was first proposed. This is the pond in William Pond Park. I cal it William Pond Pond.

William Pond was the Director of Sacramento County Parks during the 1960s when the parkway was first proposed. This is the pond in William Pond Park. I call it William Pond Pond.

Reflection pool created by spring rains along the American River Parkway in Sacramento. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Springtime rains provide more opportunities for reflection shots along the American River Parkway.

Staring into shallow rapids can be a form of meditation. Arising from the nearby Sierra Nevada Mountains, the American River is noted for its pure water.

Cliff swallows nesting under a bridge on the American River Parkway.

I found these baby cliff swallows nesting under the Harold Richey bridge that connects William Pond and River Bend Parks. Note the big mouths and tight fit.

This thumb sized spider lived up on the bridge between the metal railings and competed with the swallows for insects.

This large spider lived up on the bridge between the metal railings and competed with the swallows for insects. It was busily wrapping up its latest catch.

Woodland park on American River Parkway in Sacramento. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

An inviting woodland found in River Bend Park. It always made me think of Robin Hood and Sherwood Forest.

I decided the Parkway would make a good post. Photos weren’t an issue. In fact, I have too many. I’d carried a camera on many of my outings during the 2000’s before Peggy and I took off on our three-year road trip in 2007. Most of the photos on this post are from that time period.

Since I have been out of touch with the parkway for several years, I jumped online to do some research. That’s where I came across the above quote from the American River Parkway Foundation. The Foundation is a good organization, and I was happy to steal its quote, but I got a little hung up over the use of forefathers. Like I know what forefathers are– they are old, really old, like Mayflower old. I think you have to be dead to qualify.

And I was around when much of the parkway was being developed. In 1970 I served as the first Executive Director of Sacramento’s Ecology Information Center. I then went on to co-found the Environmental Council of Sacramento and, along with Bruce Kennedy, create an organization that supported local candidates based on their environmental stands. Each of these organizations provided strong support for the parkway, which put me in regular contact with the ‘forefathers,’ and brings me to the case in point. I may be older than your average John Doe, but I am not Mayflower old, or dead, for that matter.

I am just kidding about the forefather bit, of course, having some fun at the expense of the Foundation. Like I said, they are good kids. They should add foremothers to their list, however. In my next blog, I’ll talk more about the importance of the parkway to Sacramento and about the organizations that support it. But now it’s time to head out to the park.

Numerous hiking trails introduce visitors to the beauty and natural history of the American River Parkway. I took this photo in Effie Yeaw Park.

Valley oaks on the American River Parkway in Sacramento.

The parkway is noted for its magnificent valley oaks. Peggy’s sister and my good friend, Jane Hagedorn, has a grove of oaks named after her in the parkway honoring her efforts in protecting Sacramento’s environment and in promoting the planting of trees throughout the urban area.

Leafy valley oaks on the American River Parkway.

Adding a lush green in summer…

Valley Oak on American River Parkway in winter.

…valley oaks take on a more stark beauty in winter.

Canadian Geese on the American River Parkway.

The area supports abundant wildlife including this family of Canadian Geese.

Mallard ducks on the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California.

A pair of mallard ducks keep an eye on me. I was particularly taken by the male’s yellow slit. I’d say that it is a ‘don’t mess with me’ look.

A brush rabbit pauses in his busy rounds. Rabbits, deer, beaver, coyotes, and a number of other animals call the parkway home. Once, I even came across cougar tracks.

Wasp on American River Parkway. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

I considered this wasp a photo-op. It is actually on the opposite side of the leaf, outlined by the sun.

NEXT BOG: A continuing look at the parkway with a focus on flowers. The California Poppy below is to serve as an introduction– and to wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day.

Baby Goats and a BIG Dog… Just Too Cute to Ignore

February 10, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 37 Comments

I don’t normally ooh and ah over babies, but this kid is one cute dude. Oops, make that a dudette. She is as soft as she looks.

Peggy and I were still unpacking from our Sacramento-Reno trip when our neighbor Jim came zipping down our driveway on his ATV. Jim’s a big guy, and gruff, as in Billy Goat Gruff. But he loves animals and is a super neighbor.

He owns four very large Anatolian Shepherd dogs that weigh up to 150 pounds each and have a bark guaranteed to wake you from a deep sleep. There’s the bear bark, the deer bark and the ‘what the heck’ bark. In the morning they often perform like a barbershop quartet, howling in harmony. All of the other neighborhood dogs join in.

