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