Mom in Care Center

In Memory of mom...and all those great care takers
of the elderly.

Happy New Year...2001

T'was the night before New Years, I toasted the past
The years with my mother, how long will they last?

I thought of the good times, the battles with Dad
Her trek to Hawaii, nineteen years she did gad.

Back on the Mainland to Panguitch for LaRae
Whose battle with cancer carried the day.

She moved to the Rock House and remodeled with glee
Then became so forgetful, she forgot she was she.

Panguitch Care Center was the next home in line
In which she could live and be safe for a time.

The staff at the center took her in stride
In spite of her anger, her assaults, and her pride.

They appreciate her laughter and her bright grin
Became her defenders through thick and through thin.

I've marveled so often their kindness and care
Through sickness and death that comes to them there.

I know after bathroom trips four times a day
with thirty-four residents complaining her way.

They deserve several raises for that part alone
triple the sum and more...if residents moan.

As if this is what training has taught them to do,
There must be an easier job to go to.

They meet the patient that appreciates the care
Makes the work easier for all of them there.

They develop a love for the old and the wise,
a patience for those who no longer surmise.

I toast those willing to continue on
helping the dying to finish their song.

My mother has lived to a graceful old age
with the staff at the care center, patient and sage.

I thank all the nurses, LPNs, CNAs
the physical therapists, the cooks for each day.

Those that wash all the clothes and clean all the room,
those that plan entertainment with dances and tunes,

I thank all the doctors who moniter the care
of each separate person residing there.

Oh bless you forever, my toast is for you.
Happy New Year today and all the year through!

This poem is for all those out there taking care of the sick and elderly.

Peacock by Hunter (age 10)

Hunter drew and sent this picture,
a cup (mine Hunter) and hot-
pot holders -matching peacocks
for Christmas and birthdays
we had on Dec. 26
sixty years apart.
He turned 11. Me?
I find having a grandson
join me on a birthday
that sort of blends into
Christmas, turned that
60th birthday
into something very special.
COMPANY!
Hunter and I can enjoy the day
and know the other is having
fun too. Afterall,
we are only sixty years apart!

COWBOY by LaRae King

This is Dona Peterson's painting
given by LaRae to her and Jim,
I'm sure for that Cowboy Jim,
hanging on Dona's wall.
I was there trying to find out facts
Decided to post in honor
of finishing the damn book, again..
I started on Index and found errors.
And more errors.
So I'll need to finish and finish
But I finished enough to write
a poem about Clyde King and daughters
that would not work in the book.
This picture reminded me of him..
and that it's Christmas...So I guess
I'll post it here.

Clyde King and Five Daughters

When I think of all those hours,
driving cattle, in the truck going from
Boulder to Salt Gulch and back,
watering alfalfa fields, hauling
cows to Koosheram to sell...
all those hours of silence.

I wonder why Clyde didn't believe
in his girls strong minds,
didn't know they had nerve and fire
wanting to conquer the world
as well as the cattle business.

He could have taught us to rope and ride
how the actual business ran,
What made a good cattle range.
What plants to grow or avoid
(which plant was the dread "loco weed".
What was good stock or poor.
What was the ideal herd and why
cut that one out?
What to look for when you buy?
How to sell at the best price
at the right time.
We should have known the cattle business
top to bottom when we left home.
He didn't believe girls had minds.

Gerry quit school to be a writer.
She insisted all her sisters, kids, and
anyone else who would listen..WRITE.
We wrote. We agonized over what we said..
while she tackled the difficult subjects
of Child molesting, adultry, abortion..
She insisted we think
And keep thinking!

Marge finished her training as a registered Nurse
Worked in mental hospitals and in Public Health.
She became director at Maricopa State Mental Hospital
Trained to be a Nurse Practioner
Opened her own clinic where she
worked until retirement.
She made money..and wrote articles about health,
published books written by Aunt Nethella and Irene,
She did one about Floyd and one about Clyde with Ann.
Is writing now about herself...
the hard one.

LaRae was a budding cartoonist, artist and sculptress
when she was taken by Cancer, a Downwinder.
She was director of Braithweight Museum when she died.
Our monument of loss.
We don't forget her sense of humor
Her book of poetry called "Coffin Nails"
and her courageous struggle with Ovarian Cancer.

Ann finished her Masters while teaching at Tolleson.
Moving to Utah,taught swimming at Monroe Hot Springs.
She went to Piute High and on to Panguitch High.
where she lost pancreas and spleen to a 'sick' building?
Retired, is now trying to make writing time.
(And still teaches swimming lessons.)
Poetry comes out in all it's various forms
and is almost ready with her Esclante Monument book.

Linda is the most renoun poet among us.
She has several books to her name.
She is both artist and sculptress,
the heads of famous poets and family
sit around the country.
She complains they are heavy..and
may give them up for poetry,
much lighter to handle... and paintings.

So Clyde, your daughters still struggle
for elusive fame, but we have made
a mighty effort. I hope you now,
residing on The Other Side
admire the girls!

Holidays are here

Alana has her reindeer up...and other stuff.
Her reindeer are made of fur, so when
the snow falls, the reindeer collect snow
and it slides off naturally.
The paper is put inside..
She handmade them all!
My grandkids love to visit
and wish the reindeer were coming
off their roof, onto their lawn.
We stop by to see the 101 dalmations
playing on another lawn..
all 101 are there.
Kids count!
Their mom makes peanut brittle
and cheeseballs...
and crochets rags for washing dishes
for everyone! They are the best.
I put up my santas and make
treats to keep people from
getting diabetes...like popcorn
and apples!

House Lights Up

Considering Tom has had four leg surgeries
and gimps.. has had a bubble in his eye
can't see.. has all his teeth pulled
can't eat..
He managed to put up lights
and make the holidays brighter.
and is hoping
the New Year will
be better!

Some Santas

I collect Santas for Christmas,
Trying to find some variety,
something different.
The favorite is the
Santa Claus Cow,
sent by Grandsons.
Reminding me of my days
with real, not Santa cows.
The magic of Christmas is
combining fantasy and fact
in lights and lore and music,
all the sounds of fun.
Add the pomp and ceremony
of religions in celebration
and the wonder of creation.
Christmas is magical mixture.
Christmas is light.
Christmas is love.
Santa??
He is the joy of giving...