Two of Jim’s Anatolians, Griz and Omni.

Jim was excited. One of his nanny goats had given birth to twins the week before, when we were gone. The other nanny had a pair of kids the night before. They were less than a day old. The elder Anatolian, Boy, had adopted the baby goats. Jim wanted us to come and see them– at once. I am surprised he didn’t whip out cigars. Given it was almost dark and we had driven all day, we opted out.But we promised we would be over the next day to admire his brood of Boer goats. I think you’ll agree; the visit was worth it.

Mother goat and kids. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Mom and day old kids.

This little tyke with his droopy look reminds me of Eeyore.

Photo of a baby goat by Curtis Mekemson.

Here’s trouble.

Anatolian shepherd dog and baby goat. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

“Hi there shorty.” Anatolian Shepherds were originally bred to protect herds from large predators that lived in central Turkey. They have a fearsome reputation. Boy, has adopted the baby goats as part of his herd. He hardly seems ferocious. In fact he cleans their butts. What a dad!

“And where do you think you are going?” The baby goats have determined that Boy’s boyhood reminds them of Mom’s udders. Boy is quick to retreat.

Standoff between 150 pound Anatolian Shepherd and baby goat. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

And is rewarded with a ” Baaaad dog!” for his lack of cooperation. Have you ever seen a dog look more unhappy?

“Stop hassling the big doggie, dear.”

Baby goats line up for Mom's milk. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Modeling good behavior, the one week olds line up for an afternoon snack.

Baby goats preparing to nap. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Having had their snack, it is now time for their afternoon nap.

NEXT BLOG: Sacramento’s wild American River Parkway– a community treasure. I’ll conclude this post with a final photo of one of the baby goats snuggling down in the sunshine.

The Time I was Buried Alive in the Deep Snows of the Sierra Nevada Mountains

February 7, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 20 Comments

Photo of fresh snow on fir tree by Curtis Mekemson.

Fresh snow decorates a tree on Donner Summit, Interstate 80’s pass over the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range of California.

Fresh snow had just fallen and the draught-stricken forests of the Sierra Nevada mountain range were breathing a momentary sigh of relief. A few inches decorated the ground and trees. Peggy and I stopped at Donner Summit on our way between Reno and Sacramento on Interstate 80 last week to enjoy the view. Normally this area is covered in white stuff; the annual snowfall is over 400 inches. It can be dangerous as well as beautiful.

The ill-fated Donner Party learned this the hard way in the winter of 1846-47. They arrived a tad too late in the year on their way to California and were caught in an early snowstorm. Unable to get over the pass, they built cabins at its base to wait out the winter. When their food ran out, they started eating each other. There’s a marker at the site– it is now a state park– that shows how deep the snow was. I used to camp bike treks at the park and would always announce the first evening’s meal as mystery-meat stew. I know, I know, bad taste, so to speak.

Donner Party plaque at Donner Summit, 6 miles from where the Donner Party met their unhappy and tragic fate.

I am quite familiar with how deep the snow can get. A friend owned a cabin at Serene Lakes near the summit. (Serene Lakes were known as Ice Lakes before a land speculator showed up.) I was there a fair amount of time in the late 70s and early 80s. It was a two-story cabin and the second story door became our entry way during the winter. One year, the cabin actually disappeared under the snow. I spent my time shoveling a few tons off the roof.

Whenever snow was predicted, we would put bamboo poles at the front, back and side of our car. Vehicles could be buried overnight. The poles were there so the big road-clearing, snow-eating machines would see where the car was before consuming it. Crunch. We saw a car that had met that fate. It wasn’t pretty.

Once, when I was planning a seven-day winter camping trek through the Desolation Wilderness, I decided to do an overnight training out of the cabin. I recruited a pair of winter backcountry experts, Paul and Diana Osterhue, to help. Paul and Diana had us cross-country ski a few miles from the cabin and build emergency shelters to sleep in. Most of my fellow trekkers opted for snow caves, but I went for a trench.

A snow trench looks a bit like a grave. In fact it looks a lot like a grave, but it is quick and easy to build. This is quite important when bad weather and hypothermia are threatening. I dug mine three feet deep by two feet wide and put my closed-cell foam sleeping-pad and sleeping bag on the bottom. Next I covered the trench with my skis and a poncho. My backpack served as the door.

