The Clubhouse

Throughout most of my childhood my grandparents had a clubhouse in the back yard. It was nothing elaborate, just a few sheets of plywood held together by a few dozen nails and two by fours. At least that is what it appeared to be to a legion of cousins, siblings and friends. This clubhouse served as a spaceship, mountain cabin, aircraft carrier, battleship (The USS New Jersey to be exact) and my personal favorite, an Old West fort.

Oh the hunts we embarked on! The marauders we defended against! The new planets we explored! With that little pile of lumber we became astronauts, sailors, cowboys and mountain men. We went after elk in the Rocky Mountains, sailed the Pacific during the Second World War and explored that little slice of heaven between New York and California. Yes, we traveled the world and went places we had only seen on TV and read about in books.

Whenever someone washed a car on our street we would rush down to the end of the cul de sac and use the water to build our own Panama Canal. Just on the other side of the Canal was Lincoln Acres Elementary School, which served as Jack Murphy Stadium, Yankee Stadium and if we hit a ball into the iceplants, Wrigley Field. Beyond our field of dreams lay the wilderness land; or the Canyon at the intersection of Euclid Avenue and 24th street. Many a snake and lizard were corralled as I tapped into my inner Steve Irwin.

At the edge of our little canyon wilderness was a foreboding concrete tunnel that would take us under the 805 and on towards the Sweetwater River. That river led to San Diego Bay, which leads to the Pacific Ocean, which in turn leads to the rest of the world.

I often tell my sons stories of my childhood; always looking for ways of teaching them a lesson. One evening we were leaving Petco Park and Trevor asked me about the train tracks and where they lead. He also asked about the huge Dole ships and it took off from there; before the night was over we had gone on Google Earth and Trevor knew how to locate all seven continents on an unmarked map. Unfortunately, that’s one of the only benefits of new technology.

When I weigh the benefits against the negatives I have come to one conclusion: we as a people are forgetting how to be human. Social networking often exposes people who seem to take pride in allowing someone or something else to think for them. How many profiles out there have more “shared” quotes from “Ain’t nobody got time fo’ dat” lady than actual words of their own? I have online friends who I had not heard from in years and it was nice to get back in touch with them. At least it was at first. Then one game request after another started coming in. Thank God for the app block option. When this wouldn’t do I would block game invites from the person or just delete the person altogether. While it was nice to get back in touch it became evident that I was no longer a human to that particular person; I was just another way to get points on AngryCandyFarmBirds or whatever other soul-sucking trendy game is out there.

Sadly, I have looked over profiles and seen months of shared meme’s and no personal words or thoughts. This tells me that people are allowing Facebook to think for them. Why else would they rarely if ever share their own thoughts? And when they do, it’s little more than “lol” or some other such lazy form of expression. 

A few weeks ago a coworker of mine told me that his three year old son knew how to use an iPhone better than he did. Not only are adults slowly but surely allowing technology to think for them; we are now teaching our kids the same dependence on technology and less on self-reliance.

How many kids know how to skin their knee climbing a tree? How many of you moms have found lizard and/or frog parts in your sons’ pockets when doing laundry? More important, how many of you freak out when they get a little bit of dirt on them yet don’t bat an eye when they’re running around singing Miley Cyrus or God forbid, songs containing grammar rooted in prison culture? I’ve felt for a long time that our collective use of technology has us forgetting how to simply be human and the past ten years have been more counter-productive than ever. Not one of us had an iPhone in 2003 and now many of us cannot live without one. And the cycle is repeated each time a new phone is released.

Here in San Diego the opportunities to figuratively travel the world are too numerous to count. The Zoo, museums, Sea World and nearly every bioclimatic region on the planet can be experienced. Sadly, when I take my children to experience these things I see people paying more attention to their phones than to their children and the experiences they are attempting to share. One day while at the Zoo I observed a little girl of about three or four asking her mom about a particular turtle.The mother responded with an irritated “Shhhhhhh!” and went right back to playing whatever game she was playing on her phone.

