The Wild Man Disappeared into a Yellow Balloon… Center Camp Cafe at Burning Man

September 15, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 23 Comments

Bike Bridge sculpture at Burning Man 2014.

Looking out from the Center Camp Cafe through the Bike Bridge, a sculpture by Michael Christian of Berkeley, California. The work was done in collaboration with twelve young women from Oakland who were taught welding skills and then worked with Christian in creating the sculpture out of recycled bike parts.

You journey into another world when you travel to Burning Man. An open mind helps. You don’t have to party to the wee hours, or get naked, or do yoga in your underpants, however. People are free to choose the activities they wish to pursue. I mean, if you really want to know how to make a flogger out of duct tape, you can— or not. I opted out.

Besides, I have my own whip. I used to break the whip out and walk around my office cracking it when I was the executive director of a non-profit in Alaska. I did this during the winter months when the nights were long and the days were short. Since it was dark outside, the people who worked at the bank across the road would line up at their windows and watch me. The bankers, my staff, and I enjoyed the break in routine. Or, at least, no one ever reported me to the cops.

The Center Camp Cafe at Burning Man 2014.

A view of the Center Camp Cafe from the Playa. Note the tower on the right.

Looking down from the tower at Center Camp and the Center Camp Cafe. (Photo by Don Green.)

Center Camp Cafe at night Burning Man 2014.

A view of the Center Camp Cafe at night. The flags on top can be seen from throughout Black Rock City and are used by Burners as a land mark.

Bikes parked in front of the Center Camp Cafe at Burning Man 2014.

Over 60,000 bikes were at Burning Man this year. On any given day, the Center Camp Cafe was surrounded by them. Note the fat tires. There are no skinny tires at Burning Man since getting around through the dust on the Playa and in Black Rock City would be impossible.

The middle of the Center Camp Cafe provides a large circular opening looking up at the sky and the flags.

The middle of the Center Camp Cafe provides a large circular opening for looking up at the sky and the flags.

Heading over to the Center Camp Cafe is something that almost everyone at Burning Man does at some time during the week. It’s a great way to be introduced to and participate in Black Rock City performance art. Free entertainment of one sort of the other goes on around the clock at the Cafe’s two stages. Less formally, anyone is welcome to perform in the large, circular center stage. I watched ballet dancers, jugglers, couples yoga, a woman work a hula-hoop, and a group practicing what I called chicken meditation since it sounded like they were shouting chica, chica, chica and making chicken moves. But what do I know; it looked like fun. Then there was the wild-looking guy who disappeared into a large yellow balloon…

Couples yoga being practiced at Burning Man 2014.

It appears this woman is learning to fly as she practices couples yoga at the Center Camp Cafe.

Yong woman practices with hula hoop at Burning Man 2014.

A young woman works her hula hoop as blonde hair flies. Whole camps are devoted to mastering the hula hoop and Burners have developed considerable skills.

A young man who had been practicing impressive ballet leaps, suddenly stopped and asked an elderly woman to dance with him. The two bowed to each other and then waltzed off across the floor to applause. Batman looked on.

Man disappears into large yellow balloon at Burning Man 2014.

Peggy and I were sitting and chatting with a man from Berkeley when a guy with a large yellow balloon walked out to the center area. By the time I had grabbed my camera, half of the man had disappeared into the balloon. Then he was totally gone. As things progressed, first his hair and then his head appeared out of the top.

Balloon Man Burning Man style at Burning Man 2014.

In the end, the balloon shrank and I was able to get a full head shot. He was pretty wild looking, even for Burning Man.

People watching receives an A plus rating. A stroll around the Center Camp Cafe usually calls for another stroll, and then another after that. Or you can just choose to sit and let the parade pass by. Many Burners dress up in elaborate costumes, or dress down (way down) for their visit. I confess to enjoying it all.

My favorite Burner in her snazzy hat (Luna AKA Peggy) wears a Mona Lisa smile.

Cross generation conversation at Burning Man 2014.

This photo strikes me as pure Burning Man. A younger man-made space for an older woman and the two were soon involved in an animated conversation. Meanwhile, an obviously tired Burner had put his feet up on the seat back so he could snooze. I kept waiting for him to go to sleep and his feet to drop. It didn’t happen.

Burning Man is a photographers dream. And almost everyone takes pictures. If each Burner took only 20 photos, over a million pictures would have been taken at Burning Man 2014.

Burning Man is a photographer’s dream. And almost everyone takes pictures. If each Burner took only 20 photos, well over one million pictures would have been taken at Burning Man 2014.

One of the best places to catch some of Burning Man’s wilder costumes is to attend the annual fashion show hosted by the Center Camp Cafe. While it may not be New York or Paris, it does come with a runway. (Photo by Don Green.)

Fashion show participants at Burning Man 2014.

What some of the best dressed models chose to wear. Size matters when you are wearing gloves. (Photo by Don Green.)

Art also fills the Center Camp Cafe, as it does all of Burning Man. Peggy and I visit at different times of the day to catch how the different light impacts the art, enjoy the shows, and sip a cup of coffee or glass of ice tea. Center Camp Cafe is the only place in Black Rock City where you can buy anything besides ice.

Sculpture at the Center Camp Cafe, Burning Man 2014.

There must have been upwards to 40 pieces of art at the Center Camp Cafe including this beautiful sculpture.

The two cats who have caught Grandpa Mouse promise him his freedom if he reads them an amusing story.