It was quite cozy, assuming you didn’t have claustrophobia or mind sleeping in a grave. I slept toasty warm all night but was concerned when I woke up in the morning and found my tough cross-country skis sagging in the middle. It had snowed in the night and I was buried under the snow! I pushed at my backpack. It refused to move. Did I panic? Heck no. I kicked the backpack with all of the strength of Arnold Schwarzenegger on steroids topped off with a mega-dose of adrenaline– when he was 20. Grudgingly, the pack gave way.

I wormed my way out from under three feet of the new snow, creating a gopher-like pile of the fluffy stuff. I was met by a white wilderness. No one was to be seen. Curt was alone in a silent world. So I yelled, loudly, and was met by muffled responses. I didn’t move because I wasn’t sure where all the bodies were buried. A few seconds later, the first head popped up out of the snow, and then another and another. Soon, we were all accounted for and okay. It was a grand adventure. The type I love.

The only thing left to report on our trip was that it was tough skiing back to the cabin. If you have ever cross-country skied in mountainous terrain through three feet of fresh powder, you’ll know what I am talking about. We took turns breaking trail. I couldn’t have asked for a better training experience for my fellow trekkers– or me.

Photo of snow covered trees on the crest of the Sierra Nevada Mountains by Curtis Mekemson.

This time, there were only a few inches of snow. They were beautiful, however…

Snow covered trees on the crest of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Blue skies, sunshine, and bright green moss added to the beauty.

Snow covered log at Donner Summit. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

I enjoyed this snow-covered log but it didn’t look like an inviting seat. BTW: by this time Peggy was wondering where I had wandered off to. Fortunately, she is used to my wandering ways. Sort of…

Photo of Peggy Mekemson throwing a snowball.

No snow play? Is there a Grinch in the woods? Peggy threatens me with a snowball for my absence. (She didn’t throw it Cal Trans, so you can’t arrest her.)

NEXT BLOG: We return home to be greeted by our next door neighbor and his proud announcement of having baby goats. I am surprised he didn’t offer us a cigar. I’ll close this blog with a final photo of Sierra snow.

Snow covered woods at Donner Summit. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Properly attired, I could have wandered for hours (and have) among theses snow-covered woods.

Top Five Reasons for Going to Burning Man 2014… by Curtis Mekemson

February 3, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 28 Comments

The Man burns at Burning Man while fireworks shoot across the sky.

The Man burns at Burning Man while meteor-like fireworks shoot across the sky.

I am sitting in my room on the fourteenth floor of the Atlantis Hotel in Reno. It has a northeast view, which means I am looking toward Black Rock City, some hundred miles away as the crow flies. Snow blankets the distant hills, providing a wintry view of the Nevada desert. It’s the perfect location and day for a Burning Man post.

The view from our window at the Atlantis Hotel in Reno looking northeast. Black Rock City lies beyond the mountains. A light dusting of snow adds a wintry feeling to the desert.

It’s decision-making time for veteran and newbie burners alike. January and February are the traditional months when Burning Man tickets go on sale– first come, first serve. And they sell fast. If you’ve never been to this wildly unique event in the remote Nevada desert, here are my top five reasons you should add Black Rock City to your bucket list.

I made my first journey to Burning Man in 2003. This photo is taken from 2006 when I posed next to a great ape in an evolution sculpture. Playa dust decorates my hat and T-shirt.

I made my first journey to Burning Man in 2003. This photo was taken by Ken Lake in 2006. Playa dust decorates my hat and T-shirt. (All photos on this blog are taken by me or by friends.)

1. CREATIVITY: Burning Man is about cutting-edge art, at least for me. It ranges from sublime to whimsical. Examples are everywhere–walk 50 yards in any direction and you will find someone’s personal creation. Much of the art is superb. One measure of the quality is that art made for Burning Man can now be found on display in a number of US cities.

Art at Burning Man can range from the sublime…

…the not so sublime, as this large Alice in Wonderland rabbit demonstrates. (Photo by Tom Lovering.)

…to the humorous, as this large Alice in Wonderland type rabbit demonstrates. (Photo by Tom Lovering.)

Beautiful women have forever been a prime model for artists. They tend to be monumental in Black Rock City.

Beautiful women have forever served as models for artists. They tend to be monumental in Black Rock City, topping out at over 50 feet.

I am always amused by what is whimsical and slightly quirky. This Burning Man dog seems to fit.

I am always amused by what is whimsical and quirky. This Burning Man dog fits my definition. (Photo by Ken Lake.)

As does this suave sphinx.