If you have kids, don’t let their minds rot with technology. Build them a clubhouse and if you don’t have the means, take them outside somewhere, anywhere. There are many resources all over town for this and all it will cost is a few bucks worth of gas. Let them learn how to imagine rather than allowing technology to imagine for them. The time is coming when no matter what the emotion or situation, someone will tell you “There’s an app for that.” And quite frankly, I hope my time on this Earth is over before that happens…

A Turkey for the Table

I saw an ad the other day for the lottery that asked "If you won the jackpot, what would you do for Thanksgiving". Many of the comments came from compassionate-hearted people who expressed their desires to help various charities. A few said little more than they would not give to charities for various reasons. I for one would buy a turkey for the table. Now, there are two ways to do this. The most common way would be to go to the supermarket and buy one. From initial thought to putting it in the freezer, we're talking 30 minute at the most.

 That's the most common way but it's definitely not the way I would do it. First, I would buy a plane ticket to Albuquerque. On second thought, I would buy a new truck and drive there. I would much rather take the time to show my children the land, making stops in Jerome Arizona, the Grand Canyon, the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest and any other interesting spot along the way. We would stop in Albuquerque for a bowl of Green Chile stew and then head up to the Sandia Mountains in search of my friend Gerald Reed. Gerald is a lifelong archer who has harvested countless deer, elk and turkeys with a keen eye and a reverent heart. Gerald would accompany us to the nearest archery store and we would all be fitted with bows, arrows and all the other neccessary accoutrements. We would then head back up the mountain and conduct an intensive training in the proper use and handling of our hunting tools of choice.

After a few days of this we would drive down to the Gila Wilderness west of Silver City to scout for game. This would not only give us the best opportunities for a successful hunt; it would also get us accustomed to the lay of the land. Not only that, we would also gain valuable insights that could be applied to future hunts.

Hopefully all of our hard work would pay off and we come home with more than one bird. Either way, the sense of accomplishment from a job well done and the sense of teamwork will be much more memorable than swiping the debit card at the checkstand. And on Thanksgiving Day when we are praying thanks, we won't be reflecting on a trip to the grocery store. We will be basking in the memories of doing something for ourselves. We'll be telling stories of the huge bull elk that almost trampled our blind. We'll revel in recounting that expert shot Trevor made. We will talk about the beard on the tom Jojo bagged. Excitment will abound as we discuss returning next year in hopes of adding a venison roast or two to the table. And maybe go a little further north on the Rio Grande for a Christmas Goose. Hell, we may even plan a trip to the Nugent Ranch in Michigan for some wild boar so we can add a ham to the feast. Sounds a lot more exciting than a trip to the market doesn't it?

I'm not a fan of the term "Bonding Time". Call me old fashoined but there once was a time when that term was uneccessary. It wasn't needed because "Bonding Time" was a way of life, not something a man had to work into his schedule. But since that term is much used these days, what would you consider a more important bonding experience; a 30 minute trip to the store followed by an evening staring at the tv or god forbid video games, or hundreds of hours spent referencing maps, studying animals, hiking the wildlands and connecting with Mother Nature? The end result on the table is the same but the similarities end there. I for one would choose the option that would instill discipline, gratitude and reverence in my children so that they may pass it on to their own. And if any anti-hunters don't like that, they need to know that harvesting your own meat is no more immoral than paying someone to do it for you .
Hope to see you on the trail...

What's In A Name?

10. NY/SF Giants

Little people. Midgets. Dwarves. Pecks. Whatever you choose to call them, someone out there likely considers rooting for a team called the “Giants” discriminatory towards the wee men and women.

9. San Diego Chargers

Original Chargers owner Barron Hilton also owned the Carte Blanche credit card company; hence the name “Chargers”. As in “charge it”. Git it? Alright then. Now, there are twelve-step programs for any addiction you can imagine and I am very familiar with the original. There’s even one for compulsive shoppers. It’s only a matter of time until someone with a shopping addiction (or someone claiming to represent their best interests) takes offense to the name.

