Joshua Tree National Park

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Joshua Tree National Park in the desert/deserted part of Southern California is a completely other-worldy place. I mean, I’ve seen Joshua Trees many times as I criss-cross the dry and seemingly barren spaces of the Wild West, but I’ve never wandered around dozens and dozens of them, and I’ve never seen them glow with that low afternoon golden light.

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My late afternoon hike in Joshua Tree consisted mostly of my trying to get plenty of photos that I liked, while trying NOT to get stuck by cholla cactus spines. I was moderately successful on both fronts.

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These trees really do feel like a cross between some kind of alien life-form and something Dr. Seuss/Tim Burton would dream up. And the hills are COVERED in them. They weren’t super close together, there’s definitely not enough natural water for that kind of density, but I felt like the Joshua Tree soldiers just went on for miles and miles, never thinning out, never clumping up, just well-ordered spike-balls on sticks, marching away into the distance.

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So weird, so alien, so gorgeous.

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My visit to Joshua Tree included spending a night solo camping; I have never been afraid of road tripping by myself, but it was a new experience to go camping by myself, and one that at times made me a wee bit uneasy. I mean, I was staying in a well established campground at a national park, it’s not like I was camped on the side of the road near a high security prison, or anything. But still, there were nerves.

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I’m glad I didn’t chicken out and go stay in one of the motels in town, honestly, they looked quite sketchy. Besides, the sunrise over the trees was just gorgeous. For the record, I stayed in Black Rock Campground on the north side/Yucca Valley side, mostly because they accepted reservations and I didn’t want to be solo camping AND short one camp spot, and then end up on the side of the road. Ahem.

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One of my life goals is to visit 50 National Parks, after last weekend I am sitting at a pretty reasonable 19, I’ve got a lot more adventuring to do! That being said, I would definitely visit JTNP again to do a little more exploring.

Until next time, Joshua Tree!

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You can view my whole photo album here.

Have you been to Joshua Tree!? What kind of hiking or exploring did you do?

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When mountains beckon

Bell Canyon Reservoir_Little Cottonwood Canyon

I grew up at the feet of a soaring mountain range, granite-topped peaks that often retained snow year-round melted into forested skirts sweeping down towards my small little town. Mountains ground me, they keep me centered, and are my true heart-home. I mean, LOOK AT THEM! Snowy peaks, springy-green trees that show no trace of the browned, brittle wild-fire dryness of July and August.

Bell Canyon Reservoir_Little Cottonwood Canyon

I have been in Salt Lake this week for work, and I have made the most of the daylight hours after leaving the office by getting into the mountains and soaking in the gorgeous views, the nature-y noise, and fresh pine-y smells.

Bell Canyon Trail_Little Cottonwood Canyon

The melting snow has turned the creeks and rivers into white thunder, storming down the mountains and smashing into rocks and trees. This cold, terrifying sound is like a lullaby to me. I mean, I don’t want to go wading or anything, but I could listen to spring runoff rush down the canyon for hours and hours.

Bell Canyon Waterfall_Little Cottonwood Canyon

A friend and I hiked up Little Cottonwood Canyon to the Bell Canyon waterfall and reservoir (photos above) and while the climb was brutal for my suburban, lower-altitude legs and lungs, it made my heart so, so happy.

Living Room_Wasatch Front

The mountains are so close to the Salt Lake valley, truly you can be immersed in Nature in under 20 minutes. Watching the sun set over the Great Salt Lake, painting the sky in coral and orange and purple, and feeling the chill of the mountains, talking with friends about things important and trivial…all of this soothed my ragged soul and was a balm to my anxious heart.

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Airport Hell: a story of freaking out no less than 78 times in 90 minutes

In general I have had pretty decent airport/travel experiences, which, considering the amount I travel (a bit) is quite remarkable. Sure there have been delayed flights and delayed bags, but overall, I don’t mind the airport or flying, and all the security and hubbub that surrounds those places/activities. In fact, in some ways I love it. I love getting to the airport early, sipping my favorite soda, curled up in a quiet-ish chair reading a book until it’s time to board (and then, to be honest, continue to read my book until it’s time to get off the plane again). Last week’s trip was, well, considerably less delightful

This was a week+ business trip and I didn’t want to leave my car at the airport that long. So, Uber to the rescue, right? Um, no. I apparently live in the type of suburban location where mid-day Uber drivers are nonexistent. This was the first of my problems, which can truly only be recounted rapid-fire fashion, with noted anxieties.

There were zero Uber drivers within 30 minutes of my house, I waited a little while longer, submitted another request. That drive was 25 minutes away and I needed to be on the way to the airport before that. But, I figured it’d probably be okay though, right? Wrong. So very, very wrong.