I really enjoyed the Eastern oriented environmental art that combined nature with people at the Center Camp Cafe. Following are several examples.

Oriental painting in Center Camp Cafe at Burning Man 2014.

Bird eyes.

Art featuring dragon and humming bird at Center Camp Cafe, Burning Man 2014.

Dragon faces off against hummingbird.

Woman and elephant.

Butterfly wing eyebrows and a cat-like face.

Painting at Center Camp Cafe featuring woman and animals, Burning Man 2014.

I conclude with this woman surrounded by animals. Next blog: We go out into Black Rock City and out into the playa in search of my favorite mutant vehicle: El Pulpo Mechanico— the octopus.

The Man Meets His Fiery Demise… Burning Man 2014

September 12, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 43 Comments

Flames shoot out as the Man burns at Burning Man 2014. Fireworks continue to light up the sky.

I introduced the Man in my last blog. Now it is time to join him for his fiery end, the quintessential event Larry Harvey created in 1986 that gives Burning Man its name. Think show. Think ritual. Think party. Think three-ring circus. It’s the one event at Burning Man that pulls everyone together at the same time. Saturday night is Burn Night.

Preparations for the 2014 burn began hours earlier. The market surrounding the Man was closed down and packed away, the area was roped off, and the Man was prepared to burn. Firewood was stacked around his feet. Fireworks were stuffed everywhere else.

Firewood stacked around the base of the Man helps assure he will eventually fall over. Massive support beams for his hundred foot height were reluctant to burn through, however. (Photo By Don Green.)

Sometime around six, the residents of Black Rock City begin their preparations. Dinner is eaten; costumes are donned; people and bikes are decked out in lights. (I’d love to have a concession that sells glow sticks to Burners.) The dozens, even hundreds of venues that provide free entertainment are shut down. Large and small camps provide final instructions. Are their members traveling by mutant vehicle, bike or foot? Will the bikers and hikers stay together? How? It is ever so easy to get lost in a rowdy crowd of 65,000 people.

And then the parade (or is pilgrimage a better word?) begins. Large mutant vehicles that hold dozens of dancing, gyrating Burners move out early, eager to find prime locations and begin blasting out ear-splitting, industrial-grade music. Hundreds of performers also head for the Man to find their assigned places inside the huge circle surrounding the Man. Next come the folks who hope to sit close to the circle and have the best views of the fire dancers and burn.

And finally, everyone else. Dark streets become clogged with gaily decorated, lit-up bikes and Burners journeying out into the Playa. Somehow they avoid running into each other. By 8 pm Black Rock City has become vacant, a ghost town.

For the past several years I’ve chosen to walk around the perimeter of the circle. My body has lost its sense of humor for sitting in the dirt for hours. Even now, my tailbone screams at the idea. Plus, there is a lot to see. Burners, dressed up in their finest costumes, stroll and dance around the circle. It’s prime time for people watching. But what really captures my imagination are the mutant vehicles stretching for two miles around the Man. Every vehicle is lit up for the night and many belch fire. Dozens form large viewing and dancing platforms. There are ships and trains and dragons and bugs and almost everything else the human imagination can create. Or at least it seems that way to me.

Great imagination goes into creating the mutant vehicles of Burning Man. I am not sure what this guy was called but I nicknamed him Mighty Mouse. The people on his back provide a size perspective.

Many of the mutant vehicles spout fire. This is one of my favorites, El Pulpo Mechanico. I’ll be doing a whole blog on El Pulpo.

Mutant vehicle lights up the night at Burning Man 2014.

This photo provides an idea of how bright the fire from a mutant vehicle can be.

As for the burning of the Man, it follows a ritualized pattern. The fire dancers twirl fire, drummers drum, the Man raises his arms, fireworks go off, the Man burns, and finally he falls to his fiery grave as 65,000 people first go quiet and then shout in celebration.

Fire dancing/art is an important part of Burn night as hundreds of fire dancers perform in the circle before the Man is burned. I took this photo a couple of years ago.

The Man raises his arms in preparation for fireworks and burning at Burning Man 2014.

When the Man raises his arms, the fireworks are about to begin!

The night sky is lit up by fireworks during the burning of the Man at Burning Man 2014.

And they do.

Few fourth of July events are capable of matching the fireworks display at Burning Man, which goes on and on. (Photo by Don Green.)

Fireworks and Man burning at Burning Man 2014.

The fireworks continued as the Man burned quickly. We could definitely feel the heat.

Structure of Man at Burning Man 2014 shows through the fire.

Soon, his basic structure was apparent.

Head of the Man at Burning Man during 2014 burn.

Don caught this photo of the Man’s head. (Photo by Don Green.)

The Man before he falls at Burning Man 2014.

I waited patiently, along with 60,000 other people for the Man to fall as fires licked away at his feet. But he was stubborn. Finally I headed off to Center Camp.

Normally we return home sometime in the night after the Man has burned. But this year we stayed around and visited the site the next morning. Much to our amusement, people were cooking meals over the remaining flames and heat.

Remains of the burned Man at Burning Man 2014.

Burners were gathered around the remains of the Man the next morning. The size of the leg support beams suggests why it took so long for the Man to fall. (Photo by Tom Lovering.)

Cooking bacon on the coals left over from the burning of the man at Burning Man 2014.

We were amused to find people cooking bacon, eggs, coffee and pancakes. Some one had even roasted a lamb. Nice tongue.

Souvenir hunter cuts off piece of the Man's structure that remained after the Man had burned dow at Burning Man 2014.

