Confessions of a Bookaholic: Book reviews about red rock country

Capitol Reef Fruit Orchard_feistyharriet_March 2015 (7)

This year I decided to write my book reviews a little differently instead of focusing on what I read chronologically, I want to group similar books together by topic and write about them that way.

Mormon Country, by Wallace Stegner (5 stars). Stegner spent a lot of time in Utah during his formative years, and his grasp of Mormon culture and idiosyncrasies while still respecting their faith is, frankly, refreshing. This was published in the early 1940’s and while there have been some big changes in many aspects of Mormon culture since then as the LDS church has grown exponentially, some of the idiosyncrasies are now just bigger issues, and some have disappeared completely.

In addition to describing the people and culture of Utah, however, Stegner spends many chapters discussing the land, the settlement (small agricultural towns based on community and irrigation, not the stand-alone ranches of the Midwest), the working with the natural resources instead of exploiting them (Mormons did not mine, despite settling in mineral and oil rich country), history of native tribes and people, history of battles (actual and political) with the federal government in the early days of the Utah Territory, Spanish explorers, Butch Cassidy’s outlaws, legends and stories from the Colorado Strip, dinosaur hunters, and the “colonizing” Mormons who settled from Idaho to Mexico, from the Rockies to the Sierra and even outposts at San Francisco, San Bernadino, and San Diego, California.

Mostly, this book just made me homesick. Stegner’s descriptions of the wildest places of the Wasatch mountains and south-eastern Utah’s red rock country made me long desperately for home. Stegner’s predictions for Utah have almost all come true, which was really interesting to read about.

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Beyond the Hundredth Meridian: John Wesley Powell and the Second Opening of the West, by Wallace Stegner (4 stars). The high desert, red rock canyon country of south-east Utah was the last part of the contiguous United States to be mapped, and with good reason. That country is harsh, blistering, and difficult to navigate by foot, horse, boat, or, frankly, jeep. Terry Tempest Williams says Utah has “a spine like a stegosaurus” and I think that’s quite apt. Powell is the first (white) explorer to attempt this country and try to map the rivers and mountains and plateaus. This book is that history and follows Powell’s political career for several decades as he tries to convince Congress and the public, so hot for the Homestead Act, that agricultural farming just will not work in vast areas of the arid, desert West. He failed, and it wasn’t until decades later that the US Government started to understand his points. The subsequent water war that has lasted and heightened in the last 15 or 20 years was predicted by Powell over 150 years ago, he knew exactly what would happen to the lands of the West if farming and ranching were left unchecked and the water resources were not protected.

The most exciting part of this book is the first 150 pages where Powell and a small group of adventurers run the Green River from Wyoming down through the Uintas and eastern Utah, finally meeting up with the Grand/Colorado River and continuing on through southeast Utah and northern Arizona, running the Grand Canyon, and ending up in the tip of Nevada. His descriptions are fantastic and, in many ways, a love letter to the red rock country I hold so dear. The rest of the book is more political and details the history of homesteading and immigration through the western United States, bits of the wars and treaties and decimation of the Native American tribes, and a lot of congressional arguments and acts and vetoes that led to the “opening” and settlement of the West. Stegner wrote this in the 1950’s and it is fascinating how much still holds true 75 years later on the fight for water and other sustaining resources in the hot desert mesas and mountains.

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High Tide in Tucson: Essays From Now or Never, by Barbara Kingsolver (4 stars). When I picked this book up I thought it would be include essays about Kingsolver’s life in Arizona, experiences in and around Tucson. It does not. The essays are well written and thought invoking, but only one or two has any direct ties to living in an arid desert. Just shows you shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover. Kingsolver discusses politics, environment protection, family, travel, and many of her own childhood experiences. Excellent read.

Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place, by Terry Tempest Williams (4 stars). This book is part environmental treatise, and part family history. While I sometimes did not identify with the connection Tempest Williams feels to the women in her family, I certainly felt in my bones her love for the Salt Lake valley and the Great Salt Lake herself (yes, the lake is a woman). Tempest Williams is a gifted storyteller and writes beautiful, poetic descriptions full of emotion and feeling.