8. Boston Red Sox

Whether it’s the Crips or the post- Cold War Neo-McCarthyists, someone is bound to take offense to the “Red” in their sox. Honorable mention: Cincinnati Reds

7. Colorado Rockies

I am disgusted with the fact that fans of Apollo Creed are not picketing Todd Helton’s house.

6. New York Yankees

Anyone south of the Mason-Dixon Line should boycott Frank Sinatra’s signature tune

5. Los Angeles Dodgers

What’s not to hate?

4. University of Hawaii Rainbow Warriors

I’m not touching that one. Honorable mention: Calgary Flames

3. Alabama Crimson Tide

This is getting gross. Honorable mention: Detroit Red Wings.

2. Dallas Cowboys

If the name Redskins offends a small part of the Native American community, then the name Cowboys should be doubly offensive. Anyone who grew up in the pre-xbox and smart phone era should remember playing “Cowboys and Indians”. What did cowboys do? They killed Indians.

And last but certainly not least…

1. San Diego Padres

Yes, the Padres are named for the Franciscan friars who were among the first Europeans to settle in the area. They built grand missions up and down the California Coast. With slave labor. Native tribes forced into slavery. Or, maybe it wasn’t exactly slavery, since they kind of did get paid. Their payment? The gift of religion. Meaning, the ummm, “civilized” Europeans forced their beliefs on the savages of the New World. Those who continued with their centuries-old spiritual customs were rewarded with severe beatings. Yet those are the things we aren’t taught in school. Now THAT is offensive…

Peace on the Trail

Just over two years ago, I was well along this new path of mine when I searched the depths of my being and asked myself “Do I really deserve to feel this good, this soon?” This question bothered me for a while; I didn’t want to sound ungrateful but I prayed hard for a humbling experience. I needed something to keep me grounded. While in prayer, I expressed my deepest gratitude but still I felt that I had not done enough work to feel as good as I did. Moments after that prayer I looked up into the sky and saw two hawks flying overhead. I’ve always considered the sighting of a bird of prey a good sign but this time, these two hawks were sending a message. Never before had I seen two hawks that close overhead. Minutes later, I received the call informing me that I had secured what was the first of what I hope to be many writing contracts. Through my tears of joy and laughter, I looked up into the heavens and said “Yeah, REAL humbling!”

Last November, on my Mom’s 56^th birthday, I was hiking in search of some sage to bundle. It was late in the year, so there wasn’t really much worth harvesting. As I made my way back to meet up with my family, I considered taking one last trek up the hill, As soon as I decided to head away from the hill, 4 quail shot up out of the brush, then a few more. Quickly I armed myself with my camera in hopes of getting in a few good shots. I gave chase back up the hill to no avail, those little buggers were in the air for 20 feet, running on the ground for another ten and before I knew it, they were long gone, leaving only blurred, unidentifiable images on my camera screen.
Only after I took my eyes away from the horizon did I realize what message our State Bird was sending. I found myself standing in the middle of what was surely the best patch of sage left in the area! After spreading some tobacco and offering prayers of thanks; I did my harvest and went along my way, grateful for yet another message from above.

I often pray thanks for those who’ve been brought into my life; friends, confidants and spiritual advisors. I guess you could say I’m a people person. But in a way, I tend to trust wildlife more than humans. Not all of course but to use an example, my wife and I were talking the other day about her fear of reptiles. I replied with “I’d trust a rattlesnake more than I’d trust 90% of the people in our neighborhood.” Reason being; with wildlife, you know what you’re in for. Except for cases involving apex predators who also happen to be carnivores, NO wild animal is out with deliberate intention to harm a human being. Sadly, the same can’t be said for some humans.