A burner was working hard cutting off small pieces of the Man’s ‘leg’ for souvenirs.He smiled up at me and gifted me my own piece of the Man.

A close up of the Man burning at Burning Man 2014.

I will close with this excellent close up of the Man burning. (Photo by Don Green.) On my next blog I will visit another Burning Man icon: Center Camp.

Burning Man Was Born on a Beach in San Francisco

September 9, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 28 Comments

The Man at Burning Man this year stood some ten stories high and towered over the surrounding playa and Black Rock City.

A striking view of the iconic Golden Gate Bridge dominates the view from Baker Beach in San Francisco. It’s a romantic spot, a popular place to get married. Folks also get naked; it’s a nude beach. It was here that Larry Harvey and his friend Jerry James decided to host a bonfire in honor of the summer solstice in 1986. As to why they chose a nine-foot wooden effigy of a man (and his dog) to burn, Harvey remains mysteriously mum. Whatever the reason, it was out of the flames that Burning Man was born. Larry and his friends had such a great time they vowed to come back the next year with a bigger Man.

By 1990 the Man had grown to 40 feet tall and word of mouth had guaranteed that a sizable crowd was present for the solstice bonfire on Baker Beach. It wasn’t to be. Golden Gate Park police had decided that burning the Man posed a fire hazard to the Park and City. A single Park Ranger rolled in on a motorbike and said no go. You can’t be too careful, right? Fires were raging across Southern California.

The Man was taken apart and returned to the vacant lot he called home. The people who had come to watch the burn were angry. This might have marked the end of Burning Man, except for a bit of synchronicity. The Man had caught the attention of a group in San Francisco known as the Cacophony Society, an organization that specialized in outrageous pranks and strange outings known as zone trips. Several of its members, including Co-founder John Law, suggested to Larry that the place to burn the Man was in the remote Black Rock Desert of Northern Nevada. It would make an ideal zone trip— far out in the language of the 60’s. A Ryder Truck was rented for the Labor Day weekend and stuffed with the man plus personal gear. Cars were loaded with people and some 80-100 Burners headed off into the desert. The rest, as they say, is history.

Much had changed when I arrived at Black Rock City in 2004. Old timers spoke nostalgically about the good old days when there had been far fewer people and no rules. They were right; there were more people and more rules, but as far as I could tell things were still pretty rowdy— and magical. I was impressed. So I have been going back ever since. One of my first activities on returning to Black Rock City is to make the journey out to the Man. Since Larry dictates his dimensions, the Man always looks the same. Up until now, however, he has been perched on a different base each year, as shown in the examples below.

Last year’s man.

The Man on his pedestal in 2006.

This year, for the first time since 1995, the Man stood alone and had gained skin. He was magnificent, standing some ten stories or 100 feet tall. A group of tents, representing a souk/market place surrounded him. The souk reflected the 2014 Burning Man theme, Caravansary, and was supposed to be reminiscent of the ancient markets that grew up wherever caravan routes crossed.

The Man at Burning Man in 2014 and a mutant vehicle.

All eyes (and cameras) on the Man, a theme based mutant vehicle passes by. Note the tents of the market place surrounding the Man. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

The Man at Burning Man 2014 at the end of the avenue leading out from Center Camp.

The Man stands at the end of the avenue leading out from Center Camp. The building bathed in light behind the Man is the temple. The dome-shaped building off to the right is the Tower of Babel.

A photo of the Man at Burning Man in 2014 framed by the gateway that leads into the market place and Man.

Don Green, a friend who has been coming to Burning Man with me since 2005, took this photo of the Man, which is framed by the gateway that leads into the souk.

Sun shines through the head of the Man at Burning Man 2014. Photo by Tom Lovering.

Tom Lovering, who has been going on adventures with me since the mid-70s took this photo of the Man with the sun behind his head.

Man horse gives ride at Burning Man 2014.

Peggy hitches a ride on a hobby-horse/man in brief briefs at the souk. My favorite cow checks out a red topped man/woman/dummy in the background.

Wild eyed grass eating cow at Burning Man 2014.

The cow.

People headed ostriches at Burning Man 2014.

A number of murals/paintings decorated the walls of the souk. These people headed ostriches were sufficiently Burning Man strange.

What would a souk be without exotic drinks such as a snow cone. Beth Lovering, bathed in the red glow from the tent roof, discusses flavors with the Man from Minnesota.

What would a souk be without exotic drinks such as an icee. Beth Lovering, bathed in the red glow from the tent roof, discusses flavors with the Minnesota Man. Various regions including China, Japan, Russia, Taiwan, Lithuania and Argentina sponsored the various booths.

My favorite souk-like booth, Membranes of Marrakesh, was sponsored by the Utah region and featured drum making. Once again, the red tent roof imparts a red glow. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Shelves feature drums in various stages of development.

I’ll conclude this blog with a photo I took of the Man at night, surrounded by the colors and activities of Burning Man. Magical is the word here. Next blog: We will watch the Man burn.

Welcome Home: Mired in Mud… Burning Man 2014

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

Burners are welcomed to Burning Man by a wild group of volunteers who withstand wind, dust, and sun to make sure that Burners are greeted enthusiastically.

“Welcome Home!” the Burning Man Greeter grinned from ear to ear. “Are you a virgin?” she asked.

Dark clouds stretched across the horizon as we made our way across the northern Nevada desert to Black Rock City on Monday morning. A road sign just outside of Cedarville, California had warned, “Flooded.” Some Burners or a local teenager had added at the bottom, “with love.” We laughed. Everyone can use a little love.