Taz and Gomez

All these cute dog pictures
reminded me of my old dogs
and how much I miss them.
Gomez is the one with
the Christmas tree.
Taz is my-picking-up
rocks-from-the-bottom-of
the-canal dog.
He loved water.
What better place to be?
Christmas is a time for memories.

HOLIDAY MUSIC

I love music for the holidays.
The Children's Program the
grandkids do complete with Santa
is always a treat.
Drew said he knows two songs..
I'll make them sing for me
since I can't make it as
its on the same day I am
going to hear Logan play the sax
in the Christmas Band concert.
Shayna is part of a special choir
at her school and I do want to
make time for that.
She sings all year.
Garret plays his rock guitar.
I do hope my grandkids in
Washington State
are singing...
and I think I'll listen
to Susan Boyle..her voice
has wonderful tones.
The world agrees.
Christmas is the time
for music...
music throughout the world.

Reindeer

The Christmas Holidays are here.
I want to share our small town's
most creative builder of paper mache..
all the reindeer, Santa, snowmen,
and sled are hand made by Alana.
Halloween she does huge spooks,
and monsters hanging around her house...
or at least did while her children was home.
She has done the whole Alice in Wonderland,
Dorthy and the Wizard of Oz and other
remarkable sets for the junior prom.
She did a whole band that moved and
played for the Bobettes, a marching group
at school for their competition performance.
She has made our town richer by her
creative mind and artistic ability.
Much of her work is long gone.
I hope she took pictures!

I want to share one picture and dedicate
this blog to the creative and talented
who do their work for the rest of us.
For Raymond Shurtz in Austin, Texas
doing his one man show, Bohemian Cowboy.
for our holiday pleasure,
and to all those who do so much for others.

Desert Bighorn at Zion's

I loved this picture Jason took when they went to Zion's Canyon through the tunnels. This picture is for the men that happen by as they do love wild life.

ZION'S CANYON

When my kids were little,
you could still stop inside the
tunnel, park, and feed
the overweight squirrels.
Now you drive straight through.
But the Canyon still exists
in all it's wild beauty.
The Great White Throne is
amazing in its size and majesty.
Angel Landing Trail
took another life
over the holidays.
There is always danger
when climbing such heights,
walking on the edge of
high peaks.
Mala just went to Emerald
Trail..a safe and beautiful
walk for kids.
Deer are company
at Zion's Canyon.
Everyone tells you to
watch for Desert Bighorn...
like these...
so seldom seen...
standing on the edge of cliffs.

Massacre

This in a new book out on the Mountain Meadow Massacre in Utah. I have been trying to find information on John D. Lee in Panguitch and decided to read about this terrible incident in Morman History written by Walker, Turley, and Leonard.
This book is so well documented down to what was said, who was in charge, the fear and upset at the time, and what moves were made that I can't help but be impressed.
The people involved were carefully followed through historical information, assignments in the church, and the reasons that were made.
Juanita Brooks was the first historian to write about the Massacre. She published Mountain Meadow Massacre and John D. Lee, as well as Lee's Diaries.
I refer you to her as first. She summed up the event, and is quoted in this book published 2008, "Exaggeration, misrepresentation, ungrounded fears, unreasoing hate, desire for revenge, yes even the lust for the property of the emigrants, all combined to give justification which, once the crime was done, looked inadequate and flimsy indeed." Who could say it better?
I was fascinated by the mindset of those who advocated and ordered the massacre once the thought was put into motion. Some objected and went along. Some objected and didn't go along. Some protested loudly, but didn't stop what happened. Killing became the way to go. So at what point do people move into violence that will follow them the rest of their lives? When do murderers decide to murder..rapist decide to rape? We had over the holidays a family member turn rapist against a child...also in the family. What caused that action to take over? All of us are
aware of how drinking and drugs can lead to violence, but when do those that do violence decide it is the way to go? Abortion is the act of killing our children, so when does that become okay? There are those that will kill the abortionist...when does that become okay? We have those that are saying abortion and marriage (gay or not) are constitutional rights. We have increasing gang killings. What happens when killing is the way to go? Have we become a nation of Killers?
Mormans will always live with that massacre as part of their religion. 120 men, women and children killed in an act of deceit. Terrible.
Killing might not be good to bring up as part of the Holiday Spirit...but then, neither is rape. People act. And we all react.

MIRRORED TURKEY

I am a mirrored turkey,
Part here. Part not.
Sometimes a splendid grandma,
Or not.
My children have flown the coop
and left me tottering along
I think of their dear little faces...
their dear grown up faces
so responsible
and caring so well
for my grandchildren.
So from Grandma's House
(not filled with cakes and pies)
I reach out from
my real self...
The REAL TURKEY
gobbling all about love
and wonderful family
here with Tom Turkey
doing the same.
The mirrored one?
Are we both part real?
OR...
A couple of turkeys
HANGING OUT!

Grandma Wilson

Grandpa and Grandma moved. They moved to get training. They moved to Work. They moved to come 'home' to Boulder. Grandpa didn't stay long in any one place while teaching. I remember their home in Boulder. They moved to Salt Lake. In 1944,
they sold out in Boulder and moved to Bear Lake Hot Springs. We visited there and went swimming with Grandma in the warm water. They moved back to Salt Lake...and I do remember having dinner with old aunts and uncles or family, but it didn't seem like a holiday. So I can't say much about Thanksgiving with the Wilsons.
Grandma was so kind and always interested in whatever problem arose. She would sit down and talk at the kitchen table and have a 'little hot drink' (water and lemon). She was sickly and would talk about her headaches. Her hair hung for years below her waist. Mother and Aunt Vesta finally talked her into cutting it short and she was amazed that her headaches went away. Grandpa loved her long hair.
When I got engaged to Tom, she was the only one that acted pleased as punch. Of course she gave me lessons on morality (her thing), what to do, and how to behave, but I was grateful for her support. She was always glad to see us both walk in her door.
Grandma was a saver..beneath the garage was an open space where she stored all the bits of wrapping paper, hundreds of ribbons, cards, everything. I was send down to bring up 'just some colored paper and a ribbon or two.' When Grandma died, she had every card every sent her stored away. We saved some of the old homemade ones that looked like lace and roses. Oh yes, she dried many flowers and would add them to special notes. Many plants she turned into tea. I drank rose and mint teas with her. She would add honey for health purposes. Grandma was a midwife, nurse, and teacher..and she would always give advice.
I remember her, not for the holidays, but for her presence in my life.

