Pilgrimage to Big Mama Juniper

This story begins a few months ago, in Tuftonburo, NH.

I was working at a camp as the rock climbing/adventure education coordinator, and a former Prescott College graduate, Randy, happened to be working there as well. Late one night during staff training, he popped into my room as I was killing time on Google Earth, saying he had something to show me. He grabbed a chair and spun the globe on my laptop to Prescott, Arizona, and zoomed into the north side of town near Granite Mountain.
"The largest alligator juniper in the world lives outside of Prescott. Right here," he said, pointing to the convergence of two dry creek beds in the hills.
"You have to go there sometime before you graduate. I wish I had gone back more than once."

I wasn't sure exactly how to get to this spot, but Randy's enthusiasm inspired me to check it out when I arrived back in Prescott. After all, I thought, what better way to spend time off than seeing a magnificent old tree?

I asked many people about the tree upon my return to town and a few people knew the spot, but what I found out is that many people who know about the tree follow a strict rule of not revealing the location unless they personally bring someone there. I thought it was a pretty neat rule, hopefully it meant that the site hadn't been impacted tremendously by human presence. I was not, however, going to give up on finding someone who would at least give me a general idea of how to find this tree.

Two weeks ago I started working here at admissions and one of my co-workers was kind enough to provide me with a hand-drawn map of a route to the tree. After that, it was simply a matter of setting aside time for the expedition.

Eight of us (seven people, one dog) left on a cloudy Monday morning, carpooling in two cars each with about six inches of clearance, which became important very quickly. As soon as we turned off the maintained dirt road, it was apparent that our trek would have been made easier by simply parking the cars and walking a bit further. This pot-hole ridden dirt trench didn't really allow for us to turn around, however, so we pressed on. A mile of bumping and scraping later, all but the driver piled out of our vehicle to avoid tearing off all the essential components of the car. Half a mile from where we were supposed to park we came to what the map labeled as a "hill," but with this car's clearance it might as well have been a drawing of the grim reaper, mangled car parts hanging from his scythe. Luckily, there was a place to park below the hill of death, so we decided to cut our losses and continue on foot.


The hike along the road, and along the creek bed, was spectacular. Between the large crags of granite erupting out of the landscape we were greeted with the sight of an abundance of life. Alligator junipers, mountain mahogany, a plethora of oaks, as well as many cactus species, were there at every bend. The view of Granite Mountain was beautiful, like some sort of ancient but friendly behemoth on the horizon. We came around the top of a small hill, and there was the Big Mama Juniper. Unmistakably large, it didn't even seem possible that an organism could tower that far over all of it's neighbors. We crept along in silence and reverence as we approached the tree, in awe of its beauty and ability to thrive in such a place. There were no words, and it was impossible to fit in the frame of our cameras, though we certainly tried.

Many of us interacted with the tree in the way our ancestors would have, we climbed. It was the only way to really engage all the senses in this wonder of nature. From up above, you could see all the area around the tree that was influenced by its presence. I observed that nothing bigger than a shrub had grown alongside this one's great roots in a long time. I imagined what sorts of catastrophes this creature must have experienced in its lifetime; flash floods, fires, earthquakes, lightning, and humans. Trying to fathom that sort of lifespan hurt my head, so I decided to simply feel the tree beneath me and let it speak for itself.

After a few hours, we said our regretful goodbyes to the tree, and hiked back to the cars. I remeber looking back many times before we dropped back over the hill, wishing I could stay longer.

I know now why Randy suggested I make a point to travel to this old tree. You could spend years there, listening to the stories it has to tell. I hope that in my last two years here at Prescott College, I can at least give it a few days of my time to be listened to and enjoyed.


Zach Schiewetz.

Romanticism

I am feeling satisfied with the semester as it is right now. Sure, I have some late articles for the Raven Review to write, an
annotated bibliography, and a collection of term papers for History and Culture of Native America. Yeah. So?
Are you trying to tell me that I should be working?

Every once in a while, I have one of those beautiful days that distracts me so much, it (hopefully) invigorates my work.And then...Oh God! Poison! That bad song comes up on my ipod.

Thank God I Have A Skip Button.