Located on the eastern side of the Warner Mountains in the far northwest corner of California, Cedarville may be the most remote town in California, but it provides a hearty welcome for Burners.

This Cedarville mural suggests even the local livestock are welcoming Burners. Or maybe this horse and chicken are amazed by the strange procession of people and vehicles passing through their normally quiet town.

This Cedarville mural suggests even the local livestock are welcoming Burners. Or maybe this horse and chicken are jaw-dropping amazed by the strange procession of people and vehicles passing through their normally quiet town.

Dark clouds over the Black Rock Desert of Northern Nevada suggested flash floods and a muddy Burning Man.

But flash floods in the desert are not to be trifled with. Lack of vegetation and poor soil combined with a downpour of rain can turn a trickle of water into a car tumbling torrent in a matter of minutes. Common wisdom is to stick to the high ground and avoid gullies. We proceeded with caution.

We were more concerned about the rain’s impact on Burning Man. A quarter-inch of rain on the Black Rock Desert turns the Playa into a quagmire. Everything comes to a grinding halt. Nothing moves. Walking cakes the bottom of shoes with one to three inches of cement-quality mud. If a mobster picked you up and threw you into a lake, you’d be guaranteed to sink. It’s worse for bikes and vehicles.

Our worst fears were confirmed when we arrived at the cutoff to Burning Man. A really nice BLM Ranger and a not so nice roadblock greeted us. “I am sorry,” the ranger announced, “Burning Man has been shut down and will be for at least 12 hours. We are recommending that you drive into Fernley and wait.” Fernley was 78 miles away. Towns are few and far between in Nevada. We turned around and pulled off the road to seek a second opinion. “Black Rock City will be shut down until 12 noon tomorrow,” the official voice of Burning Man declared on Twitter. Damn. The 12 hours had grown to 24.

But you know the old adage: if life hands you lemons, make lemonade. That’s certainly what the folks stuck in the thousand or so vehicles caught between the entrance to Burning Man and the welcoming station did. Their cars were packed with food, booze, and God only knows what else. Why stress when you can have a party?

Burners on the inside had a similar attitude. Their only concern was the rapidly filling port-a-pots. Things were getting shitty, so to speak. Not surprisingly, the first vehicles that Burning Man approved for travel were sewage trucks. It may be the only time in history that sewage truck drivers received a standing ovation.

On a more serious note, I met a Burner on the Esplanade of Black Rock City who told me she and seven other people had been struck by lightning during the storm. It had hit nearby and travelled through the ground, knocking her down. A couple of days at the clinic and she was fine. “The guy carrying the umbrella that lightning struck wasn’t so lucky,” she told us.

Peggy and I decided to make our own lemonade. We would drive an extra 25 miles past Fernley to Fallon and the Bonanza Casino. The Bonanza featured cheap RV camping, liberal video poker machines, and enough free drinks to drown our sorrows about missing Burning Man. True to its Old West image, the casino’s restaurant was decorated with cowhides and served humongous cow-burgers. Bossy had given her all. We didn’t. Peggy and I left the next morning a hundred dollars richer and headed back to the now open Burning Man. The adventure was about to begin.

I found this particular cow hanging out near the Man at Black Rock City. Apparently she was a little high from all the grass she was consuming.

I found this particular cow hanging out in the souk/marketplace surrounding the Man at Black Rock City. Apparently she was feeling the effects from all the grass she was consuming.

Traffic into Burning Man from Interstate 80.

Passing over Interstate 80, we joined the long line of several thousand Burners who had been held up in Reno and Fernley because of the closure of Burning Man. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Strange, hoodoo-like rocks greet Burners along the road into Burning Man. Somehow, they seem appropriate. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

The rocks gave way to Shrek as we entered the small town of Empire a few miles outside of Burning Man. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Things went amazingly fast until we hit the line for checking tickets. At least six lines of vehicles stretched into the distance.

Ticket checkers search for non-ticketed Burners at Burning Man 2014.

As long as I have been going to Burning Man, ticket checkers have come on board to make sure I am not smuggling any Burners into Black Rock City. I’m okay with that. But checking my cabinets and refrigerator was invasive. Was this an undercover cop searching for illegal drugs? Or maybe he thought I was hiding the seven dwarves. But let’s get back to the question posed in the first photo about my virginity…

Virgin Burner rings bell, Burning Man 2014.

The question the greeter was asking was whether I was a Virgin Burner, a first timer. Having first gone in 2004, I had long since lost my ‘virginity,’ however. Virgins are expected to get out of the car and ring a bell.

Virgin burner rolls in dust at Burning Man 2014.

Rolling in the dust is a new virgin burner experience that has been added to the ceremony. Since you will look like you have rolled in the dust after a few hours at Burning Man,why not?

This blog marks the beginning of a series of blogs on Burning Man 2014 that I will write over the next few weeks. Here are a few photos to provide a taste of what’s to come. Think of them as appetizers.

Embrace sculpture being prepped to burn at Burning Man 2014.

Art and costumed people are two of the major reasons that Peggy and I go to Burning Man. You will see a lot of both in my blogs. This is the Embrace sculpture being prepped for burning.

The Man surrounded by a souk/marketplace at Burning Man 2014.

Burning Man is many things, and I will explore several, but central to the Burning Man experience is the Man and his ultimate consummation by fire. Here I pictured him through an art piece. The Man stood alone this year surrounded by a souk, or marketplace.