Red: Passion and Patience in the Desert, by Terry Tempest Williams (3 stars). This collection of essays about red rock and canyon country was a little hit and miss. Some of them I *loved* and re-read immediately. Other essays didn’t really affect me much, or even made me angry; but, in most ways, this book is a series of love letters to the wild, rocky country I call home.

Other Reading Recommendations:

Desert Solitaire, by Edward Abbey

The Anthropology of Turquoise, by Ellen Meloy

 

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Love, Actually

After a week in the mountains of Montana with very little cell or internet service, I was greeted with a rough re-entry yesterday as I read report after report of the Orlando, Florida domestic terrorist attack on the gay community, interspersed with thousands of words on the Brock Turner/Stanford rapist trial and sentencing.

My heart physically ached, both for the victims and for society at large. This is our America.

I come from a religiously conservative place and the majority of my family still clings to a “Christian” idea that The Gays are destroying families and tearing the country apart, most still have not accepted Obergefell vs. Hodges ruling legalizing gay marriage nation-wide. Some are actively campaigning to repeal that ruling and do so in the name of God, or of Family, or whatever. To be fair, some have made the leap from this narrow-minded un-Christian viewpoint to a more tolerant stance, and a very few have stepped up to the activist level of fighting for equality among hetero and homosexual humans. Very few.

Likewise, the vast majority of my family and hometown community vehemently boycotted and opposed Target and other retailers over their non-discriminatory bathroom policies, claiming knightly ideals of protecting women and children and ignoring underlying transphobia, hatred, and fear. However, nobly fighting for protections for women and children has yet to move to a place where they want to actively protect their loved ones from rapists and sexual abusers. I mean, in theory, sure, but white, heterosexual, vaguely Christian/Capitalist/clean-cut rapists are beyond their scope of imagination. You know, men like Brock Turner. So the idea of vocalizing disdain for Turner, his father, or the wrist-slap sentence is too “other” for them. Turner looks too much like the guy next door, and rapists living next door is too much to think about. But, men dressing up like women and entering bathrooms at Target to molest their daughters, THAT is super likely to happen.

I realize that not all areas or communities have this baggage in their immediate reality, but I do. And it has been so infuriating the last week or two to see the giant dichotomy between where I am and where they are, to see such blatant hate and prejudice–disguised as “protecting The Family”–flooding my social media feeds. To see dozens, yes, dozens, of people who share my genetics rant and rave about trans-friendly bathroom policies, yet say nothing about someone essentially getting away with raping an unconscious woman behind a dumpster. To see the same people invoke the morals of God to protest gay marriage, but who nonchalantly “Pray for Orlando” is making my blood boil. Sit down. What kind of “Christian” are you!? Praying for those who are hurt yet refusing to stand up and protect them in the first place is the most hypocritical kind of fuckwit. I suppose it is possible that some who protested Obgerfell vs Hodges a year ago have had a legitimate change of heart and now align more with gay rights groups and are LGBQT friendly, but I highly doubt it.

I have to sometimes force myself to stop thinking about all the ironies and inconsistencies, this pithy hashtag activism with zero action behind it, and–more often than not–using those status updates as a smoke screen for deeply held bigotry and hate, labeled “tolerance” but, in actuality, just straight up homophobia/racism/sexism. I have to force myself to close the screen and walk away from devices or I literally become so upset I begin to foam at the mouth. Ok, perhaps not literally-literally foaming, but close enough. I get agitated, my face and neck turn red, my hands start to shake, my eyes leak, and I either start pacing and yelling at no one in particular, or I get so pissed off that my words turn into grunts and definition-less exclamations of anger and frustration.

The world, ya’ll, is fucked. I see so much hate and fear, so much division and focusing on differences and opposition, and so little value placed on love and compassion, on celebrating the similarities between humankind, and allowing humans to be their own selves.

It is exhausting. I am exhausted.

I do understand that while there is this scary underbelly of fear and hate, there are also beautiful pockets of love and empathy, of genuine caring and friendship. I see both sides illustrated clearly in the current Presidential primaries, and in my (more curated) social media feeds. The friends I have made as an adult hold opinions similar to mine. The strangers I follow online are not bigoted, racist, sexist bastards. Many are activists in their own right, fighting for equality and peace, and I love and cherish them for their views and their determination to not give up the fight.