When I Was Little: I wanted to be an archaeologist or a detective. I was fascinated by possessions, the idea of possessions. What
belongs to a person and what that says about who they are. Especially purses. What's in your purse? What's in your
glovebox? I love those prints of different types of one category of foods. Like breads, or pastas. It's a whole genre of art. (this particular one is by Mike Ward)





I was also fascinated by the apocalypse (the coming one). What, I imagined, would archaeologists of the future think about me
knowing only what I was carrying in my backpack? What if my backpack was the only backpack?








Much Later, I kept thinking about it. Possessions are the building blocks of capitalism. Possessions as identity is the meme that
anyone selling anyone is successfully using. I don't just carry lip balm, I carry lip balm in a tiny wooden sphere with flowers on
it, because I like that it's not a cylinder. I carry a tape recorder, not just because I use it, but because I am *being* a *reporter*.
My planner is a Slingshot. I've got my hipster ID Card, right there. My professional ID. My vain ID (hairbrush).

What I carry in my purse might also be influenced by how I'm feeling. There might be tissues in there, or painkillers, etc.

You can imagine, from my purse, what you think I do, how I'm feeling, what I like, and who I think I am.
Ipods are a whole new level of carrying ID. They're not just about identity politics, they're also an emotional readout device.
Especially the little 4 GB nanos. *Nothing* fits on there, so the songs that end up uploaded are premeditated.

I won't get into the psychology of reading different playlists. But I have thought about it.
I'll let you figure that out. Instead, I'll just show you some stuff.
This is for context:

Top 25 Most played:
In Dreams - Roy Orbison
Crying - Roy Orbison
Elephant Pao Pao - Shonen Knife
It Comes Right Down To You - It's A Beautiful Day
Animal Song - Shonen KnifeCecilia - Simon & Garfunkel
Paralel Woman - Shonen Knife
Girls - Eleni Mandel
4th Time Around - Bob Dylan
Moonglow, Lamp Low - Eleni Mandell
Salt Truck - Eleni MandellTu Solo Tu - Selena
New Feeling - Talking Heads
Wings In His Eyes - Eleni Mandell
I Wish I Knew (How It Would Feel To Be Free) - Nina Simone
Make-Out King - Eleni Mandell
Bang On - The Breeders
The Weight - The Band
Quinn the Eskimo - Bob Dylan
You Ain't Goin' Nowhere - Bob Dylan
Don't Think Twice, It's All Right - Bob DylanMy Time Ain't Long - Canned Heat
My Twin - Eleni Mandell
Miss Me - Eleni Mandell
Mujeres Divinas - Vincente Fernandez

I am a little embarrassed, yes. I'm kinda girly.

OK, But Listen: I just added these. This is the difference, now. I got rid of Radiohead, The Castanets, all of my Chavela Vargas,
and Gogol Bordello. Instead, I put on stuff by:
The Incredible String Band
The Pentangle,Creedence Clearwater Revival,
Islands,
John Lennon,
Mimi and Richard Farina,
The Be Good Tanyas,
The Beatles,
& The Velvet Underground.

And this is the list of songs I haven't skipped and listen to:Across The Universe - The Beatles
Well Well Well - John Lennon
Remember - John Lennon
Out of Jail - Algia Mae Hinton
One More Fact - Holly Golightly
Bad Moon Rising - Creedence Clearwater Revival
Who'll Stop The Rain - CCR
Free Bird - Lynyrd Skynyrd (Really? Really.)
Dig A Pony - The Beatles
Octopus's Garden - The BeatlesLodi - CCR
Wrote A Song For Everyone - CCR
Green River - CCR
Dream On - Aerosmith
Knocked Up - Kings of Leon
Sweet Home Alabama - Lynyrd Skynyrd
Don't Call Me Whitney, Bobby - IslandsMiserlou - Dick Dale
One Kiss - Holly Golightly
Painted On - Holly Golightly
An Eye For An Empty Heart - Holly Golightly
I Hear You - Holly Golightly
The Sign - Holly Golightly
Nzage - Smokey & Miho

My interpretation: Cheesey. But I like it. Obviously.