The Elvis Wedding Chapel at Burning Man 2014.

Wandering the streets of Black Rock City is endlessly fascinating and you never know what you might find— even Elvis. Or, as it turned out this year, P. Diddy, Will Smith and Leonardo DiCaprio. There are much stranger things to be found at Burning Man…

… such as what I could only guess was an amoeba with a vagina. Then there was the 20 foot sculpture of a penis. There was no doubt about it.

I’ll conclude this small teaser with my all-time favorite mutant vehicle, El Pulpo Mechanico. El Pulpo will have a whole blog devoted to him.

The Murals that Saved Chemainus… The Vancouver Island Adventure

August 16, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 25 Comments

Homeowner and muralist Dan Sawatzky painted this 3D steam engine chugging out of his house/studio in Chemainus on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. The Number 3 engine was used for hauling logs and is symbolic of the town’s historic lumber industry.

This is another reposting of an earlier Vancouver Island blog. Again, Peggy and I still involved in our kayak trip among the Orcas. I know many of my followers enjoy murals and Chemainus has some great ones. I’ll catch up on comments when Peggy and I get back home– before we zip off to Burning Man. –Curt

“You have to visit Chemainus and see its murals,” the woman from Qualicum Beach urged. We were on the Black Ball Ferry between Port Angeles, Washington and Victoria, British Columbia. While I hunkered down and read, Peggy made new friends. Fortunately, one of us is much more social than the other.

Qualicum Beach is next to Parksville, which was our destination. A thirty-minute conversation generated a long list of restaurants to visit and places to see. I was yanked out of my book to take notes.

Chemainus is an excellent recommendation. This thriving community is located in the Chemainus Valley on the east coast of Vancouver Island about an hour north of Victoria. In 1983 it came close to dying. The primary place of employment, a lumber mill, shut down. 700 of the town’s 4000 residents were thrown out of work.

This is the point where most communities give up. Business and political leaders spend their energy assigning blame instead of seeking solutions. Not so with Chemainus.

“Let’s cover the walls of our town with historic murals,” Karl Schultz urged. It would capture the community’s history, develop local pride, and hopefully encourage tourism. As always, there were naysayers, but Karl’s enthusiasm won out. Today Chemainus is world-famous for its murals and tens of thousands of tourists visit the town annually.

Since it was on our way and we had the time, Peggy and I decided to stop. Good decision. First, I love the story of the small community that has adopted the motto of “The Little Town that Did.” Second, I really like murals. Following are some our favorites out of the 39 (and increasing). For a complete tour visit www.chemainus.com/arts/murals/Chemainus–murals.htm.

A colorful 1948 view of Chemainus looking down Mill Street toward the bay.

Hong Hing arrived in Chemainus in 1915 and opened his waterfront store. Over time his store would serve as a laundry, grocery store, second-hand store, bootlegging establishment and gambling den. Declining business led him to close his store in 1950 and return to China where he married a younger woman and produced an heir. Black Cat, by the way, is an extinct brand of British/Canadian tobacco.

This mural captures the Chemainus Hospital in 1904 along with two nurses and the hospital cook.

What’s not to love about a band concert?

I’ve included this mural because of its history. In 1939 Chemainus celebrated its 50th anniversary. The float entered by the local Japanese-Canadian Community won first prize. By 1942 all of the community’s Japanese had been removed to Internment Camps. It is one of the darker pages of Canadian (and US) history.

Tent houses provided quick, inexpensive housing for the early loggers, fishermen and miners of Chemainus. When I was growing up in Diamond Springs California, one of my mother’s friends lived in a tent house. As a seven-year old, I was jealous.

This big guy’s face captures both the simplicity and the power of the mural art in Chemainus.

Dressed in their Sunday best, these early residents of Chemainus reflect a time when horses competed with ‘horseless’ carriages as the primary mode of transportation.

This Chemainus mural of First Nation people captures both the original inhabitants of Vancouver Island and their renaissance today. Peggy and I were both impressed and moved by the quality and quantity of First Nation Art during our visit to British Columbia.

First Nation Totem Poles… North to Alaska

August 12, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 24 Comments

The totem pole of Thunderbird and the Wild Woman of the Woods found in Duncan, British Columbia on Vancouver Island.

Third times a charm. Right? Peggy and I are out kayaking among the Orca whales up off the northern tip of Vancouver Island as this blog is posted. Or I should say reposted for the second time. It’s appropriate given our trip, however. We are in First Nation country and we once again drove through Duncan. And, as many of you know, I am a big fan of First Nation and Native American art. –Curt

Dzonoqua comes sneaking through the woods, hands outstretched, red lips pursed and whistling, “ooh, ooh” to attract small children who have wandered into the forests. Some stories say she eats the whiny ones. She is also known as the Wild Woman of the Woods or Mrs. Bigfoot. Her large, dangling breasts capture the spirit of Salmon. Thunderbird perches on her shoulders. His wings crash together and make thunder; his eyes shoot out lightning.

Peggy and I, along with our friends Ken and Leslie Lake, visited Duncan BC on Vancouver Island to check out the numerous totem poles carved by First Nation artists and placed throughout the town.

The close relation of First Nation people to Bear, Eagle, Raven, Whale, Owl, Wolf, Beaver, Salmon, Otter and other animals stretches back to ancient times. Families would adopt particular animals as their totems and then carve these animals into totem poles. The poles would serve to both protect and instruct the families. Some families were even known to shape shift into their totem animal. (Jacob, morphing into a wolf in the Twilight series, is a modern example.)