Grandma King

I have spent some time trying to learn how to cut Grandpa out of the picture, but it didn't work. Just look at Grandma!

I have been trying to remember
Thanksgiving and going to Grandma's
for Dinner. I don't remember
too well the actual dinner and
who was there.
What I do remember is the making of
suet pudding in a coffee can long before
Thanksgiving,putting it away, then making
the sauce before dinner.
I remember the turkey stuffed with dressing
sitting on the old black cookstove
and thinking that it was so big,
we would all have all we wanted to eat.
The big kettle, sometimes two, full of
potatoes to be mashed to lightness with
real butter and thick cream.
The pumpkin pies served with real whipped cream.
Mother wanted Elderberry that she
walked in the mountains to pick..
or pecon pie, but I wanted only pumpkin.
No cake. No cookies. Pumpkin Pie.
There were little bowls of relish,
cranberry jelly, pickled beats,
cooked carrots and green beans with bacon.
Grandma ran the kids from under her feet.
"Go outside. You are in the way."
We would go, but soon be peeking back
inside.
The men ate first with the women if there was room...
and then the kids could crowd the table and
eat everything! We thought we did.
I had pumpkin pie...but later
Grandma would dish us a spoon of suet pudding
with dressing. We were special.
We all got to share.
Thanksgiving with Grandma King...

Fall Flowers by my door

I thought I needed a change of pace..We still have some of these flowers lingering. The snow has come and gone. I am reading Harriet Beecher Stowe, and my admiration for her work in her time grows. Women, in that time, were not allowed to speak in public...it wasn't womanly. The attitudes toward slavery, toward women not having a strong voice are slow in changing, but they have changed and are changing.
Having President Obama speaking daily, weathering criticism, running our country
changes the way everyone in the country thinks. We will eventually have a woman president as well. I wonder how I, sitting in my little town in Southern Utah, can evoke change, calm the violence of others. Panguitch just elected a woman as mayor. She ran and won before. She is back in. Women are being elected all over the country. Hispanics win. Blacks win.. Our country is being run by the many people who live here. We are represented "by the people" in many positive ways.
I vote. I will offer an opinion. What more can I do???

John D. Lee Home

This picture was taken in 1935
of the old John D. Lee home,
but no one seems to know just
where it was,
what happened to it,
if someone built on top of it,
or if this is really it.

Why do I want to know?
I wanted to add it
as a special interest story
to my book.
Lee was the only man
punished for the Mountain
Meadow Massacre and was
captured in Panguitch,
I want to be accurate.
Every story I've heard
seems not quite right.

That's what happens to History
as people speak from their
own memories and place in time
and so much contradicts
someone else's view.
I look for a date,
written information to
verify a story.
and try finding facts.

So I have a house...
Whose house?
Where did it go?
Does someone remember???

Kate's Picture

I was surprised to see
this picture of LaRae's
up on Katie's wall...
I didn't know she did sheep
but isn't that like her
to look at two sides of
any issue?
She studied the off sides
of viewpoints on
religion, politics or human rights.
She admired the rebel.
She understood that point of view
and allowed discussion.
She went off to check out
the gay world with Richard,
the spirits with Gerry,
those medium workshops with LaRena,
Women Rights with advocates,
always testing each point of view.
She could see the point of sheep
as well as cattle
and why they hated each other.
She was a woman who seemed
to know all sides...
or always left the door open.

Veteran's Day

I am trying to add an image..all the information was on my post, not the picture.
Then the picture came, so will they appear together? I don't know.
I'm trying it out.
I made this poster to
give to the Reynolds,
after getting exact dates
about grandfather/great-grandfather's
career in the Black Hawk War.
I think of our Veterans
overseas, fighting for their lives,
fighting for us, and am
touched by their brave lives.
Veterans give me freedom,
give me hope,
touch my heart,
risking their lives.
Panguitch Elementary
gave a tribute to Veterans
as children do all over
the USA.

At the very bottom, where you can't read
is 58 years/10 months in the military
total for the Reynolds' family.

Kreative Blogger Award

I got this award, with instructions.
I am trying to follow
what I was told and post.
I am getting the idea
and now have a new gaget
on my blog.
Maybe I can add pictures too!
Awards are fine!
Thanks.

BRIGADOON

I went to see this musical
put on by high school students
and my granddaughter.
She had a backup part,
smiled like she was having a ball
and sang her heart out.
I was surprised to find
I loved this story of Brigadoon,
a town that, when it appears the
next day to them, it is 100 years
later. Each day is 100 years apart.
People can stay only if they love enough.
The story is of two young lovers,
one from the modern world,
the other born in the 1700's
and how they fell enough in love to
be with one another.
It is a magical play
set in Scotland and filled
with bagpipes and Scottish flings,
a bit of a brouge,
and wonderful singing.
Very well done for a high school
performance.
I loved seeing Shayna moving
through her part.
It wasn't long ago that I
saw a tv special explaining
how an opera works...
How the parts are written
and parts are won because
you can sing sophrano, alto,
tenor or baritone.
Shayna is a Junior now
so in another year will be
moving on...
I hope she gathers all the
experiences she can that she does
just for the fun of it.

