Revisits: "We shall not cease from exploration"

Last week we travelled to St. Louis: a revisit to a favorite city. And the trip included meeting my friend who introduced me to St. Louis when we were in college. She mentioned that each semester she still teaches The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. I studied that poem by St. Louis-born T. S. Eliot while in college, and so now needed to go back and revisit the poem.

Evening, Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, New Mexico

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherised upon a table:

T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Profrock 1917

That’s how this weird, wonderful poem begins. My anthology perfectly describes that opening:

“With the third line of ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,’ the romantic mood set by the opening couplet collapses, and modern poetry begins.” The Oxford Book of American Poetry.

Snow Geese, Bosque del Apache

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

T. S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Profrock 1917

The images are from a favorite place I revisited last November: Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in southwest New Mexico. Thousands of Sandhill Cranes and Snow Geese revisit and gather there along the Rio Grande for much of the winter.

Sandhill Crane sunset, Bosque del Apache

Eliot wrote Prufrock during World War I. He moved to England and wrote Little Gidding in 1942 during the terror and uncertainty of the next World War.

What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from.

Bald Eagle, Bosque del Apache, New Mexico

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

Through the unknown, remembered gate

When the last of earth left to discover

Is that which was the beginning;

T. S. Eliot, Little Gidding 1942

Sandhill Crane family, Bosque del Apache sunrise

Shiprock, Navajo Nation

One place I had to visit on my trip to the Four Corners was Shiprock in northwest New Mexico. It had resided in my imagination for decades. I’d seen many images. It had been in several books—including the Joe Leaphorn/Jim Chee series by Tony Hillerman. (There’s an excellent adaptation on AMC right now called Dark Winds.)

The ancient volcanic plug is a holy site for the Navajo. I first saw it probably 50 miles away as a ghost on the horizon when I camped in Colorado at Hovenweep National Monument, and wrote about the view that day. When I eventually drove to it, there was a long route that would get me closer, but I chose a shorter, dirt roadway by GPS. I passed many reservation residences and hogans. Eventually, the route came to a wash that I was not willing to try to get across. So I settled for a more distant view.

Shiprock from drone

I first heard of Shiprock through the stories of Murray Bodo, OFM. He was a high school English teacher in Cincinnati of my friend and college roommate. I had the pleasure to meet him several times. As the Navajo find sacredness in the presence of Shiprock, so I found it in his presence. Fr. Bodo follows the tradition of his order’s founder and is an extraordinary poet and writer.

From the Lukachukai Mountains you can see the land. The desert stretches below you on all four sides and to the north Shiprock stands at anchor in the still brown sea. When I was a boy, my father and his fishing buddies and I would speed past Shiprock almost every weekend on our way to the cool Colorado trout streams. I had never seen the ocean or a sailing vessel, so Shiprock became my frigate on the high seas and I would fire a volley past her bow from the back seat of our Chevy while my father and his friends talked of fishing.

When we returned to Gallup every Sunday night, I would wait excitedly for Shiprock to come into view once again. I would adjust my spyglass and scan the emptiness for her. And then she would suddenly emerge like a submarine surfacing on the horizon. I would prepare the men for the attack and caution them to wait until we were as close as possible before we commenced firing. It was great fun always, and Shiprock became my private pirate ship on countless voyages across dry, waveless seas of sand.

Murray Bobo, OFM, Walk in Beauty, 1974

Shiprock, Navajo Nation

Today, as I drive slowly, meditatively on Route 666, looking at Shiprock, I realize my whole life has been a movement away from and, paradoxically, toward this rock that rises out of the desert like the ship that it’s named for. It sails fixed in place and time, the water now turned to desert sand. It endures, anchored where I find it over and again on the interminable voyages I take to and from the mother ship. Our origins are like that. We leave them and travel in ever-widening circles away from them. They continue to hold us in their circumference like the hub of the wheel we spin circles around. We break the circle from time to time and turn, return, to the hub that is there unchanged though we have changed and continue to change.