The arrival of whites in the Northwest had a devastating impact on the people and culture of the First Nation tribes. Disease wiped out whole populations. The practice of native religion and the carving of totem poles were prohibited. It wasn’t until the 1930s that the art of totem pole carving was revived.

It thrives today. Native artists continue to carve traditional themes but they have also extended their interpretations and honed their skills. While the totem poles and masks still serve as important mythic symbols to First Nation people, they have also become a source of pride to all who live in BC and the Northwest. I might add they have also become an important attraction for tourist dollars.

Duncan BC and native artists have done an excellent job of displaying totem poles representative of the north coast. Visiting the town, located on the Trans-Canada highway halfway between Victoria and Nanaimo on Vancouver Island, is well worth the stop.

To enhance your visit, I highly recommend stopping by the Visitor’s Center and picking up the book, “The Totem Walk of Duncan” written by Joan Chisholm and illustrated by Crysta Bouchard and R. Howe. For more information go to: http://www.downtownduncan.ca/duncan_totem_tourNEW.html

Thunderbird in flight. I loved the bright colors of this totem pole in Duncan BC.

This totem pole in Duncan BC shows the spirit of the First Nation artist in the eagle’s chest. Eagle rests on Whale and has Wolf carved on his flukes. Both Whale and Wolf provide powerful protection for the person resting his hands on the flukes.

This photo provides a detail of the totem pole above. Note the fine detail of the carved fingers.

This totem pole was meant as a thank you from one chief to another. Raven perches on top and delivers the pole. Eagle is under Raven and represents the power of the chief, a member of the Eagle Clan. The chief’s son is next. His open hand symbolizes “thank you.” Raven, like Coyote of the Southwest, is a trickster. Both are among my favorite mythological animals.

Most totem poles are highly symbolic. This is a heraldic pole. The frog on top represents wisdom, the bear below power and courage, and the seal a spiritual being that can travel easily between spiritual and physical realms. The red and black mean strength and protection. I see it as one pole accomplishes all.

The bear’s tongue and wide grin caught my attention in this Duncan BC totem pole. I thought at first he might be sampling the guy he is holding in his paws. Apparently it means he is about to shape shift.

I am struck by the sheer power captured in some of Duncan BC totem poles. This eagle is an excellent example.

A different perspective on Bear. I enjoyed looking at and photographing the specific faces seen on the Duncan BC totem poles.

If it weren’t sacrilegious, I’d name this totem pole face smiley.

And finally, a Duncan BC totem pole I simply couldn’t resist. How could anyone say no to a pose and eyes like this?

NEXT BLOG: We cross the border into Canada and are reintroduced to the delicate art of carving with a chainsaw.

The Chicken Whisperer…

August 5, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 29 Comments

Golden Sex Link Chicken. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Boss Hen in all of her feathered glory.

Cluck cluck cluck? Cluck cluck cluck cluck. “Who are you? You are not Bryan,” Boss Hen observed suspiciously. Clearly she was upset. She pecked at my shoe. Cluck cluck! “Take that!” Or maybe it translated “Not edible.” I was still learning Chickenese. Edibility, I discovered, was Boss Hen’s primary criteria for judging everything.

I threw out a handful of chicken scratch (coarsely ground corn), which chickens regard as dessert. I was immediately forgiven for ‘not being Bryan.’ Boss Hen and her three cohorts— the Gang of Four, as I came to know them— begin pecking away at the ground and softly clucking about what a great guy I was.

The Gang of Four, rulers of the roost.

Portrait of a gang member.

Our neighbor Brian had requested that I care for his chickens for a week while he and his family went for a vacation on Vancouver Island in western Canada. Of course I said yes, but I had reservations. My knowledge of chickens was limited to brief encounters as a child and as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Would Bryan arrive home and find that his fowl friends had fed the neighborhood fox?

Our family had raised a few chickens for eating. I had a vague memory of the experience, mainly of chopping off heads, sort of what you would expect a seven-year old boy to remember. But I also recall that my sister Nancy refused to eat them. She had given the chickens names and followed them around, turning over rocks so they could catch any lurking bugs. “I will not eat my pets,” she had insisted stubbornly. My perspective had been that chicken and dumplings are chicken and dumplings: mmm, mmm good.

My three Peace Corps chicken memories were more vivid. First, a Peace Corps staff member had shown up during training in California with a crate of live chickens, a hatchet, a large pot, and a box of matches. “Here’s dinner,” he had announced casually. We were left to work out the details. Second, I returned to my home in Gbarnga, Liberia after a trip and discovered a chicken roosting on our stove. It had pooped all over the kitchen. I gladly ate her. Finally, there was the rooster who crowed under our window at 5:00 a.m. each morning and then ran like hell because I kept a bucket of water ready to throw on him. I’ve blogged about these adventures. You can follow the links for the complete stories.

The rooster in Liberia convinced me that chickens are relatively intelligent birds. A February 2014 article in Scientific American confirmed this. The article reported that, “The birds are cunning, devious, and capable of empathy. And they have sophisticated communication skills.” A rooster, for example, will squawk a special warning to hens and chicks if he spots a hawk flying over. The same rooster alone in the chicken yard with a competing rooster doesn’t utter a peep, but takes evasive measures, leaving his unsuspecting competition alone with the plunging hawk. Bye, bye.