HIDDEN LAKE

Glade and Darlene stopped by
on their way to Kanab and
up Johnson Canyon to Cannonville
in their new Jeep Renegade.
I jumped in with them,
going on the trip I
planned for three years.
We found Hidden Lake
just north of Glendale.
Off the road, up a small hill
we were let in by the owners to
drive right to the Lake.
Hidden Lake is from, they say,
a volcano...the Indians said "No bottom",
but it has been measured since
at 87 feet deep..and fed by
three springs.
The owner put in 400 fish.
They were all dead by morning.
When a resort, in times past,
a dancehall was on its shore.
It was a first for all of us.
None of us had seen Hidden Lake.
We went to Kanab
on up Johnson Canyon
and finally over the
rough stretch to Cannonville.
Did you know that Deer Spring Ranch
is a hugh working ranch midway
between Johnson Canyon and Cannonville?
And that there is a dirt air strip
out in the middle of nowhere?
Bull Valley Gorge is still
nerve-wracking to peer into
or drive over.
Glade hit a pot hole and
shredded a tire, so we
did not make this trip
unscathed.
His jeep purchase
was a day old.
Three men from Tropic
helped change it and
get us back on the road.
We visited Bea in Cannonville
and came on home.
A great trip!
I would have been happy just
finding Hidden Lake, but
going over a new (for me) road
through the Monument
made it an unforgetable day.

ranch called Deer Spring ranch

Yards..for Halloween

Pumpkin bags full of
wizard treasure sit
around town ready to burst
wide open at the sounds of
kiddies...
Alana no longer puts up
her myriads of ghosts and
goblins falling from her house
when her kids moved.
I miss those spooky shapes.
Rick puts up his treasure
trove of Casper, Witches,
and Scooby Dooooo.
Jason carves intricate faces
on pumpkins...
All the kids love Halloween.
Drew was excited to "join the game".
Adults and kids draw together
dressing up or dressing down
just for fun.
Grandma's hand out candy...
Connie, blogging, makes a
colorful, intricate, flashing
story...
and people laugh.
Drew only wants me
to be a mummy...he
hasn't seen one yet!

DOWNWINDERS

I chose this book of Dianne's to talk about instead of A Brief History of Male Nudes in America, short stories, just because I feel part of the whole Downwinder problem. I read this book before I purchased it. The big problem with Cancer is that you don't know exactly where it came from, so you can't go out and sue the world. Ranchers and sheepmen knew what was happening when cattle and sheep died, but proving it to the very ones that thought it all right to bomb the hell out of Utah, was very difficult. I certainly relate to the anger felt by so many and still suffer. When I finished radiation and chemo, the numbers coming into the St. George Cancer center had tripled in just that period of time. I hear it's higher now. All those who drank radiated milk and ate the food ash fell on are now going through cancer. How long it will affect the land...plutonian? Generations still. I'ts hard to believe that our government would bomb the hell out of us just to find out how bad a nuclear war could be. As if Hiroshima wasn't enough. Dirty Harry was three times the size of the bomb dropped on Hiroshima.
My sister LaRae, who died of ovarian cancer. actually worked for a time at the test site. So did my brother-in-law, Pole. Both died of Cancer in their fifties.
So many others have joined them.
This book, though a novel, is timely with some facts about the testing that are very true. Diane and her husband did an excellent job. The story line, about a murder, only brought out the facts of many more murdered.

POET? ME?

I read Dave's book and images curled from sandrock and floated to the tops of canyons. Metaphors hung from cracks. I so enjoyed those slick-rock slopes and red
drifts of Indian Lore. I re-read my own and couldn't snag a single, standout, upright metaphor! What's worse, I didn't want to add any. I didn't even care!
Let's face it. I'm not a born poet...
Linda called and told me about dreaming that her elephant was out in the ocean filling his truck straight out full of salt water..and what did that mean? That girl dreams in metaphors. Her elephants are always trumping and tromping up and down her dreams and she is there saying..What does it mean? What are they trying to say? If it's not elephants, it's swans or deer or long-necked giraffes or some other damn metaphor. Linda is the dreaming poet. What else can she write?? Oh don't get me wrong, I'm not stopping my poetry. If I want to write a damn poem, I will...rhymned or not. Metaphor or not.
I just want you to know that I'm writing prose sometimes just to explain why I'm not a poet, if for no other reason. Like now. All these good poets just suddenly got on my nerves. So I was born with no TALENT! What the hell. They put me out in a field to water. That's just water on thirsty plants. No metaphor about that. I will continue to write just exactly what I want to in spite of the world's great poets.

MOVING ON

Enjoy, a moment, Fall in Boulder
Breathtaking...
I am moving on.
Fall, here in Panguitch
has come and gone.
Mounds of partly-dried
yellow leaves flit
when the wind blows.
Snow is on its way.

I must look for new moments
new creations.
Moving on.

WRITING CONFERENCE PRESENTERS

DIANNE NELSON OBERHANSLY, DAVE LEE, RAYMOND SHURTZ

What a group we were,
writers and presenters,
At the Hogsback Heritage Project
as hunters gathered on Boulder Mountain
for opening day, turning our back
on hunting for three intensive
"deer days".

Dave Lee, Utah's first Poet Laureate in 1997,
received a Commendation Award in 2002.
In 1999, his collection News From Down too the Cafe
was nominted for a Pulitzer Prize and was a finalist
for Unites States Poet Laureate.
His poem Kaiparowits Pleateau
blankets a wall in GSENM's information center
in Escalante and Wayne County.
He is retired from teaching and came to Boulder
for Cheryl and her mother LaRae.
He wrote poems of crazy women in Texas (or someplace)
on the theme of Women
and made us laugh ...and beautiful poems of
rocks and ledges that made us want to cry.
He taught us metaphor and similie
from his writing and writing
and we were blessed.

Dianne Nelson Oberhansly was born on a
Utah Homestead Ranch ninety miles from the Nevada Test Site.
Her collection of short stories,
A Brief History of Male Nudes in America
won the Flannery Oconnor Award.
What a wizard she is with words.
They weave like a Navaho blanket
throught her presentation.
She makes me want to create words
and more words.

And Raymond, my great Heaven! 30 plays?
I had to read that twice.
I DID NOT KNOW THAT.
Where have I been?
You have gained by teaching;
the tools to find ways for people to
open up and create!
I so enjoyed your presentation.
You seemed both so knowledgeable
and yet more hesitant at the same time.
Appealing somehow.
You know what you know.