This way of thinking also finds a parallel  in my spiritual life. I’m no Dr. Doolittle, but I have received more than one message from animals over the years. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m totally untrusting of humanity. After all, one of my closest friends and someone who at times unknowingly has helped me strengthen my spiritual path and consistently inspires me to be a better husband and father is a Giants Fan. If that ain’t trust, then there’s no such thing! But at times, I’ve given time to certain churches and when the plate goes ‘round, I cannot help but wonder; is this money going to help spread the word of God, or is it going to the gas tank in the pastors’ Mercedes? Or, did he drive the Range Rover today? I guess I’m such a child of the 80’s that when I see a potential next Jim Bakker or Jimmy Swaggart, I immediately suspect an ulterior motive. And don’t get me started on those Westboro whack jobs.

I know that many people mightl not agree with what I share and that’s fine with me. Getting others to agree is not and has never been my intention. But what I am trying to do is share what works for me. Not to say it may work for others, but it is my hope that others may be inspired to seek what works for them. And what works for me is rooted in my Christian upbringing and is heavily influenced by Native customs; both growing ever and equally stronger within me. Were you aware that one of the big reasons Indians were called “Savages” in the early days of this Nation was because their languages had no word for religion? This is because every act, every breath of every day was an act of worship. Makes ya think, doesn’t it? Or at least I hope it does.

This brings me to the moment that inspired this blog. Yesterday My Wife, Our Children and I were celebrating Joseph’s 5^th birthday. They were enjoying this warm day by the pool while I walked my sacred trails at Indian Hills Camp in Jamul. As I often do, I prayed throughout most of my hike. I prayed thanks for the day we were celebrating; I prayed thanks for the memories of years past, I prayed for guidance on this day and all days to come. When I got to thinking of the years past spent here with my family, I found myself talking to my Mom and my Grandpa Joe. Before long, the tears started flowing and I dropped to the ground; grief stricken by how much I miss them. My tears were flowing like Jamul Creek does in the spring and I was literally sobbing out loud.
This feeling is with me every day but it triples whenever I’m there. I knew it would pass but I had no idea how. Usually, it passes with a burst of joyous laughter and this occasion was no different. As I tried to compose myself for the walk back into camp, two doves flew right over my head.

Doves.

The symbol of peace.

I’m more of a hawk & hummingbird guy but there is no animal that could've been a better messenger for that moment. I didn’t hear a voice booming from the heavens, I didn’t hear trumpets blaring. But as I spoke to two of my angels, those two doves brought me peace. It’s as if they said “be at peace” and that’s exactly what happened.

This time around, the sage was even drier than it was last November. I had long since given up on finding anything worth harvesting.

But wouldn’t you know it, after the doves flew over my head, after I composed myself and started back down the trail towards my wife and children, I found what was likely the last tiny bit of harvest-worthy sage.

Enough for two bundles…

 

See you on the trail,

Rudy

Born Too Late

Anyone remember the outstanding comedy-disguised-as-as-documentary “The Gods Must Be Crazy”? I have the first two on DVD and I watch them a few times a year. In addition to the entertainment factor I have also found it very thought-provoking. One scene in particular speaks of the “conveniences” of modern technology. It talks of how ummm, “civilized” man has refused to adapt to the world and has chosen instead to adapt the world to his needs. All these technological advances and ways of life that are supposed to make life easier have in fact made life more difficult than ever.

Ironic, isn’t it?! I guess it’s also ironic that I write this on a laptop computer that can hold an entire library worth of information. Also, that I sit in apartment in an area that was once a beautiful valley teeming with wildlife. A river runs nearby, starting way up in the Cuyamaca Mountains and running all the way to San Diego Bay. As I learned years ago, black bears used to follow the river to the bay in the summer, catching all manner of crayfish and stingrays. Think about that for a moment; when was the last time you saw a bear outside of a Zoo? It’s been a while for me, and I didn’t actually see the bear. I saw some of his sign on Pewabic Mountain in Colorado. His message told me that there was quite the bountiful wild berry crop that year!