My wife Peggy and I went up to Bryan’s for instructions on Chicken Care 101 before he left. He introduced us to his brood. One pen contained the Gang of Four, all egg laying, another six younger hens, and a hormone-driven, teen-age rooster who couldn’t stop crowing about his intentions. The second pen was filled with young roosters destined to being eaten. We were to watch the chickens’ water and food, which wasn’t a problem. Bryan had labeled the food bags. But he also wanted us to let the Gang of Four and their cohorts out each morning to wander about the yard to supplement their diet. Fine, I could handle that, but what about getting them back in the pen at night?

“Not a problem,” he assured us. “The chickens will return to the pen on their own at dusk.”

“And if they don’t?” I insisted. Apparently I was to take his blue plastic bucket, throw in a couple of handfuls of scratch, and then walk into the pen while shaking the bucket. The hens and rooster would follow. I’d be the Pied Piper of Chickendom. Yeah, right. Our instructions in place, Bryan left on vacation. We were left with the chickens, his undying gratitude, and whatever eggs the chickens laid.

I’ve already described my encounter with the Gang of Four on the first morning. The younger hens had made a dash for the cover of a low-limbed Douglas fir where they liked to hang out. The randy teenage rooster took advantage of the moment to pin one of the young hens to the ground— squawk. It was over in five chicken-clucking seconds. The Gang of Four ignored the ruckus. Any time the rooster approached them, they kicked his tail feathers half way across the yard.

The rooster was quite handsome. And he knew it. Here, he was about to go under the Douglas fir where the young hens were hiding out.

A close up of the cool rooster dude.

Letting the chickens out was a no-brainer; getting them back in lived up to my worst fears. When I arrived that evening, the four older hens were happily pecking away in the chicken pen as advertised. Everyone else was still out and about, taking advantage of unsupervised time. I dutifully went to the garage, put scratch in Bryan’s blue bucket, and started shaking it near where the younger chickens were hanging out. Being teenagers, they ignored me. Not so the Gang of Four. They came rushing out of the pen. Great. Now everyone was milling about outside.

I shook the plastic bucket and headed for the pen. The Gang of Four and three of the younger hens actually followed me. I sent a brief prayer wafting skyward to whatever god the chickens worshipped and threw a handful of scratch on the ground for thanks. More importantly, the scratch would occupy the girls inside while I worked on enticing the hens and rooster still outside.

“Squawk squawk squawk squawk! Cluck, cluck, cluck!” “Oh no you don’t! No, no, no!” A skirmish was going on under the Douglas fir. Feathers were flying. Damn, I thought, the fox has arrived. I dropped the bucket and ran for the tree. Three hens burst out from under the limbs, dashed for the pen, flew up the ramp, and disappeared into the coop. Boy were they fast. Their nemesis— the rooster— followed in hot pursuit. So much for my fox theory. I laughed out loud. Lust had corralled the remaining chickens. I threw the gate closed.

Only two chores remained. Bryan had asked that I make sure that the chickens were locked up safely in their coop, not just the pen. The fence that surrounded and covered the pen showed a large dent. Apparently some animal was trying to break in during the night.

I made a shooing motion at the chickens and everyone except the Gang of Four made for the coop. Boss Hen looked up at me expectantly and clucked. She couldn’t be shooed but maybe she could be bribed. I walked over to the coop and threw a handful of scratch in the small door. About half missed and fell on the porch.

A close up of Bryan’s chicken coop. The box on the side is for egg-laying.

The four large hens rushed over and began pecking away. The rhythm sounded familiar: — — .-. . / … -.-. .-. .- – -.-. …. Could it be Morse code? Could the Gang of Four be pecking out “More scratch.”? Nah, I decided, even though the hens looked hopefully at the blue bucket. Finally, they decided that the bucket was empty and rushed into the coop to clean up anything the rooster and hens had missed. I shut the door and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

My final chore was to check in on the roosters next door who were destined for a date with a chopping block in the near future. I opened the door carefully to make sure none escaped. They were a handsome group of youngsters. They looked up at me curiously. Their food and water was fine, so I decided to share a bit of Hobbesian Philosophy.

The young roosters listened carefully to my sage advice.

I warned this young fellow that sticking his neck out might be hazardous to his health.

“Life is nasty, brutish and short, guys,” I told them. I didn’t have the heart to tell them just how short their life would be. “I would advise you to live in the moment, to take advantage of the time you have.”

“So, send in the chicks,” one clucked to unanimous agreement. The guys spent their day watching the hens in the yard and crowing about true love, or at least a quickie. One of the Gang had actually flown up to check them out. I wasn’t sure whether she was interested in a specific rooster or all of them. I told the youngsters I would think about their request and headed home for a well-earned beer.

Thus ended my first day of being a chicken farmer. There would be several more adventures during the week, but by the end the chickens and I had developed a working relationship. As for the Gang of Four, we had become close. Any time I showed up, they came running and clucking, filling me in on the latest news and gossip. I had become more than a source of scratch; I had become their friend— a Chicken Whisperer.

An inside view of Bryan’s chicken coop, which he built, BTW. The exotic looking chickens here are supposed to lay blue eggs.

I caught this member of the Gang of Four laying an egg. I don’t think she was happy about being photographed.

Part of our pay for taking care of the chickens. The Gang laid between three and four eggs a day.

It’s only appropriate that I conclude this blog with a bird’s-eye view of Boss Hen in her favorite position of pecking up scratch.