I, the writer, was hit with such
a barrage of word and action that
I still can hardly move.
Dave Lee's first class poetry reading
actually did remind me some of
Bohemian Cowboy.
You certainly have to read well
to hold people for an hour and half.
Cheryl, can you hold forth with
even more expansion and depth?
I wouldn't wonder.
You are one to amaze
this old Auntie.
I think you could pull people
out of the hat that the rest
don't believe exists.
And smile and enjoy the moment!

Hogsback Heritage Project

I am returning to Boulder
with it's ripgut fences,
and ripgut memories
amid new faces
ready to write.

The writing conference,
Boulder Cliff Notes
Words and Place,
writing that will
stir angry protest
and unstated rebellion
of past years,
yet love for place
and people.

I want to resolve conflict
reach beyond the past
into the future...
Lay to rest those
haunting feelings
and walled pride.

Laugh with others
that love Boulder.
Let love survive
and be strong.
Going beyond the rest...

I'll write. I'll think.
I'll plan and let
the miracles come.

Macular Hole

A macular hole is a tear
in the retina of the eye
as you can see in the photo.
The eye is
filled with a gel-like substance
called vitreous that shrinks
and pulls away with age.
Some cases it adheres
unable to pull away,
the tissue stretches and tears
making a macular hole.

I find a picture of this hole
fascinating in it's color and
form...in the complex
working parts of the eye.
Marveling that
our vision provides
such diversity in colors,
shapes, and texture
within a single eyeball.

To repair the tear
the gas bubble
pushes against the tear
to replace and restore
eyesight once more.

The healing of the
eye only matches the
marvel of medicine.

PHOTO OF BUTCH CASSIDY'S FAMILY HOME

I took this picture of the old family home on my way to Richfield the other day. Butch has become part of Southern Utah History. I took his sister, Lula Parker Bettinsen for a drive down the canyon one day when she was trying to sell some of the Parker's property in Circleville Canyon. She told stories of what she knew about Butch as she was born after he left home. At 92 she wrote the book Butch Cassidy, My Brother dictating to her granddaughter.
I wrote the following poem after reading her book.

GRANDMA PARKER

Lula, the sister of Butch,
Did what she wanted to do.
Wrote the story of LeRoy Parker
when she was 92.

Now go and read that book.
See what she had to say,
This poem is about her Granma,
The decision she made that day.

Grandma pushed a handcart
Across the lonely plain.
She pushed and pulled and tugged
Through beating sun and rain.

She crossed the many rivers
And suffered heat and cold,
She climbed the Rocky Mountains
On and On that handcart rolled.

The elders said they had made it
Would roll into Salt Lake that day.
Everything that Grandma owned
In that handcart lay.

As she pushed through Emigration Canyon
After monts on the westward road,
She suddenly couldn't take it.
She could not stand the load.

Giving a scream and a mighty shove
She pushed toward the edge
Then that handcart teetered
And she shoved it off the ledge.

All her things went flying...
The handcart broke apart.
She walked into Salt Lake City
Satisfaction in her heart.

FALL

In the fall of our lives,
I wonder if we, too, burn brightly
before we fade.

The tree drops its leaves
and waits through winter
to renew once more, come spring.

We, first small grow and are nourished
create and give to the world
nourish others
then fade and are gone.

I hope, in the final fading..
we burst forth with color
feel joy for our lives
delight in our creations
and touch hearts once more.

In the meantime
I love the changing seasons
and renew myself
each passing year.

BRUNO

Bruno is visiting
laying on my foot,
chewing bones on my foot,
biting my foot,
I have to move him off.

He jumps up to bark
at the neighbors' barking
mutts next door,
at the fight across the street
at midnight,
at coyotes yapping
at six A.M.
Now he snoozes.

Bored, he talks...
makes these sounds
in his throat telling you
his troubles.
I laugh.
Can't help it.

My dogs have gone
to the Great Beyond
I am content
tending granddogs.

BUTCH CASSIDY'S CABIN

This picture came out in a sleek magazine by Zion's Bank last week. Circleville folk decided to make this cabin into a stop for tourists and fixed up the cabin, added pictures, redid the plaster between the logs, put up a picnic table and opened up. When all the pictures had been stolen, the chink removed from between the logs, and people began chipping souvineers from the logs, they closed again. The picture shows the cabin when it was fixed. Circleville is less than 30 miles from Panguitch. I could ride my Old Lady Bike there. (but won't)
I was in Cannonville talking to people about stories of the past and they told me about Laura Johnson Babs who rode with Butch Cassidy's bunch. I can find no history about her actually being part of the gang, but who knows? I like a good story.

OUTLAW LADY LAURA

Take our own outlaw Butch Cassidy
From up Piute way
Had the roughest, toughest Wild Bunch
Or so they always say.

But did you know Lady Laura
Who rode the Chisholm Trail?
She could keep up with The Bunch
Side-saddle, without fail.

Her heart she gave to Billy Moore.
Her trading post drew outlaw fame
At the head of the Paria
Bandits knew her name.

She rode by horse to Texas
Some twenty times, they say.
She was there when banks
were robbed, and she took her pay.

The story goes that Bill
Along with Butch and Dance
Robbed Kanab Bank and said goodby
Taking an awful chance.

Laura waited long and watched
For Billy to return to her.
She rode three times to Texas
Sticking her horse like a burr.

Her love was gone. He was lost.
She waited through the years.
No one came. No news was heard
To quiet her deathly fears.

Finally she wed another
The years went slowly by...
Then one day Billy Babs returned.
She met him with a cry.

She divorced her husband
When divorce was grim.
She left with Billy.
She married him.

This outlaw woman's behavior
shocked the good folks there.
Her name was not mentioned.
No one seemed to care.

Not long after, she returned.
To live her last years alone.
She couldn't live with the outlaw.
She wouldn't go bck home.

So the story died, a smothered death
But I'mn reviving it, ya see?
All this attention given old Butch
Ought to be shared, seems to me.

With the side-saddle rider, Miss Laura
Starry-eyed in love she fell,
And rode with the gang called The Wild Bunch
on their midnight rides to hell.