I guess now I should get to the point of this blog; since memories of a family reunion in Colorado 13 years ago led to this. We stayed in the town of Russell Gulch, where my grandfather Joe Ress and his sisters Delia, Margaret and Alice grew up. The town is little more than a few well-maintained cabins now, and the landscape is dotted with abandoned mine buildings and even the stone foundation of my great-great grandfathers’ saloon, The Barnabe & Ress. None of the cabins had running water and all fresh water needed to be trucked in. Hence my need to use collected rainwater to wash my feet and shave out of an old porcelain bowl. After exploring the old mine tailings with my cousins one afternoon, I set to cleaning out all the Iron Pyrite I collected. Better known as Fool’s Gold, iron pyrite was responsible for more than a few broken dreams. As I was washing the gravel away from my stash, my great Aunt Margaret looked upon me with a proud smile and said “Boy, if your great grandpa could see you now, he’d be so proud!” I laughed it off, thinking he’d have likely slapped me one for wasting my time on such worthless rocks! But it meant the world to me, knowing that I was walking the same trails my ancestors walked. Even better was hearing the stories from her and my Grandfather. He showed me an old clubhouse he and his Grandmother built 65 years before. And wouldn’t you know it, that thing still stood strong. I can’t even imagine the emotions he was feeling as he was telling the story.

We only spent a few nights at the cabin, spending the rest of our trip in Lakewood with my great aunt Delia. Over dinner one night, my Great Uncle Bob (affectionately known as “The Rocky Mountain Goat”) asked me if I was homesick. I immediately replied with “yeah, homesick for the cabin!” For you see, I was more than grateful to be among my extended Colorado family, but we were in the city. I got more than enough of that at home, so naturally I would’ve rather been back up in the mountains. Especially since a summer rainstorm squashed my plans to hike to the edge of a deep valley in hopes of spotting a Bighorn Sheep or two. On our way from the mountains back into Denver, I rode with my Uncle Mike and got quite a kick out of how excited I’d get whenever we spotted deer or elk along the highway. Each mile marker brought another chance of seeing that majestic buck, or a bull watching over his herd. I cherish my ample opportunities to see wildlife up close in zoos, but there’s nothing as exhilarating as seeing them in their natural environment. It’s just like going to a ballgame as opposed to watching it on TV and believe me, that’s something I know a little bit about. After seeing a rather large herd of Rocky Mountain Elk, Uncle Mike looked at me and said “Rudy, I think you were born about 150 years too late!” That’s the same thing some of the elders told me when they saw my childlike giddiness while listening to their stories; like the one about the Mountain Lion who tangled with a porcupine and died on a lady’s porch just a few doors down. Maybe not the tenderest of stories, but it sure beats anything you’d hear in the city.

It was an amazing, heartfelt vacation and while flying out would’ve given us even more time at the cabin, nothing beats driving. If you’ve ever driven through the Badlands of Southern Utah or taken Interstate 70 up the Rocky Mountains to the Eisenhower tunnel, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Beautiful, majestic, breathtaking; there is no single word that could properly describe it.

Often, I find myself looking upon mile after mile of developed land and I wonder “What did this look like before human encroachment?” Take the drive and you’ll see what it looks like. If you have no desire to, I truly feel sorry for you.

Earlier this year, my Wife and I were considering going to the Grand Canyon for our Honeymoon. I nixed the idea after learning the average weather at that time of year. But in the back of my mind I thought “at one time, people did it in covered wagons, on horseback, even on foot.” But being that we had other modes of transportation available, I couldn’t in good conscience subject my family to such a journey. As I’ve mentioned in a previous blog, the drive to the Grand Canyon would’ve included a stop in Jerome, Arizona, where my grandfather was born. I must again relay the pleasure I felt upon learning that our final choice, Knott’s Berry Farm; is partly made up of old buildings from Prescott, which is 20 miles or so from Jerome!