Many regions around the world have developed thriving Burning Man communities and some have started contributing art to Burning Man. This bull emerging from the Playa was created by the Houston, Texas community of burners.

One of Black Rock City’s most memorable sculptures was the Big Rig Jig where two oils tankers were stacked together.

Like statuesque women, dragons are a popular Burning Man art form. This one was capable of breathing fire from its mouth and joints.

Dragons are popular at Burning Man. This one was capable of breathing fire from its mouth and joints.

Beautiful buildings are another art form at Burning Man. Each year a different Temple is created.(Photo by Tom Lovering.)

Beautiful buildings are another art form at Burning Man. Each year a different Temple is created. (This early morning photo was captured by Tom Lovering.)

This ship was another very impressive structure at Black Rock City.

This large ship was another impressive structure at Black Rock City. The people on deck provide perspective on size.

On a less monumental scale, the Center Camp Cafe at Burning Man is filled with art, such as this turtle.

On a less monumental scale, the Center Camp Cafe at Burning Man is always filled with art, such as this slightly spacey turtle. (Photo by Don Green.)

2. ENTERTAINMENT: When was the last time you were waiting in line at a port-a-potty (maybe you never have), and had a 20-foot tall mastodon pull up and disgorge pirates, aliens, cats, angels and shamans to wait with you? People watching is prime time entertainment at Burning Man, but there is much, much more. Fire dancers, trapeze artists, magicians, actors, jugglers, hula-hoopers, comedians, disk jockeys, and musicians in the hundreds eagerly seek audiences. You can tango, roller skate, bowl, go for a ride on a giant teeter-totter, or join a parade and flaunt whatever you have to flaunt (rabbit ears, for example). Or you can spend your week learning new things. Hundreds of classes ranging from the practical, to the esoteric, to the erotic are available. And to top it all off, there is the burning of the Man, one of the greatest shows on earth. All of this is included with the price of your ticket to Black Rock City.

This large mammoth had stopped for a potty break. The halo is a nice touch.

A fire dancer performs his art. It takes a brave man to go shirtless while twirling burning objects.

Music is everywhere at Burning Man. Here we have a mobile music player. Who needs an iPod?

Music is everywhere in Black Rock City. Here we have a mobile pianist. Who needs an ipod? Check out the Burning Man symbol on stilt-man’s chest.

Over the week, almost every type of music can be heard at Burning Man. Last year I stopped to listen to a woman singing opera on top of a mutant vehicle. The vehicle shot fire into the air when she hit high notes!

An early morning jam session at the Temple. (Photo by Tom Lovering.)

And on top of a bus.

Cyclist knocks down boxes at Burning Man.

Here is a unique form of entertainment involving a cyclist and empty boxes. Crash, restack, crash.

Checking out the hundreds of mutant vehicles at Burning Man is definitely entertainemnt and could take up much of your week.

Checking out the hundreds of mutant vehicles at Burning Man is definitely entertainment and could take up much of your week. I liked the shadow the big guy cast.

Would you be willing to climb into a psychedelic mirror box and have the lid closed? What about if you knew they were going to shake the box?

There is always a sense of being at a three ring circus at Burning Man.

There is always the sense of being at a three ring circus at Burning Man. The entertainment goes on and on – 24/7.

3. MAGIC: Burning Man is interesting, even fascinating during the day. But at night it becomes magical. Fifty thousand people decorate themselves and their bikes with lights and venture out into the dark night. Fire breathing dragons and ghostly desert ships join hundreds of other lit up mutant vehicles in an unending, random parade back and forth across the Playa and along the streets of Black Rock City. Art, too, is lit up, and takes on a totally different personality. The desert night air throbs with music and dancing. Fire dancers appear everywhere, practicing their flaming art singularly or in coordinated groups. Neighborhood bars– there is one on almost every corner– attract regulars and visitors alike with free alcohol, conversation and dancing (Note: you may have to wear pink pajamas, a little black dress or some other getup). A stroll down the mile-plus Esplanade introduces dozens of major entertainment venues. Walk into any one– or all of them– and explore what each has to offer. The most excitement is generated by the burns; they light up the night sky and send mutant vehicles, bicyclists and walkers scurrying to catch the latest one. Last year’s major events included a massive burn off of regional art on Thursday, the Man on Saturday, and the Temple on Sunday.

Night brings its own special magic at Burning Man. This is another of Burning Man’s annual Temples.

Art is creatively lit and takes on a different personality.

A misty moon added depth to this sculpture. The Man is off to the right.