When my driver was about 15 minutes away I checked the type of vehicle he had and it was…well, it sounded pretty small. I texted the driver to double-check that my big checked suitcase, plus my carry on, plus a laptop bag, plus me would all fit in his car. The next few minutes were completely convoluted talk-to-text Autocucumber-bumbled responses of him saying “no, they won’t fit” and “are you seriously going to the airport?” and “no, I can’t take you to the airport, Uber rules…and your bags won’t fit anyway.” Uber cancelled.

Cue: FREAKOUT #1

At this point my flight left in 75 minutes and I still had to drive to the airport (25 mins), find parking, take the train thing to the terminal, check my large bag (10 days, hiking plans, plus two laptops = no, I cannot survive on just a carry on), get through security, and make my way to the gate.

Whelp, I’m screwed.

I threw my bags in my car and sped off, thankful it was the middle of a weekday and not rush hour traffic. I figured Blue Eyes could sort out a way to rescue my car from $18/day parking prison.

I knew I was cutting it close, but as I got off the freeway the cars slowed way down and then stopped.

What!? NO!!! And WHY!?

Oh. There is a TOW TRUCK! ON FIRE. And the car on top of the tow truck was ALSO ON FIRE! WHY IS THE TOW TRUCK ON FIRE?!?!

FREAKOUT #2

I managed to crawl past the rubbernecking cars-on-fire situation and zipped over to the only parking lot I am familiar with at Sky Harbor International.

Only to find that giant parking lot was full. FULL!?! Yes, full. I drove around for a few minutes, praying for an empty spot, nothing.

FREAKOUT #3

At the far end of this enormously long parking lot is a structure for more expensive covered parking. I turned up the ramp desperately hoping for an empty space.

The first five levels were full. My heartrate was climbing, rapidly, but I finally found a spot near the top, dashed to the elevator dragging my heavy bags, knowing I’d be lucky to make my flight.

I saw an “early bird bag check” spot and decided to try it, missing the next train but knowing it would save me time in the long run.

Oh, except they don’t check Southwest bags at that location.

FREAKOUT #7

I ran back to the train, got off at the terminal and hoped for a short line to check my bags. And then I was met with absolute chaos.

FREAKOUTS #11-26

APPARENTLY the TSA system that the airport uses to screen bags that are being checked was down completely. So, no bags were being loaded onto the conveyor belt to take them to airplanes, no bags were being checked, they were being left in holding areas and trucked BACK OUT TO THE PARKING LOT to wait for the TSA system to get back online.

The line to check a bag was about a mile and a half long. For every. single. airline. No flights were delayed, but no bags were getting through.

FREAKOUTS #27 & 28

Frazzled airline reps were telling us to squish everything into our carry on luggage and take larger suitcases back to the car.

FREAKOUT #30

Um, no. I cannot do that.

FREAKOUT #31

My flight leaves in 40 minutes (#32) and I CANNOT SQUISH 10 DAYS OF WORK CLOTHES + HIKING GEAR + BLACK TIE EVENT OUTFIT (#33) + MULTIPLE LAPTOPS AND NECESSARY TECHNOLOGY THINGS INTO A CARRY ON!!! (#34-38)

I FINALLY got up to the agent, decided to chance it with my checked bag knowing I had at least a change of clothes and most of my toiletries in my carry on, and then I ran like HELL to the security check.

At this point my flight was scheduled to depart in 15 minutes.

FREAKOUT #40

FIFTEEN MINUTES!!!

FREAKOUT #41

I sprinted to security, thanked ALL THE DIETIES that there were only a half-dozen people in line ahead of me (HOW? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?!), I hopped from one foot to the other trying to calm my jitters and, somehow, magically, make the line go faster.

As soon as everything came through their scanner thing I grabbed it all and ran, barefoot (FREAKOUTS #44-49, EWW! GROSS!), to the gate, arriving as the flight attendant was all “final call for Harriet…final call, be here in 30 seconds or you’ll miss your flight” and closing the door.

FREAKOUTS #53-67

Ya’ll, I was a sweaty, red-faced mess at that point, I’d lost my belt, my shoes were in my laptop bag, computers under my arm, bag of liquids in my teeth, but I was THRILLED to be on that plane. A plane that sat on the tarmac without air conditioning for another 20 minutes (#72-75) before finally taking off. I’m telling you, this was a ROUGH couple of hours.

It wasn’t until I landed (without my larger “checked” suitcase, #78) that I understood the enormity of the TSA clustercuss situation. Thousands and thousands of bags were still sitting in the parking lots of the Phoenix airport, no way for them to be scanned for explosives and firearms and questionable fashion choices and then sent along to their destination. Some were being checked by hand and inspected by bomb sniffing dogs, but most just sat there for 12 or 15 hours. Hell, if I’d known that I would have stopped at that parking lot FIRST and dropped my suitcase there before I tried to find parking! I’d have eliminated, like, 38 different freak out moments from one afternoon!

At some point in the middle of the night someone made the decision to load all those suitcases onto semi trucks and ship them to Tucson, San Diego, and Las Vegas to be scanned and then packed onto planes to their final destination.