Why are you ruining my silk ties

“Why are you ruining my silk ties?” my Dad asks, as I am tying them together to make a rope.
“These seem to be the strongest ones and I don’t want to fall,” I said.

I am six years old and just wanted to climb, apparently my Dad did not understand. This is where I met my first love, her name is found high above the trees; hair like the wind, eyes like the sky.

My connection to climbing is one beyond mere sport, but it is how I think, how I move, how I am me. However, at times I must step back from what I love in order to see why it is such a large piece of who I am. A great teacher of mine once said, “If we cannot venture off by ourselves without the one we love, it is best to let them go.”

In many ways there is nothing like pushing our entire limit of fear while our last piece of protection is dwindling twenty feet below, only passing into the unknown, and then having the volume turned down on events that before may have seemed important, but only coming to understand they meant nothing at all. Or, climbing half way up a project and working the same route over and over until we are so exhausted that we have only one more try left in our bodies. Then miraculously, when we are most tired, and our minds become quiet we flow through what seemed so far away, and understand that it is only when we let go do we ever truly hold on to what really matters.
Everything that I hold to be important in my life I have learned from climbing. Is the fear that I am going through real or is it just my imagination? What is important right now, and what can wait? Can I trust the person belaying me, of course I can? Should I just walk away, or perhaps get myself into a mis-educative danger?

Bruce Lee once said that a martial art is, “Honestly expressing ourselves through movement.” For I believe that spoken language can only reach so deep into our souls, but that most communication comes from body language. Climbing is how I express myself; no words, just moving, because that is how I think; attempting to understand the rock rather than trying to conquer it.

Life is a shovel, now dig

How did I know that the sun was going to come out this morning?

a) I guessed
b) I was lucky
Or,
c) It was written


Many things happen in our lives that seem to “just make sense.” As Joseph Campbell once wrote, “We must stop living the life that we have planned, in order to live the life that is waiting for us.” This is the life that was written. Some may say there is no destiny, and they are right, just as some say there is no free-will, and they are also right; for we have both, we have a free-destiny. We have the freedom to choose, but only to choose from what is in front of us.

We can do anything, and this is sometimes forgotten. Some say, “Well, we just need to think positively and it will come true,” but this is only half of what needs to be done. For the entire equation is something I call “Activated thinking;” this not only means knowing we can and will, but also doing, preparing, and activating our entire life. We must change in order for a change to take place in our lives.

In the fall, I will be participating on an expedition, traveling the entire Arizona trail; 800 miles on horseback. This has never been done before, and the course will be part of the Paul Smith’s PhD dissertation, a faculty member in the Human Development program. This is an entire semester length course sprawling from September to December, with four classes taught on the trail. One of these courses is an independent study that I am putting together that asks: how can an expedition like this be implemented in a public school with a standards based curriculum? How can a school with students from medium to low-income families raise the money necessary to carry out such an expedition, or one of a shorter length?
In order to get into this class I needed to turn in an application with references, and then was reviewed by a committee. During this time there was no need to worry, for how do we know if the sun will be out the next day even if the clouds are in the way, “it is written.” When an action takes place that seems to just fit with the world, with our current lifestyle, and our current mindset, it is no longer a struggle to fit the piece into a puzzle, but a peace of mind that overtakes all worry. Just breathe, be patient, listen, learn, and take action according to what we truly want in life; this is the secret, nothing more.

As Emerson once said, "Always do what you are afraid to do."

For the biggest risk is not taking one.

Easter

Easter.

Listen, guys. I know. I know, I know that Prescott College is not in to religion. We're into Spirituality. Sometimes. And we are so definitely not into Christianity.Neither am I. Not in the strictest sense.But I love the story of resurrection.

Radical.

I love ceremony, I love that feeling you get with 200 people in the same room thinking similar thoughts, focused, on love of other people, love of the dead, love of that feeling. I've been thinking about ceremony a lot.I read this page, about one of the Latino cultural centers in Dallas (my home): http://www.dallasartsrevue.com/ArtSpaces/IceHouse/new/TheVirginPage.shtml

The show is all of images of La Virgen de Guadalupe. That art critic is annoyed with repetition. He wrote: "As we drove up, we noticed three male Hispanic* artists rendering Frida, Diego, a Super Lucha and somebody I didn't recognize, super realistically in lush, dark mural colors on the front wall.