Mutant vehicles work their way back and forth across the Playa. Many spout fire.

Mutant vehicles work their way back and forth across the Playa. Many, such as El Pulpo Mechanico, spout fire.

And some inspire by their beauty, such as this vase.

Burning Man mutant vehicle lit up at night.

Another magical mutant vehicle.

The burning of the Man provides Burning Man with its name, but there are many other burns. This was a light house created by burners from the North Coast of California in 2012. Last year, over 20 regional art pieces located strategically around the Man were burned simultaneously on Thursday night.

The burning of the Temple on Sunday night sends thousands of messages to loved ones wafting into the sky.

The burning of the Temple on Sunday night sends thousands of messages that have been written to loved ones wafting into the sky.

Fireworks provide a sendoff to the burning Man.

Fireworks provide a sendoff to the Man as he begins to burn. Almost everyone in camp attends this event.

Arms raised in salute, Burners bid farewell to the Man as he tumbles into ashes.

4. DESERT: It takes a hardy soul to survive living in the desert. Soaring day time temperatures, freezing cold nights, a desperate lack of water, and raging dust storms are all part of the desert life. But there is also stark beauty and a profound silence (not so much at Black Rock City, but close at 5 AM). The desert is a significant part of the Burning Man experience. Say yes to the heat and cold and beauty and dust and you will have a memory that will last a lifetime and bring you back to the desert time and again.

Dust storms are a common phenomena of the Black Rock Desert. Accompanying winds can knock down tents. Zero visibility and dust in everything are part of the experience.

But the desert also has great beauty, as this rainbow at Burning Man demonstrates. BTW… things come to a grinding halt during rainstorms. Playa dust turns to glue that sticks to both tires and feet– several inches thick!

Clouds, following the storm, add their own beauty.

5. COMMUNITY: There are dozens upon dozens of communities at Burning Man based on where you live, who your friends are, and what interests you. The person standing next to you may be a Google founder, Nobel Prize winner, or a Hells Angel. It’s possible she is from nearby Reno, Nevada or far off Auckland, New Zealand. All age groups and most occupations are represented. Veteran burners mix freely with first timers, known as virgin burners.

What makes Burning Man unique, beyond what I have already listed, is the focus on participation. The event is created by the people who attend. Burners are strongly encouraged to contribute to the community. There are numerous ways to do so. Amuse fellow burners with a great costume or cleverly decorated bike; provide entertainment, food, alcohol, or services; teach people how to meditate, do yoga, or Tango; volunteer to help Burning Man greet people, light lamps or pick up trash– the list goes on and on. All of this is based on Burning Man’s non-commercial, gifting economy. You can neither advertise nor sell things in Black Rock City. With the exception of coffee and tea at the Center Camp Café, ice, and a few necessary RV services, everything is given away for free.

People come from all over the world to participate in Burning Man. Some set up an individual camp while others are members of large theme camps.

People come from all over the world to participate in Burning Man. Some come on their own and set up an individual camp while others are members of large theme camps.

The Sacred Spaces Theme Camp.

Wearing a costume is part of the Burning Man experience. A great costume is enjoyed by everyone. (Photo by Don Green.)

A well decorated bike is also a way to “gift” other burners.

As is bringing a fierce mutant dragon.

Or a ride on a sailing ship. (Photo by Peggy.)

Or offering a ride on a sailing ship. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

The California Library's form of gifting is giving away books, hundreds of them.

The California Library theme camp gives away books, hundreds of them.

This woman had a unique way of gifting. She carried around an ice block and then put her icy hands on your face, which was perfect for a hot desert day. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.) Our tie-dye T-shirts were close to matching.

Fixing bikes is another important form of gifting at Burning Man. Beth is a master mechanic who owns a bike shop in Davis. My van Quivera provides the backdrop for the photo.

Fixing bikes is another form of gifting at Burning Man. Beth Lovering is a master bike mechanic who owns a bike shop in Davis. My van, Quivera, provides the backdrop for the photo.

Burning Man has numerous opportunities to volunteer, such as being a lamplighter and helping to light the hundreds of lamps that adorn the night.

Or greet people when they arrive at Burning Man as these two welcomed Peggy and I.

Or working as greeters and welcoming people when they arrive at Burning Man.