OLD LADY BIKE

My new mode of travel
now grandkids are in school
not needing tending
and I need to run to the
post office or store,
is the Old Lady Bike.

Now some people I know
wouldn't be caught dead
on the 'adult tricycle',
but I like returning
to childhood as I
pump around town
looking at flowers
checking if a new pup
is around...buying
a couple of things to
haul around.

My son and grandchildren
bought me the bike
for my birthday,
the kids thinking
I could haul
water and food when
we rode bikes to
the park -
not that I might
fall off on my head
from my 25 year old dog.

I like not using gas,
making my knees work
to become more limber,
feeling my heart race
trying to go too fast uphill:
living longer.

Since I have no pride
about appearing old
and peddle around town,
other older people
appear on bikes
peddling...oh not the men
just the ladies on their
Old Lady Bikes.

THE QUILT WALK

At the Panguitch Quilt Walk Festival 2003
this quilt of all the people killed in 9/11
was on display.
It impacted me of just how many died.
Tears fell. Tears fell.

I wrote his poem for the Panguitch Quilt Walk:

How about that famous quilt-walk
You hear about in Pang-town
Where men walked over the mountain
Quilt after quilt they lay down.

The whole town ran out of flour,
Not a drop did they have to eat.
Snow as too high and deep for a horse.
Men would have to go on feet.

Seven walked over the mountain,
All the way to Parowan.
Each step they took on a quilt
Was one more step toward town.

They brought back the flour
so the town wouldn't die,
Quilts thrown one by one
Back over the mountain..NO LIE!

Those men did save the families.
Panguitch remembers that day.
They are heroes of the past,
Honored in a special way.

But...
What about those quilt-making women?
Praise them to the sky.
For without those strong, well-made quilts
The mountain would have been too high!
-Ann King Reynolds

TIED QUILTS

I love making a quilt
putting it together
creating a design
from scraps or
material specially bought.
Tying, tying, tying.

I have quilted, yes
and my respect for the
real quilters of the
world grows
when I look on
one-inch square
pieces or mosiacs
beyond belief.
I bow to those
quilters...

and go on enjoying
what I do.
putting something
together new.
my daughter did
this M in high school
thirty years ago.
I finished it
thinking she could
be warm camping.

I am thinking now
of cartoons and
quilts for my
grandkids
pictures
using new technology
and all the possiblilities
used today.

Sending off
coverings of love
once more.

THE GARDENER

His leg kills him to stand on,
but he gathered rock
off the mountain
until he had enough
for the volcanic rock planter.

Dirt was brought in
for the wood chips to top.
He loaded up slate rock
in Salt Gulch,
then wondered why
his leg was swollen
the next day.

He's planted his garden
of onion, potatoes, and
asparagras.
Pods grew on his
potato vines that could
only be seed.
Neither of us has seen
potato seed before!

He still has spasms from
his neck surgery
and his arms feel numb,
but he dug up each plot
for Black-eyed Susans,
Osteopermam Hybrid,
Gazanias, Russian Sage,
Dianthus, and Roses
creating beauty.

Now awaiting eye surgery,
a gas bubble to heal a tear
he plots what he'll
do next summer...
like go to King's Pasture
and put in the pole fence.

FOREST FIRE

Picture in Richfield Reaper

I am moved by
this red ball sun
glowing through smoke
billowing up from
burning forests

Red glow above
crackling flame
and blackened trees
bend into dead
shapes.

Fear catches
as fire leaps,
surrounding
life and swallowing
breath..
Mystery glows.

We discover
the power,
the danger,
and beauty of
Mother Earth.

Oh, lost treasures!

THOMPSON LEDGE

A painting by Linda Lu King

We climbed with bare feet
walking up the cracks
of Thompson Ledge
higher and higher.
The most dangerous spot
was creeping around the ledge
to sit in the hole
at the top.

We could view Boulder,
hear moms yelling for kids,
see who was riding down
the road from Hall's Store.
See who was at King's.

We would decide
to climb on up top
or back down
sliding over the
rounded sections
to Cedars and Pine
below.

This is my painting
to share.
You cannot have it.
Linda can't have it.
She painted for me
a childhood
memory
of fun, laughter,
and stone.
I love how she
colored it real.

VISTA HOME

From the top of
Thompson Ledge
looking down on
my house, barn,
and fields at home.
The one closer.

Thompson Ledge
Our refuge.
Our escape
from the troubles
escalating screaming
curses of parents
and endless work
at home.

We ran.
We skipped.
We climbed
to look beyond
our petty world
to look
into distances
beyond
and dream
of far-off places
and kind men,
gentle women,
only read about.

Our eyes reached
beyond mountains
into cities of
civility and
lawful sanity,
not knowing then
we dreamed.

We dreamed.
Vistas remain
and remind us
to keep
on dreaming.

VISTA

In the distance is the
Henry Mountains,
in between
the canyons and
rugged sandstone ledges
that cut through
the land from the
Escalante Rocks.

It's a view that
staggers the mind
stretches the eye
beyond and beyond
to cover the eras
when wind and water
cut through time
and earth.

I am a speck upon the land,
a living speck.
strong and real
part of it all.
The wind makes and takes
my breath.
I make my way
along with a million
others here on earth.

My life is mine.
Vistas open before me
and I choose
what way to go.

REDMAN

We came to Darlene's
80th birthday party
rode down Alvey Wash
to discover Redman.

He has been here
a thousand years or more
painted by Anasazi
who walked the rivers
poked holes in the ground
to grow wheat or corn
didn't have horses
painted the ledges
made arrowheads
and stone grinders
lived and breathed
now dust

80 years slip by
we try to leave our mark
words on printed page
paint on canvas
clay sculptured
some way to make
an imprint
of passing
and share our
lives with those
we leave behind

Appreciate
the paintings left
the words and thoughts
that touch our hearts
make us mindful
of gifts yet unreceived

Kanyonland King

Least I forget my name...
not Mountain Woman...
let me show you Long Canyon
found in the Circle Cliffs
going north of The Gulch
where I ran the Wild Steer.

My sisters and I hiked
sandrock ledges
found caves and
climbed into canyons.
We escaped flash floods
and rolled rocks off peaks
expored Indian artifacts by
finding arrowheads and
stone knives along narrow
trails.