Murray Bodo, OFM, The Road to Mt. Subasio, 2011

About the time that book was published, Fr. Bodo spoke nearby, and I got to see and hear him again, and simply be in the presence of a holy man. If of interest, you can find his works here: MurrayBodo.com

Murray Bodo, OFM

Rockin' the Rim at Colorado National Monument

I wish I could remember who told me several years ago to visit Colorado National Monument. If it was you, let me know!

After dropping Jane off for her flight back to Chicago following several days of travel in New Mexico and Colorado, Chance and I headed toward Utah. First, on that earlier recommendation, we took a trip through Colorado National Monument near Grand Junction on the western edge of the state.

Ute Canyon, Colorado National Monument

This would be a quick visit across the park on the 23 mile Rim Rock road. Entering from the southeast entrance, one of the first great views is down Ute Canyon. I was fortunate to be there with great light and skies.

Highland viewpoint

One of the features pointed out at this stop is the large piece of the canyon wall that slipped off and stayed more or less upright. See it?

Coke Ovens view

These sandstone domes resemble the coke ovens early miners built to convert coal into coke which in turn was used to convert iron to steel.

Brushy Basin Member

This formation is made of mudstone. In a few days, I’d be driving through more colorful types of mudstone called bentonite. You can get a sense of the size of this formation if you can spot the car.

Independence Rock

This feature near the northwest part of the park is one of its most identified landmarks. This view is made into a diorama of high desert plant and animal life at the Natural History Museum in New York City. A couple days after my visit, a man fell to his death trying to climb this rock.

Driving back down to the plains off of Rim Rock Road, the dramatic rocks were gone, but the distant storms made up for it.

De-Na-Zin

In northwest New Mexico, adjacent to the Navajo Nation lies the Bisti Badlands in the De-Na-Zin wilderness. De-Na-Zin is the Navajo term for cranes. Few signs point to this remote area protected by the Bureau of Land Management, but after going through a fence near a parking lot, you hike across a featureless, barren plain with some red clay hills in the background.

No trails mark the way to the hoodoos, spires, capped rocks, petrified wood, and even features called alien eggs. After about a mile, you walk through some of the red hills and the dark lines of coal seams.

Soon, the odd, eroded features seem to grow out of the land.

Often the hoodoos and other features are formed when a harder rock erodes slower than the sandstone below.

Chance thought they were made for dramatic poses.

And one might’ve even been a dog itself.

One area was filled with groups of rounded, boulder-like rocks called alien eggs. Many look as if they’re ready to hatch what they’ve held for eons.

While the area now is barren, with only small bits of vegetation scattered about, there is evidence of the ancient forests that were once here. Many small bits of petrified wood are on the ground and occasionally long trucks lie on the ground.

After exploring around the badlands, it was time to head back around the red hills toward the car.

House(s) on Fire

I generally focus on nature images in this photo blog, but while today’s subject is human made, it fits so well into its setting it seems a part of the natural environment.

House on Fire, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah

These granaries were built under the cliff to store food in this harsh environment to store for hard years. Harvests are completely unpredictable, but the Ancestral Puebloans maintained a population in the Four Corners area larger than there is today by living sustainably in this desert. This site is up Mule Canyon on Cedar Mesa. The spectacular streaks of desert patina and the flaked sandstone give the wonderful appearance of flames. I can image the builders being quite proud of the beauty of this creation for storage.

Stepping back provides a very different view. I visited in the late afternoon and as you can see, I was waiting for the sun to get lower in the west to light up roof. Unfortunately, the clouds got heavier, and the sun less intense and the light show didn’t occur. Still, a remarkable site.

Unfortunately, these were not the only flames on this trip. One reason to plan this trip in late spring was to avoid fires. It didn’t work.

Bent’s Old Fort National Historic Site, Colorado

This site was closed the week before I arrived because of this fire. There were still fire crews working blazes nearby. Fortunately, the 1840s reconstructed Santa Fe trail trading post was unharmed, but all trails were still closed as they assessed damage. The ranger said the old oak tree in front would need to come down since it is next to the trail approaching the fort. The hawk who sits sentinel there will need a new home.