THE 2014 THEME: Each year Burning Man comes up with a theme that inspires art, costumes and villages. Last year’s theme was Cargo Cults. This year it is Caravansary. It may be the best theme yet. Think of the Silk Road that connected the mysterious Far East with Europe from Roman times into the middle Ages. Picture caravans of camels, Arabian horses and Mongol ponies carrying exotic spices, silk, and other valuable trade goods as well as new ideas through forests, deserts and mountains for thousands of miles– all the while keeping a wary eye out for bandits. Imagine what life was like in the great trading cities of Xanadu and Samarkand, places that literally define exotic. The Silk Road provided an open invitation to adventure and new experiences. I am excited to see what Burning Man’s creative minds can do with the concept.

This is Burning Man’s official ‘logo’ for 2014… an invitation to adventure.

CAUTION: Burning Man is not for every one. Partial nudity is common. The F word may be blasted from mega speaker systems. You are expected to be totally self-reliant, that is bring your own food and water, plus what you need to survive a week of desert weather. And, as I mentioned above, the desert can be challenging. People with health problems need to think through the ramifications of a week in the desert with limited services. No pets are allowed. I wouldn’t bring kids. But there are a few children present; there is even a children’s theme camp that is chock full of kid-based activities. (And I did see parents who were doing a great job with their children.)

FOR FURTHER INFORMATION: I highly recommend that people who are considering their first trip to Black Rock City do serious research. Odds are you will know veteran burners who can serve as an excellent source of advice. Also check out the Burning Man website. It includes everything you need to know about the event and is mandatory reading. Sign up for Jackrabbit Speaks for ongoing, up-to-the minute-year-round information. Beyond this, there are hundreds of blogs, media articles, and photo sites. Google Burning Man and browse to your heart’s content. Speaking of Google, check out Google Images for Burning Man. Dozens of photographers with links back to sites are included, including mine: Wandering through Time and Place.

One final source: I blogged extensively about last year’s Burning Man. Go here and scroll forward.

A Whale of a Tale– or has Nessie Migrated… Gone fishing in Puerto Vallarta

January 22, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 19 Comments

Photo of Pacific Ocean outside of Banderas Bay, Mexico. Photo taken by Curtis Mekemson.

The ocean is both beautiful and mysterious, filled with marvelous creatures of the deep. I took this photo outside of Banderas Bay, Mexico.

You have all seen the grainy photos of Nessie, the want-to-be monster that hangs out at Loch Ness in Scotland. I, too, have stood on the shores of the fabled lake with eyes peeled and camera poised. Unfortunately, Nessie didn’t bless me with her presence. Sigh. Neither fame nor fortune was to be mine.

One of the more famous photos of Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster. This is an AP photo.

But what if I were to discover Nessie in Banderas Bay off the coast of Puerto Vallarta. Or at least something that looked like Nessie. So what if a little help from Photoshop was called for. Would people believe me? Maybe my photos would appear on CNN… or glory of glories, even FOX News, which, as every one knows, is fair and balanced. I suspect I could at least count on support from the local chamber of commerce. Monster sightings are always good for tourism. Anyway, consider the following:

Nessita, Nessie's daughter looks across the Bay of Banderas in search of a fat tourist who as eaten too many tacos.

Nessita, Nessie’s daughter looks across the Bay of Banderas in search of a tourist who has eaten too many tacos.

Having spotted her prey, Nessita dives beneath the water, coils unfulring as she goes.

Having spotted her prey, Nessita dives beneath the water, coils unfurling as she goes.

And disappears.

I am basically an honest guy, however. Otherwise I’d be rich or in jail. Right? Plus, all of you good folks who follow me, not to mention Word Press, might get a little excitable if I deliberately misled you. I am already under suspicion for reporting on ghosts and Bigfoot. So, I have to confess. What my son-in-law Clay, grandson Ethan, and I came across while fishing were humpback whales frolicking in Banderas Bay. But even they were wonderful, and strange.

Dorsal fin of humpback whale taken off the coast of Puerto Vallarta. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Dorsal fin of humpback whale in the Bay of Banderas.

Head of humpback whale in the Bay of Banderas. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

And the whale’s head.

How was the fishing? At least fair to middling, as the old timers say. Consider it from Ethan’s perspective. Any time you can catch a fish almost as big as you are, it’s a BIG fish. Imagine the tales that Ethan had to tell when he returned to school in Tennessee.

Fishing in the Bay of Banderas. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Our grandson Ethan displays his catch, a jack crevalle.

Even Clay and I got lucky.

Nice fish, but would you invite this motley crew into your house?

NEXT BLOG: 2014 Burning Man tickets go on sale in February. I give you five reasons you might want to purchase one.