NEXT BLOG: Peggy and I are off again. No surprise there, eh. This time we are heading for Port McNeill on the northern coast of Vancouver Island, British Columbia for a week-long kayak trip out among the Orca Whales. We will then dash home and go to Burning Man. That should provide an interesting contrast— moving from the cool and wet ocean to the hot and dry desert! All this means there will be lots to blog about but no time to blog, not to mention no Internet. I do hope to get one blog up on Mt. Rainier National Park, where we were last week, and another up on some of my favorite Burning Man pictures. Maybe. 🙂 Thanks for stopping by, friends. See you in September if not sooner. –Curt

A Journey Underground… Oregon Caves National Monument

July 24, 2014January 24, 2015 / Curt Mekemson / 34 Comments

Rock formations in Oregon Caves National Monument.

Unusual rock formations created by minerals from dripping water led the Oregon Caves to be set aside as a national treasure in the early 1900s.

Claustrophobia: A fear of confined places

Acrophobia came up in my blog about Mt. Whitney. No surprise there, thousands of feet are between the hiker and a rather unfortunate landing. Splat! It’s a reasonable fear. Claustrophobia is just as real as fears go, but more irrational. The odds of being squished in a tight space— unless you are Indiana Jones or a misplaced wookie caught in a starship’s garbage disposal unit— are between slim and none. Don’t sweat it, right?

Try telling that to someone who is claustrophobic. I suggest you don’t stand between her and the exit. I get it. I am not particularly fond of enclosed spaces myself, whether they are physical or mental. I don’t like driving through tunnels and I hate freeway construction where imposing cement barriers shrink down to your vehicle’s width and provide a view of what hell is like. And that’s even before the gigantic truck comes barreling down on you and breathes fire up your tail pipe because you insist on driving 45 MPH in a 45 MPH zone. At least I can take my revenge when they put up plastic cones instead of cement barriers, as Peggy might tell you. Crunch. Curt strikes another blow for freedom.

Where does this leave me with caving, or spelunking, as the sophisticates call it? How do I feel about getting down on my belly and crawling through a space my skinny fourteen-year-old body would have gotten stuck in several hundred feet under ground? Not a problem; it’s not on my to-do list. But for some unfathomable reason, the standard well-known cave tours don’t bother me. In fact, I find them fascinating. Stalactites and stalagmites tickle my fancy and stir my imagination.

Photo showing how stalactites grow in Oregon Cave National Monument.

These small stalactites show tiny drops of mineral laden water that come down from a tube in the center of the stalactite. They will add about an inch of growth in a thousand years. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

This photo from Oregon Cave National Monument shows the development of stalactites (coming down) and stalagmites (coming up). Eventually they meet, as demonstrating on the left. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

This photo from Oregon Cave National Monument shows the development of stalactites (coming down) and stalagmites (going up). Eventually they meet, as demonstrated on the left. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

So when Peggy suggested we head off to the Oregon Cave National Monument for her birthday a couple of weeks ago, I readily agreed. We’d been talking about it ever since we moved to Oregon. Except for the last few miles of the road that shot up a mountain and redefined the meaning of curves, the hour and a half drive was quite pleasant.

A ranger greeted us and gave us the bad news. We should expect a two-hour wait. He also wanted to know if we had been in any eastern caves in the last five years. If so— no go. White nose syndrome was wiping out eastern bats. So far their western cousins had lucked out. It had been six years since we had visited Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. We were in by a cat’s whisker.

Our wait turned out to be just over an hour. There was barely time for lunch and a look through the visitor’s center before we found ourselves at the cave entrance shivering from a blast of 44˚ F air. “Cave’s breathe,” our guide stated. He also told us about the 500 narrow stairs we would be negotiating and the low ceilings. I would be bent over double with my size 14 shoes balanced precariously on wet slippery rocks. I looked enviously at a small girl who would be standing up straight with her feet resting solidly on the narrow stone steps. She gave me an impish grin.

Stone steps in Oregon Caves National Monument

Dimly lit stone steps make their way up from what is known as Ghost Cave. The narrowest ones were about half the depth of my size 14 shoes. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

The Oregon Caves are somewhat unusual in that they are made out of marble. Once upon a time they were a coral reef far out in the Pacific. Plate tectonics sent the Pacific Plate diving under North America and scraped off portions of the ocean floor some 100 million years ago, adding new land to the continent. The tremendous heat and pressure involved changed the lime into marble. Folding, faulting and water created the caves.

This map shows the location of Oregon Caves National Monument. (Center Right)

Lit up stalactites in Oregon Caves National Monument.

Artificial lighting adds to the magic of caves.

Another example of the impact of lighting. The rock on the left had been signed by all of the members of a geology class that had visited in the 1800s. Strict rules are now in place to protect the cave.

Unusual stone structure in Oregon Caves National Monument.

This unusual structure caught my camera’s attention.

Ghostly rock waterfall at Oregon Caves National Monument.

Peggy captured this ghostly rock waterfall. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Cave exit at Oregon Caves National Monument.

A view of where we came out from our 90 minute tour.

Standing on top of the mountain that contains Oregon Caves National Monument.

Tour over, Peggy and I stand on top of the mountain that contains the caves. This photo gives a perspective on the surrounding countryside.

NEXT BLOG: Peggy and I are headed off for a brief hiking tour at Mt. Rainier National Park for the next several days so I may be out of computer range. When I come back I will report on my recent experience as a chicken farmer: The Chicken Whisperer.

Wandering through Time and Place

Exploring the world with Curtis and Peggy Mekemson

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