I often think of the Mr. Rogers quote about helpers, always look for the helpers, they will always be there. I see them, I see you. I see your faith in humanity, and faith that a small group of people fighting for love and tolerance and equality can create nation-wide change. I see you. And I am sorry for doubting, for allowing the ugly fears to get me down; I’m sorry for letting those statements cause despair and hopelessness.

We may be few, we activists, but we are relentless. In the end, love wins. Right? It sometimes seems like that isn’t enough, that it isn’t fast enough, that too many people will be hurt in the interim. But, like all great stories, in the end, the good will conquer evil, the love and hope will defeat fear and anger. Right? Please assure me you believe this too,  that we are not fighting in vain. That eventually  the seedy underlying fear and hate and anger will dissipate, that humans will be safe from each other regardless of their gender, race, ethnicity, religion, or anything else.

Love wins, right? Eventually, love wins.

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In which I discuss control freakishness and my need for a new script writer

It is a fairly well documented fact that sometimes I can be a bit of a control freak. Popular definition may give you the impression that my “control freakishness” means I have crazy-psycho reactions if even the teensiest detail is not My Way. Not so much. I also do not turn into a crazy Lifezilla type if faced with something I don’t want to do. Nothing like that (I hope). The Harriet version of “control freak” is more along the lines of “I freak out when I feel like I have no control,” with said “freak out” being something along the lines of absolute despair with a side of living in a perfect graveyard of buried hopes. I really really REALLY don’t like feeling like I’m being tossed around my Life and there’s nothing I can do about it. On second thought, perhaps this doesn’t make me a control freak, perhaps this just makes me normal…?

I feel like I am finally on the tail end of months YEARS of being tossed around, I’ve got a few weeks of craziness left and then I have a solid stretch of what should be no big plans and a general calmness at work.

Should be. And so help me, Karma & Murphy, if you throw a wrench in that dream simply because I vocalized it I will destroy you.

I’m sick of being tossed around. My freak controller has taken a serious beating of late and I am worn out. I’m tired of not knowing what is going to happen next, of not even having a vague idea. I have repeatedly thought that my life would be a fantastic soap-opera, what with the relationship drama, the crazy family situations, the “Past,” the events that border on completely bizarre…those three kids I didn’t know were mine…wait. No. Scratch that last one. That’s not a thing. (I promise, NOT a thing.) I just…I need a vacation from all of this crazy. I need Life to slow down a little bit so I can recenter and find my groove again. I need to give my battered controller a break so she can recoup and re-prioritize.

And then, after I have fully recovered, THEN we can go back to the crazy soap opera stuff, mmmkay?

As far as this My-Life-As-A-TV-Show thing goes, I want a better script! I want a new director with a brand new artistic direction! I want a new wardrobe lady! I want softer lighting and a team of airbrushers! I want better snacks! I need better snacks! I want a mini-series in an exotic location; Belize or Iceland or Myanmar. (And no cheating and using Manitoba as Iceland. I want the Real Deal.) I want more air-time with Mr. Blue Eyes! I need more time with him, just us, figuring “us” out in peace and serenity.

If I was the lead actress in that show I would sooo be lounging in my own (air conditioned!) trailer sipping Diet Dr. Pepper and rolling my eyes with my assistant (oooh! I get an assistant!) and rambling on about how “I can’t work under these conditions”, and “artistic differences” and blah blah blah.

…Do I sound like a freak yet? Maybe a little? Ok, as long as we’re on the same page. In fact, if only to emphasize how serious I am here I think a scathing letter is in order:

Dear Life,

Please stop with the crazy. Really. This has been going on for months years and it’s enough already. Besides, it’s The Holidays–summer totally counts as “holidays”–can you at least stop sucking for The Holidays? Or forever? Kthxbye.

Love, Harriet

…Ummm, so “scathing” may have been a bit of an overstatement; I’m exhausted and not quite cranky enough for “scathing.” Hopefully, Life will still get the message.

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Stormy Road

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Once upon a time, in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of summer, a tremendous storm rumbled over these mountains, shrouding the valley in darkness, temperatures dropped at least 20 degrees as the freezy rain and hail shot like tiny cannons from the sky. Blue Eyes and I were driving through Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming, enjoying the views and trying to decide what hike to do next. As the wet road turned into a slippery, steely ribbon I started to get nervous, we finally found a place to park and watch as the thundering clouds stormed east followed by a thick cape of streaming gray rain.