Today, I still love to
escape into the canyons
looking for gold hidden
by outlaws or Aztecs,
discovering another deep
gorge or hidden wonder in
wild flowers or strange shapes,
feeling the wind seeking
my spirit, or the rain
washing it clean,
always amazed at our
passing on this land.

QUEST

Lulinda came on a quest
from the sea side at SF
to the mountain King's Pasture
to replenish her spiritual soul.
I joined her when she came by...

She traveled the earth...
long, hot, hours through
the Nevada desert..
The changing redrock colors
of homeland Utah,
to the quakies and pine
on mountaintop.
I joined her there.

We sat by the fire
growing calm with the flickering
glow of embers and the past,
although warned of
forest fire in the dry grasses
by my always aware
mate and drenched it
when we felt renewed by the glow.

Forest fire smoke filled the
valleys between here and there.
Visibility clouded, but morning
brought a blue, blue sky
and clean, fresh, pine soaked air.
We breathed and breathed
soaking sun.

I dreamed that LuLinda should
put her hands in the mountain
spring's cold, cold water.
Her hands are numb.
She dreamed she should put them in
the salty Pacific.
We dreamed
and drank the fresh, spring water.

Earth, Fire, Water, Air
We embraced the moment
Lulinda dedicated her land
to the great spirit of all.
So others could come, renew
in this same way back.
To know we are part
of it all...

THE WILD STEER

Daddy came in the night before
hot, dirty, vile-tempered
after two-weeks gathering cattle
down 'Below' - Circle Cliff area.
He didn't speak.
My girlfriend and I
scurried out of his way.

Morning, he yelled upstairs:
"Girls, come'on.
Get the horses.
I'll take you to The Gulch.
I want you to bring in
the cattle gathered there."

He jumped the horses
into the powewagon,
instructed us all the way,
backed them off on a bank.

"Go down The Gulch
until you find them, and
DON'T LOSE ANY COWS
so I have to go back and look for them.
Follow the canyon
and take them up the trail."

"What trail?"

"The cattle trail to Deer Creek.
Christ! Don't be stupid.
The cows know where to go..."
I'm supposed to let the COWS
find the trail?

The Gulch,
a deep, twisting canyon,
sandstone wall rising
to blank out the sun,
corralled them.

Old cows and steers scrambled
to their feet and began to
move, lowing.
Out from the bushes
came a huge, wild steer.
Its horns long and sharp,
a wild, crazy look in its eye.
It was a wild one that had
been chased for years.

He can't mean
I've got to bring
THAT STEER home.
Impossible!

It took off up the canyon,
running crazily over bush and tree.
"Bring the others." I shouted.
Whirling, I raced after it
on a dead run.
Up the canyon. Turn.
Down the canyon. Turn.
Up. Down.

Maurine, trailing cattle
missed the trail
dragging them all after me.
I whirled back.
"Chase this one." I screamed.

She took off
on a dead run
leaving me to find
the lost trail with a herd
of thirsty cattle.
One of the old cows
remembered the trail
and headed home.
I followed, pushing the herd.

We traded. I ran the wild steer
then she did for what seemed
like hours.
The cow herd moved slowly,
munching on grass.

FINALLY
The Wild Steer suddenly
turned up the trail
and pushed into the herd
his back a foot higher
than the rest.

"It's a wonder I'm not dead!"
Maurine groaned.

We moved the herd
on toward Deer Creek
as it was turning dark,
only half way home.

The cattle were trying to lay down.
"Well, at least we've run
that monster to death.
He's acting like the rest."

Headlight!
"Oh no," I groaned.
"It's Daddy. We should
have been home hours ago
and we're barely to
Deer Creek."

"Where in hell have you been?"

"We've been chasing that steer
for hours. Up and down.
Up and down. He wouldn't come."

He stared at it, astonished.
"My Gawd, we cowboys have been
chasing that steer in the Gulch
for eight or nine years,
and a couple of snot-nose girls
brings it in."
He shook his head in wonder.
"I can't believe it.
Why in hell didn't you leave it
and get along home before dark?"

"You told us not to lose a cow."

After being on exhibit
at the corral,
the steer was killed.
The head stuffed.
My dad carried it wherever
he went, wherever he moved
until the day he died.

He bragged about his girl
bringing in The Wild Steer.
I was not proud.
That wonderful steer
no longer ran free.
My fault.
All I had to do
was let it go.

Royal Bull Elk

I've seen elk before
but not a Royal Bull
six points on each side
magnificent!
On our way to the cabin
to paint.
it's the odd happening
a coyote seen or
heard yapping,
a herd of deer,
a mother with two
baby fawn,
a flock of wild turkey,
fat, brown, scurrying
Rock Chuck
a brown bear
that makes the trip
so endlessly fascinating.
There just around
the bend..
a new experience.
I hold them in
my heart, marveling
that something
grips me
once more.

Grandma King's House

I was startled to see
this picture of the
painting LaRae did
of the old King house
emmersed in white light.
She was there on
the historical walk
with the Boulder Festival
insisting I know it.
I knew
family past and present
joined us
linking our spirits
to move us toward
understanding
each other and them.
Joy lurked amid
sorrow for rash acts
and early death.
LaRae
painted in white light
the way
for us all.
A painting
within a painting
the creative
wonderland
that awaits.

Cows in Pasture

I like cows,
but not in my pasture
breaking in
wanting food.
I can't afford
a horse all winter
to keep cows out.
My legs won't run
them out.
Don't have cash to
build the fence each year.
Can't find a builder
of fences.
Don't like poop
on my doorstep.
My Scotch nature
is against free feed.
What to do???
Good Question!
I like cows.
I like cattlemen.
I like them
Somewhere else.