I was dismayed by the un-original images and forms portraying America's most original and individualist artist couple ever. The irony was weightily whelming, and I tried to escape inside the building, but Kathy lingered long out there, insisting I come watch what I'd already seen too much of.

Inside, we were seriously un-awed and actively annoyed by the tedious exhibition of me-too copies in differing colors but few different concepts lost in a hopelessly PC, taste-free zone. Kathy worried aloud about the nightmares she expected next time she'd try to sleep. It was, she said later, "the stuff of bad dreams."

We do that. I do that. It's not just tourists who shop for luchadores paraphernalia, Frida prints, the same dia de los muertos figures every year. My mama is obsessed with milagros, which are the same images, in a thousand tiny silver incarnations. Pressed hands, legs, arms, breasts, flowers, boots, eyes, hearts. I love these things. I love that they are all incarnations of the same idea. We love those ideas. I love the idea of the ideas.

Those art critics see that as unoriginal. Typecasting artists into limiting stereotypes. Maybe we should make art that isn't about Guadalupe, Diego, and Santo? I joke all the time, anything that I cook is Mexican food because I'm Mexican. But that doesn't ring true, does it?
I think this art is ceremonial. It is an affirmation that we love who we are, and we love our culture.

I have 4 images of Guadalupe in my room here in Arizona, and I didn't have any at home in Texas. I didn't need to. In the absence of my family, and of the neighborhood, and of the music everywhere around me, I have these little statues and pictures instead. They make it easier for me to sleep. Cheesey as they are to high art, they make where I'm from part of where I am. Putting them in my room was itself a ceremony, each time.

Ceremony is a way of making emotional, mental, and spiritual things physical. That's what I see in this art, and that's what I get out of mass. It's not even that ceremony is beautiful...it's that it's necessary.

Easter is this weekend. I am searching for things to do. Prescott College is far from religious, and I think in most other places, I would describe myself the same way. Here though, I miss my family with an intensity that itself is nearly religious. It is transformative! I lament my diet, I chastise myself for not making my own tortillas. Insignificant and distant memories take on so much more weight, and I want to listen to nothing but Rancheras alllll day. I want to cry. Something so stupid, like wearing my hair back and out of my make-up-laden face is now worthy of Vincente Fernandez soundtrack and despair! What's up with that?!

In sum, I have decided to buy a nice white dress and go to mass tomorrow, things I haven't done at home in years and years. In my beautiful mexicana family's absence, I am everything they want me to be. Except there with them.

*I hate this word, and I never use it to describe myself. It's the critic's word. Write me sometime, and I will explain in copious detail why.

PS. I watch that movie, Frida, nearly religiously, too. For exactly the same reasons.

car trips, pesos, and parking lots

Our eyes took in the viridian water of the Sea of Cortez as we stood at the end of the nameless road. My eyes’ wanting to close from sheer exhaustion, but my heart keeps them open for the sake of beauty.

Oh Guaymas Mexico, I will forever remember your name, never able to count the ways.

Spring break for many students means different things. At many other colleges this may symbolize a week of debauchery and broken bottles. For me, when the classroom doors close, my arms open up to what the world has to offer, with nothing in my hands but seventy mile-an-hour winds while their hanging out the side of a an open car window, traveling.

This time was a little different. One of my best friends, Elise, came down from Utah to visit me and one morning we decided it was a good idea to pick a town on a map and go. No planning, just the constant surprises of a journey, and the mesmerizing ideals of pure freedom. Little did we know of the quote by Benjamin Franklin, “Those who do not prepare, are preparing to fail.”

The tip of my finger found its way south to Guaymas, Mexico on the Sea of Cortez; 300 miles over the border. We tossed our tooth-brushes in the car and headed out at 11am without a whim to the air, but a beat to our hearts.

Passing through Nogales; bam we were south of the border. In a place that everyone said we shouldn’t go, probably for good reason, but I believe that the biggest risk is not taking one, for this is where the wild things are and this is where lessons are learned. To be shaken out of habit, fully aware with every one of my senses turned on; nothing written in English, men washing our windshield at stoplights, people everywhere, the sound of cars with no exhaust, and a slight sweetness to the air; we are alive.