Cerro Pelado fire, Santa Fe National Forest, New Mexico

Even in late April, the New Mexico news was dominated by fires throughout the state. When I returned in early May, I checked websites and discovered by plan to visit Valles Caldera National Preserve would not occur because it was closed due to this fire. Instead, I visited nearby Manhattan Project National Historic Site in smoky Los Alamos, and Bandelier National Monument on the east side of this fire. Fortunately, the air was clear there when I visited, but it would soon be closed for three weeks as the wind shifted and the fire got closer. The fire is nearly contained, but it is still burning in June.

Pronghorn

Of course, wildlife and ecosystems are used to fire on the prairie, but they face enormous challenges in the catastrophic changes occurring. The front page of today’s New York Times has graphics and images of the conditions in New Mexico of extreme drought and rising temperatures. As I crossed the northeast corner of the state, I had to go around the Hermits Peak and Calf Canyon fires. They have now joined and are the largest fire in the state’s history. I visited Pecos National Historic Park on the west side of the fire, but it soon closed for two weeks due to fire risk and has reopened but closed its trails.

Fort Union National Monument, New Mexico

Massive Fort Union was the largest outpost on the Santa Fe Trail. A civil war battle was fought here, but its growth occurred following the war to support the travelers on the Trail and to be the logistics center for Indian removal throughout the southwest. The image above is of the ruins of the massive supply buildings and are reminders that the genocide of Native Americans was a huge, coordinated effort.

Officer quarters, Fort Union NM

The Calf Canyon fire, as the others, started from prescribed burns meant to reduce fire risk. The others quickly got out of control, but this one silently burned since January and once merged with the Hermits Peak fire has consumed over 350,000 acres. And is still burning. Fort Union closed for a couple weeks, but has reopened with fire restrictions. Reaping what was sown.

The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac -- by Mary Oliver

Today starts National Poetry Month—no foolin’. I just listened to a rebroadcast of a 2015 podcast interview with poet Mary Oliver. I mentioned in an earlier post that I only learned about Oliver’s poetry after I read her obituary in 2019. Much of her imagery and metaphor come from her walks in nature and her incredible observation.

If you’d like, you can listen to the entire 49 minute podcast here or if you choose, the entire hour and a half unedited interview which is even better: On Being: About halfway through the interview, she reads her four-part poem The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac written after her encounter with lung cancer. Some excerpts of the poem accompany the images below.

Carlsbad Caverns National Park, New Mexico

The question is,
what will it be like
after the last day?
Will I float
into the sky
or will I fray
within the earth or a river—
remembering nothing?

from Part 2, The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac, Mary Oliver

The main reason to visit this park, of course, is the cavern. The second reason is to experience the whir of thousands of bats swarming out of the cave at dusk, some zooming a few feet over your head. An unexpected bonus of the park was walking through the Chihauhaun desert. In the image above, we were blessed with a striking setting sun over the Permian Basin.

Moonrise, White Sands National Park, New Mexico

I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you’re in it all the same.

so why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro.

from Part 3, The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac, Mary Oliver

The fierce wind the evening pictured above at White Sands blew sand into your clothes. The wind began to settle a bit as the sun set. On a distant dune, three people sat to watch the moon rise in the sky.

Purple Sand Verbena, White Sands National Park

The Purple Sand Verbena is a desert member of the Four O’Clock family. Natives used it as a sedative to reduce nervousness, anxiety, and tension. I suppose that is from consuming it. Seems like just looking at it can have a similar effect.

Late yesterday afternoon, in the heat,
all the fragile blue flowers in bloom
in the shrubs in the yard next door had
tumbled from the shrubs and lay
wrinkled and fading in the grass. But
this morning the shrubs were full of
the blue flowers again. There wasn’t
a single one on the grass. How, I
wondered, did they roll back up to
the branches, that fiercely wanting,
as we all do, just a little more of
life?

Part 4, The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac, Mary Oliver

If you’d like to hear Oliver read the entire poem—and I encourage it—you can find it here. Or you can read it here. And an interpretive footnote—Keats was 29 when he died.