As my posts told you, we had a tremendous time at Knott’s. My personal favorite part, next to telling the wife and kids “go crazy!” whenever we visited a gift shop or snack bar, was walking through Ghost Town.  Some of the buildings were new, but many were over 100 years old; carefully dismantled in Arizona, shipped to Buena Park and reassembled. As with any wonderful time out, my heart hung heavy as we started the walk outside the park. I took one last opportunity to look around Ghost Town. As I write this, I’m looking at some of the pictures I took on that last day. My heart hangs heavy, yet it is propped up by the cherished memories. When I look at them, I think not only of the two days we spent there, but also of the days past; when people truly worked and worked hard for what they had, communication meant writing a letter or riding to your neighbors house, and you got everything out of life that you put into it.

It was a harsh world at times, just ask (or read the story of) Hugh Glass. Men, women and children were at the mercy of the elements, and it was adapt or die. A hardy, salt-of-the-earth way of life. A life that would have suited me just fine.

I often think about the times I have been told I was born too late. The thought itself makes sense. I’m much more partial to dirt roads and mountain trails than I am to streets and freeways. I’d take a sip from a mountain stream over a bottle of Gatorade any day. And an ideal night out for me is spent sitting by a campfire; not in some cramped nightclub that plays “music” that sounds like two robots f***ing.

And while we are in an extremely advanced age, I truly feel that humanity has devolved in many ways. But as I often say, that’s a rant for another time. I will say this though; wouldn’t it have been great to live in a time devoid of A-Rod, Miley and Snooki?!

I’ve worked alongside and had great conversations with some outstanding people of our time; Tony Gwynn and Ted Williams: Junior Seau and Roger Staubach; ocean artist & conservationist Wyland and even former President Jimmy Carter. Yet I would have been just as much or maybe even more at home working alongside Jim Bridger or John Muir; Wyatt Earp or Chief Joseph. If I had a choice, I think the one person in history I’d really love to hit the trail with is Teddy Roosevelt. Heck, I probably would’ve been a fine Regulator alongside Billy the Kid if it got down to it!

But the four beautiful souls sleeping not 20 feet from me as I write this tell me that I am undoubtedly in the right place, at the right time. This blessed path of mine is a constant reminder of that. They say we are charged with teaching our children and it’s the least I could do since my children have taught me the purpose of my existence. Just as well, I have the knowledge and the drive to show my children what life was like back when, and the importance of what we can learn together. We can always wonder and learn what life was like then and it invariably helps me to become a better person, a better husband, a better father.

And the great part of it all is, even though I may have fit in pretty good in centuries past, I would fit better nowhere than where I am now…

See you on the trail,

Rudy

Some People Should Just Stay Home

Several years ago, I was watching a show about wild animal encounters. “When Animals Attack Stupid People”; “Morons In The Wild” or some other such fascinating program. One clip featured a grown man feeding slices of bread to a grizzly bear. Once the bread was gone, the man said “Sorry bear, no more. Time to go home now.” For emphasis, the man held the bag upside down and shook it, as if the bear would understand and go along his merry way.

You can imagine what happened next…

The bear, being a wild animal, was angered that his food source was suddenly gone. Seeing the human as the reason, he chose the human as his next food source.

The man survived the attack and hopefully he did either one or two things after; stay his ignorant ass in the city, or learn something about wildlife before taking to the woods again. Hopefully he learned that Bambi and the Jungle Book aren’t reality shows.

In the spring of this year, a girl was bitten by more than one rattlesnake. In a nearly humorous bit of irony, the girl was walking around her aunt’s property in search of a cell phone signal. Reliance on modern “conveniences” brought on a total ignorance of the land she was walking. Three days before it happened, my sons and I spent the day hiking less than 3 miles away, in known snake country. We saw a few snakes; no rattlers but what we did see didn’t come close to us.

Why?