Outside of town, the Sonoran desert is beautiful and allowed to be itself; no gas-stations, electrical wires, and few cars, out here life is allowed to live.

We arrived in a city called Hermosillo around 6:30 and stopped in a hotel to find a bathroom and get some pesos. Nobody spoke any English which was refreshing, but Elise found a piano and toned down our culture-shock with some Beethoven; still no pesos though as all the banks were closed.

Arriving in Guaymas at 8:30pm, there are many people out walking, although the town seems a little rough on more than just the edges. We have an eighth a tank of gas, no money, and no place to sleep other than the car with Illinois license plates and “Happiness” written in soap on the windows. I suppose Benjamin Franklin was correct in his prior justification towards preparation.

We parked the car in a blockbuster parking feeling a little bit closer to home, reading each other poetry in order to let go of the fears that kept bubbling up. Then, waking up the next morning everything was beautiful; the sun greeted us with its brilliance and the mountains said hello with great humility. The locals were very beautiful people and we became instant celebrities being the only Americans around. We found a bank, bought some gas, ate some food, and decided to drive to San Diego, but in the end just drove home around the Mexicali boarder. Both of us were exhausted from the night before, and wished we would have planned a little bit more, definitely learning a very important lesson. However, we fulfilled a dream of picking a town and going without any preconceived notions, but we overwhelmingly scared ourselves by sleeping in a parking lot deep in Mexico, the one place everyone said we shouldn’t go.

Self Awareness at PC

This spring is my first semester as a transfer student at Prescott College. It kicked off with a backpacking trip through the Grand Canyon (which was amazing) and now I’m taking courses in interpersonal communication and Central American history. So far I have been gaining new perspectives on the world around me, as well as insight into my own state of self-awareness. One of the most rewarding aspects of my attendance at this school so far has been the connections that I have made with other like-minded individuals. I have made more friends in the last few months than I have in the last few years. An interesting aspect in making all of these connections is noticing the individuality in each person who’s evolved their own perspective and worldview. Despite any differences that may separate us, we are all united in the fact that we are self aware of our impact on the world around us, and we are all trying to figure out how we can make that impact a positive one.

This is Prescott College

Hello! My name is Suzy, and I am a student primarily in the Education and Human Development programs here at the school, although I have taken some Environmental Studies and Cultural and Regional Studies classes as well (gotta be well rounded, right?). I am particularly interested in something called “Ecopsychology,” a field which aims to connect people to each other and to the more-than-human world in a mindful way.

Ecopsych is a holistic psychology which sees people and their psyches as extending beyond their fingertips, and into their relationships. I see Ecopsych as about reconnecting to the natural world, which is healing to everything, although I also see it as about reconnecting to other humans. In particular, I think that it has incredible power as a decolonizing methodology.

My “competence” (Prescott College lingo for “major”) is in Multicultural Education. My teacher, Anita, has really inspired me down this road. I first took Foundations of Education with her, a class I expected to be fairly straightforward and dry…but no! Every Anita class is steeped in themes of social justice, so we went through every category of ethnicity in the United States and their relationship in history to the education system. It was incredibly revealing, to say the least. I then took a class called “Rethinking Our Classrooms: Race, Power and Identity in Education” with her, which was really amazing as well. We spent a lot of our focus on what it means to be educators who identify as white, particularly when our students are not. We reflected on our identities and those of people who have had to live in a culture that is not equitable or supportive of them. In particular, we discussed topics of race, language, gender, sexuality, ability and class. To finish it off, we had the opportunity to work with the Paulo Freire Freedom School (a middle school in Tucson) on overcoming stereotypes. Whether I end up being a teacher or not, the class was so valuable to me, and I find myself coming back to it every day.

So this is where I am right now. I have really been enjoying getting my education here. And now it’s time for Spring Break!