In less than 30 minutes the storm had passed–summer storms in the mountainous West are ferocious, but usually short lived. Thirty minutes. I can wait out anything for thirty minutes. Sometimes, you need to take each day thirty minutes at a time. Sometimes that’s all you can manage. And sometimes you’ve become so used to living thirty minutes at a time that you forget how to live bigger than that. I can’t stop thinking about my breakthrough in yesterday’s post. Live bigger. Live broader. Pick a destination and work towards it. My thoughts are still kind of jumbly on the specifics, but I already feel like the realization has brought me more clarity than I’ve had in a long time. I’m still in the middle of the storm but I’m finally off the slippery road that has been leading me to nowhere.

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Life, or something like it

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There is something so soothing about watching the waves; small ones lap gently on the beach while large ones crash furiously over treacherous rocks, leaving white foam and tide pools in their wake. Poetically, the ocean seems self-cleaning, constantly changing, spitting out shells and garbage and mermaids, sucking sand and unsuspecting tourists out to sea. Ok, so my poem is kind of twisted. (Also, mermaids aside, I am well aware that the health of our oceans has been on a constant and steady decline for years.)

My soul belongs in the mountains, so this ocean thing is kind of a tricky analogy for me (I want SO BADLY to make a “fish out of water” pun, but can’t seem to work it in properly, so you get this parenthetical instead. You’re welcome.); I feel like my whole life is somehow caught right on that line between sand and sea, being pulled both ways at every moment, trying to straddle two competing forces and stay upright. I’m not just talking about a split between my home here in Arizona and my heart-home in Salt Lake, although I’m sure that division is a contributing factor. I feel like I’m waiting for something big to happen, waiting for forward movement, just waiting. I feel anxious and kind of discombobulated most of the time, restless even, not sure what to do or say. Sometimes I’ll be on the verge of a weepy break-down for DAYS at a time. This is…not a normal state of being for me, I feel cramped and irritated in my own skin. This lack of confidence is a really uncomfortable admission for me, and I wish there was an easy fix…emphasis on the EASY part.

I know, I know. Life is not easy. It’s not supposed to be easy. Any major shift or movement requires a lot of consistency, small and progressive goal making and achieving, and a long-term goal to work towards. Maybe that’s my problem right now…for most aspects of my life I do not have a long-term goal, no guiding star to help me navigate. So here I am, stuck in  the waves, without any real direction or urgency for getting unstuck.

The Cheshire Cat says that if you don’t know where you want to get to, then it doesn’t much matter which way you go. So, here I am, all Alice in Wonderland-ing my way through the days and weeks (and months?) feeling like I’m wandering in circles and starting to tire of the endless journey. The last few weeks I have kept thinking about ways to pull out of this wander-y funk, and I tend to gravitate towards extravagant grand adventure type solutions. (Road Trip to Prince Edward Island! Or Alaska! Hike a Dozen 14,000′ Mountain Peaks!! Spend a Year Doing A Thing To See If It Makes Me A Better Person!!) Each suggestion seems more maniacal than the last. But, really, my restlessness in daily living will be right here waiting for me when I get back.

I need some long-term goals, Life Goals that can help reshape and redirect my actions and modify my behavior. That’s a very fancy way of saying: I Need A Plan. I hardly recall a time in my adult life where I didn’t have a solid idea of where I wanted to be in two or five years, but suddenly when I try and conjure that up, I draw a blank. I mean, I’ll be here, in this house in the desert, with Blue Eyes and (on occasion) his kids. But that’s all I’ve got. And, truly, that is not enough for me. A healthy marriage and a safe & comfortable home is a really solid base, for sure. But I need more than that.

For my own sanity, I need to fix this. I need to find some long-term goals that will stretch me and be something to work towards. I am actually kind of embarrassed to admit that I don’t have any solid long-term dreams right now. Embarrassed and sad, I am legitimately weepy. I don’t quite recognize this version of myself, the sort of sedentary content-with-the-status-quo person.

Do YOU have long-term life goals right now? In your relationship? With your family? Finances? Work life? Personal life? Athletic life? Academic life? What do you do to remember how to dream big?

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