Because I choose to be aware and I choose to teach my children the same. The vast majority of snakebite victims become victims for the same reason someone steps in gum or in dog crap. They weren’t paying attention to where they put their foot.

I am partly amused and partly disgusted at how the media reported the event. They said the girl was “attacked” by a nest of rattlesnakes. I’m no nature expert, but I think I just might know a little more about wildlife than the average person. In all my reading, research and first hand experiences, along with conversations with others in the know, I have never heard of a nest attacking someone. One time, I threw a live chicken at my brother for the plain fun of it, but that’s a different story. The average human female weighs around 100lb, while the average rattlesnake weighs about 2 or 3 pounds. The rattlesnakes were minding their own business, catching some rays when a creature over 50 times their size stepped on them.

Who attacked who?!

 

You need a license to drive a car.

You need experience to get a job.

You need to pay money to someone to do just about anything these days.

But being among wildlife costs nothing.

Now, here’s where it gets ugly.

San Diego County residents will remember the 2003 Cedar Fire. I remember it well, as I flew in from New Mexico the day of the fire. Scary stuff, being in a plane above so much scorched earth. When the plane crossed the Colorado River, the looming smoke was reminiscent of the scene from Independence Day where all the space ships show up.

The fire was started by a human. Not just any human, but a very special breed of ignorant, ill-informed and fully unprepared absolute moron. How unprepared? Let’s just say that he was about as prepared as a baseball catcher without a glove, mask or chest protector. Even worse, this guy was on a deer hunt, so he was also in possession of a loaded firearm.

Anyways, our Great Hunter was hungry and thirsty so he decided to go back to the truck for some food and water.

Decided to go back to the truck…

Which tells me that he had no food or water with him from the beginning…

He got lost, while less than 300 yards from the truck.

Less than 300 yards from the truck…

Which tells me he had no basic outdoor knowledge.

So, in all his uhhhh, “wisdom”, he decided to set a signal fire.

A fire.

In 80 degree heat.

In October.

With Santa Ana wind conditions.

When federal employees saved his life, he lied to them and said it was started by an errant gunshot…

Final toll:

Over a quarter of a million acres burned.

Nearly 3,000 buildings destroyed.

And people 15 people dead.

I don’t even want to think about how many deer, mountain lions, foxes, coyotes, raccoons, turkeys, skunks, lizards, hawks, quail and other animals burned to death.

The unintentional arsonist was slapped with a fine that was the rough equivalent of the cost of one funeral. All that damage and a slap on the wrist. But I won’t get into our judicial systems’ incompetence and flat refusal to hold people accountable for their actions. That’s a rant for another time.

My point in all of this is, some people just need to stay in the city. Stay where anything and everything except breathe is done for them by someone or something else. Where you don’t really need to even think for yourself, because someone or something else can think for you. I’ve just provided three near-perfect examples of when people thinking for themselves can be a bad idea. But for each of those examples and others like them, there are hundreds of thousands of examples of good, common sense-having people who enjoy the outdoors year after year. People who wake up to the sounds of chirping birds at sunrise and sit by the campfire and listen to the lonely call of the coyote when the moon is high in the night sky, with opportunities for wildlife sightings throughout the day.

But please, for the sake of the safety of you and your family, and the serenity of our precious wild lands, EDUCATE YOURSELF.  Educate your children. Learn the land. Learn the animals and their habits. Learn the trails. In this day and age of social networking, all it takes is a post starting with “has anyone ever hiked at…” and you can receive just about all the info you’d ever need. You don’t need to be a Bear Grylls or Steve Irwin but a little knowledge mixed with good ol’ common sense can go a long way.

But if you’re the type who thinks bears are cute and cuddly Disney actors; if you only experience this world through your cell phone; or if you’re the type who would get lost a few football fields from your vehicle and not carry even a little food or water with you, then it would probably be best if you just stayed home.

If not, I hope to see you out on the trail some day.