CLYDE'S SADDLE

It's just an ordinary saddle.
I found a picture of my grandfather
using it on his horse.
Dad must have inherited it.
Rode long hours over
mountain and desert trails,
herding cattle.
He hauled it to Phoenix
and left it behind in the shed.
We used it as long as
Cracker was alive, 32 years.
Brought it to Brooklyn, Central,
Panguitch...where our horse died.
It sat...until The Boulder Festival
Saddle Show and my neices and
nephews asked for it.
Made it there the first year.
My nephew lost his dad that winter
who wandered off into the desert
and was not found.
I forgot Clyde's saddle
the next year...
MY FAULT
I didn't remember
to load it up.
We were camping on
the mountain.
Husband was mouthy,
blamed.
Nephew called names.
Tempers flared and
fists clenched.
Enmity born.
The saddle bore the weight
of tragedy, of pain, of loss.
It's a good, strong saddle
and has carried loads
for many years.
Clyde's Saddle has been at
The Boulder Festival
since...
We know the work
it has done.
It holds together our
Western Heritage of
Cowboys and
good cattle stock.
We heal the breach.
We know each milestone
takes work. We work.
And we laugh.
We are part of them all
Part of each other.
My hope is to put
Clyde's Saddle to work
borrow, buy, rent
some nag and
let grandkids herd
the cattle boarding free
right out the gate
and down the mountain,
just like the good
old days!

Elephant Bird

I found the Elephant Bird

for Linda

whose spiritual elephant

sends messages trying to

move her in the right direction.

I haven't touched it

afraid a knife

would remove

the image...

it sits by her Old Man

in the window

waiting for her

someday.

If I mail, it might break.

I re-read The Elephant Chronicles

poems about her elephant

and wondered...

Is the elephant pounding

the surf...

trumpting louder than

the sea?

Is it calling for JOY

to land in her gut

to bring delight to her soul?

This forest bird flies

from King's Pasture to

the edges of the earth

winging down to your hand.

With Love.

Forest Creatures

The old man of the forest
A vase for flowers
A turtle, a bird
a knothole that sort of
looks like something,
we carve and scrape
and cut.
Forest People emerge
and we laugh
imagine what they say
what they do
as they appear.
New ones arrive
Old ones lost
that didn't work
after all.
The dog chewed two.
One was ran over.
Another burned by mistake.
They are out there...
hiding among the trees
waiting for discovery.

Linking

Mountains formed and water flowed downhill to carve out varied and stark canyonlands. Where water refused to go, deserts bloomed only with rain. All the parts of the earth forever linked in form and growth...and we came to carve out our place linking all parts in human flow.
Many think too much human flow. We grasp greedily to live among death, destruction, and war...often sure our way is the only way. We are linked by our need to survive and we formed larger groups, cities, states, and countries. We banded together against the other. Now our whole world is linked together by peoples, business, religions, and politics. The world of humankind is family. The world of animals need us to survive. We need to fight starvation, disease, hate, destruction, and war together. Linking--new ways to understanding and communication. One person can't do it all. All peoples will need to form new bonds and link in new ways.
So how do I, a grandma, do this? The internet is a marvelous tool that reaches so many.
I want my grandchildren to link..to the past and present and on into the future and enjoy each moment while doing it. I want to take myself, in my own time, and reach out to you...in your time. I will reach out and link!

Swimming

I dragged myself up to go swimming today
at Panguitch High School pool
only to find the door locked.
I needed to work my muscles
stretch my limbs
flow in the warm water.
It will be closed this week
while they redo the gym floor,
so people can't breathe noxious fumes.
"Where were you this morning?"
"Locked out. You were there?"
"Yes, it felt so good. Frank went
out and locked the door, not thinking."
It's not easy to drag youself out
to be at the pool at 6 A.M. -
worse when you do and
can't get in.

Family Gathering

It has been some time
since we gathered...
4 children, 9 grandchildren
in-laws..only one missing.
Gathered
on top of Boulder Mountain
cabin, partially built...
no electricity
no working cell phones
no computer
there...with ourselves
and each other...
to entertain ourselves with
stories and song
ATV's and hikes..
to Lower Calf Creek Falls
to Coyote Caves and Money Cave
on Thompson Ledge
I try to make them understand
how my childhood differed...
how our land reached
all the way to the ledges.
three Ranches - so much work.
The potato patch was a field, not a garden.
Dad had us grub thistle on our cabin land..
feed cattle all winter on the hay we grew all summer
the weeding, the watering, the mowing, the cutting
the baling, the branding, the dipping, the shots,
we escaped work by running to the top of
Thompson Ledge.
My grandkids play games by
the hours on computers and ipods,
watch movies,
text friends...everything with a phone.
I shared a trip to Europe with my granddaughter
and her cell phone.
My phone number was three shorts and two longs.
I could call a friend when everyone in town
quit talking...
I want them to know somewhat my life.
I want to know each child's life
and somehow bridge the past and present
with strong bonds of family
strong bonds of love
tying past, present, and future
together...forever!

Family Gathering

Back Home

I hiked sandstone ledges
jumped over on the Toadstool
climbed in Moqui houses.
I drove cattle through towering red cliff canyons,
cahsed a wild steer all day
before driving him out of The Gulch.
I swam and dived off the ledge at Upper Calf Creek Falls
escaped a flash flood that drove rock and logs over the ledge
and watched seven falls dropping, without us.
A truck and trailer slid backward off the Burr Trail
and rolled down nine switchbacks.
I chased wild horses in a yellow jeep near
Wild Horse Mesa in the Circle Cliffs and
looked for snakes in the Sjinikhole when
camped near Woulverine and Silver Falls.
I hiked Death Hollow Trail where my grandfather fell
holding only to Old Pat's bridle to save himself.
I swam the Colorado River at Hole-in-the-Rock,
saw the steps the Pioneers made to lower wagons by rope,
and danced at Dance Hall Rock.
I slitered and slioped through Spooky Gulch
told ghost stories by campfire
and crept back through when the moon was high.
I rode Hog's back and on to Escalante
seven school years.
I am Kanyonland King
Back Home...

Mountain Cabin

I'm off to
my mountain cabin
among the Quakies
and tall pine.

Rich beyond my means.
A fish pond is close.
Deer wander near.

I worry about a bear
or cougar coming too close
grabbing grandchildren.

I listen to the wind,
rain, and thunder.
luxurating ...
by my unfinished cabin
among the Quakies
and tall pine.