I’ll get enough rest when I’m dead

Many lives are led by each student at Prescott College. At times, I am hard at work researching why diversity is usually seen as to how long our ancestors have been in the sun, but in all truth, diversity is a confluence of ideas rushing into the ocean of human experience. Then I slip into another body and take advantage of all the amazing climbing in and around Prescott, among avenues of beautiful boulders and tall granite. However, the idea of going to school here is of the medium that we must stay active whatever our pursuit. This means taking advantage of the opportunities that present themselves and not staying in the house watching videos on You Tube. As Benjamin Franklin once said, “I’ll get enough rest when I’m dead.”
After speaking to many of the seniors here, the one thing they regret is not taking advantage of what is available here Prescott College. There are clubs that promote everything from teaching an immigrant from Latin America the English language and in return they teach us Spanish, any number of the social justice groups, community events, and social gatherings are a normal part of everyday life. I am paying $22,000, before financial aid, for a nine month buffet of experiences I cannot get anywhere else. Yet, at times I feel that I am only eating from the salad bar, nothing against vegetarians, but I want something with sustenance. So, learning from the feedback of those who have traveled down this path before, we must understand that if we want something in life we must reach out and grab it because there is no person who is going to do this for us. When we are born, our mothers and fathers feed us and protect us, but once we leave the nest it is up to us to find what we are good at, what brings us joy, and how we can actively make a positive change in society. For living in idleness is an immorality upon this gift called life.
Please understand I am not trying to be a motivational speaker or an evangelist of any kind. All that I am attempting to do is give an honest view of what Prescott College actually is, we are a place that “Graduates society’s leaders for the 21st century.” Additionally, leaders are not those who live in “quiet desperation,” but must constantly ask themselves, “what is my intention, and how am will I grow from this experience.” For life is short, and if we don’t stop and look around sometimes, were going to miss it. So go out there and live, for death is not just for those who have stopped breathing.

Change is the only constant

Change is the only constant, and I am unendingly shown this through the people I meet and the places I go. Sometimes I get so caught up in my academic work that I forget I am in one of the most beautiful places in the world.

While walking down my street I hear my phone ring, and flip it open. It’s my friend Kelly and she asks, “Do you want to go to a hot spring with me and few friends?” This is what I mean by change, the little nuances that visit us within our days. Some call them miracles, others divine intervention, I just call them beautiful surprises. So, of course I went to the hot spring; for the most powerful word in the English language is not love, or peace, or F#&%, but yes.

About an hour away from Prescott, the Camp Verde Hot Spring sits for those who would like to partake in its wonderfully warm waters, one of many within the region. However, driving there means hopping in a four-wheel-drive vehicle, traveling down a scenic highway for half an hour, then up and down a treacherously muddy dirt road that stops at a trail on the side of the Verde River.

The hike is roughly two miles to where we must cross the crisp waters of the mildly raging river with our pants off, and boots tied together hanging around our necks. Walking barefoot for a half mile because the smooth river stones massage the bottoms of our feet, we arrive and there is already a guy and a girl sitting in the bowl shaped spring, with slight wisps of steam rising from the clear water.

Easing myself in, the girl sitting across from me is from Portland, Oregon and makes specialty chocolate which she sells in jars, and she just happened to have some. It tasted like a garden full of magical flowers, and when I closed my eyes, my nostrils filled with a sweet potion, universally altering my consciousness. For this is the most real I have felt in a very long time, and is greater than anything the pharmaceutical company could ever produce, it is experience that creates sorrow and bliss, not a synthetic tablet that promises escape and numbness; I am here, and wherever I go, there I am.

We stayed until the beauty of darkness prevailed, and the stars were the only ones awake, all the while the moon was under its dark covers staying warm, not awaking and reflecting for anyone. Walking back to the river barefoot, there was just enough light to perceive the shadows on either side of the path, and then crossing the river, a feeling of rebirth rushed over my retinas, and I perceived my life with a entirely new set of perceptions, and the understanding as to what is truly important, and what can glide away with the unanimous night.

Driving back home, I thought about what I planned in the morning, and how different the day actually turned out. For life is one big game of checkers, cause and effect, and on one side I make my own decisions with my black-pieces, but on the other side controlling the red pieces is change. We have a free-destiny in this life of ours, we move our own pieces, and the universe moves some as well.