Airport. Disaster. Uuugh.

Oh. The best part? Blue Eyes managed to take an Uber to the airport later that night to pick up my car. There is no “Arizona rule” about Uber cars/drivers and the airport.

I quit. I’m never flying again.

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Chicago: Art and Museums

I know there are a lot of competing schools of thought on museums, some people find them stuffy and full of crumbly, boring antiques. Others are fascinated and inspired by them. I certainly fall into the latter camp, especially when we are talking about art museums. For me, a trip to Chicago is not complete without a few hours spent wandering around the Art Institute. Their Asian art wing is amazing, their Islamic textiles are gorgeous, and their ancient world exhibits are near perfection. I appreciate their religious art and icons from the middle ages, but what I love the most is the contemporary and impressionist wings.

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Georgia O’Keeffe spent some of her early life in Chicago as a commercial artist and took classes at the Art Institute as well. She donated a large chunk of her work to the museum and they have it mixed in with contemporaries of O’Keeffe, artists who were just beginning to break the mold of realism in the United States (the Impressionists in Europe had a head start, for sure, but they also mostly painted recognizable objects where the “modernists” in the United States in the 20’s and 30’s painted abstract shapes and forms, using color and line to convey emotion instead of familiar objects.) This is O’Keeffe’s largest painting, inspired by the clouds she saw from the window of an airplane. I love this painting and the way she uses almost Pop Art techniques to simplify the shapes down to their very basic form: white ovals = clouds.

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Ah, Piet Mondrian, you sure know how to populate a square and make a girl swoon! The contemporary wing of the museum has some beautiful pieces in it, some resonate with me quite strongly, others I don’t even respond to at all. And that’s okay. This is a public art museum, not my living room. I don’t have to love everything on display. But the handful of Mondrian’s? Oh yes, I love those.

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May I introduce Vincent Van Gogh’s palette. There was a huge Van Gogh exhibit going on while I was there, they had imported pieces from around the world and had ROOMS full of Van Gogh paintings, highlighting the similarities and evolution in his style, as well as the themes he painted over and over.

There were so many people packed into those rooms that I began to panic and get a little claustrophobic. Hundreds and hundreds turned out to see these masterpieces, which is fantastic, but is not really my ideal setting for viewing art. I did squeeze through the crowds to peek at all the Van Gogh goodness, but after about 30 minutes I snuck out to other areas of the museum that were nearly empty.

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The grand staircase at the entrance. I had to wait a very long time for a clear shot, people are up and down those stairs constantly in search of something inspiring.

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I love this Seurat painting, I can stare at it for hours, kind of like people watching. It’s easy to zone out and let my own thoughts take over (a much needed relief after the intensity of the crowds hovering around the Van Gogh paintings), and imagining George as he painted, dots and more dots and more dots, tiny little components that, at a distance, create this jaw-dropping masterpiece. That is probably why I love the Impressionists, they seem to turn unrelated chaos into art. Life is–or should be–like that a little bit, I think.

Chicago 14_Agora_feistyharriet_April 2016Agora, by Polish artist Magdalena Abakanowicz. These enormous metal legs and torsos populate a sizable swath of Grant Park, on the south end, near the skate park. My nieces call this section the Pants Park, and love running through those legs, playing tag and hide and seek. I love that their everyday lives have such richness, so much culture and art that, for them, is just part of the backdrop of being little kids in the heart of a city.

I’ll be back, Chicago. I’ll always come back.

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Chicago: a love story

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I was fourteen years old the first time I visited a major city, and within hours I fell hard and fast for Chicago. That week is when I began a life-long relationship with urban architecture, my heart beat with the thrum of an enormous city, and a love of travel lodged in my bones. They say you never truly get over your first love, and for me that seems to be true.

A few years ago my sister moved to downtown Chicago (the Loop and now the South Loop), and the combination of two darling nieces and my first urban crush is too much to resist; I cannot stay away. Every time I visit the Windy City I fall in love all over again. I love the soaring buildings, the glass and steel, the streets and trains, the river through her heart, lake at her back, constant movement on her streets. I seem to soak it up and store it for later.

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I spent almost an entire day wandering the city, logging mile after mile, meandering through city blocks and around the parks, the biting wind and gray skies didn’t deter me, I knew my love would keep me warm.

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Walking on and on seemed to clear my head, the cold brought me clarity, and the sense of being anonymous in a place so crowded helped me remember parts of myself I had forgotten.

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In the almost twenty years (!!!) since my first visit I have continued to fiercely love Chicago, while the outlying neighborhoods are nice and all, I am completely smitten with her core. The architecture, the food (THE FOOD!), the art, the urban-ness and the hustle combined with this Midwestern sensibility and down-to-earth-ness that makes me completely knock-kneed.

Chicago, my love, I’ll never quit you.

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