Almost, But Not Quite

In recent years, my home state of Arizona has suffered a loss of reputation, and relatively few things seem to have survived that to remain points of pride. One of the things that has is the Grant Canyon. Of course, that's not something that Arizona's residents can really claim responsibility for, but it's there where Arizonans are and not where those of any other state are. Naturally, we will claim credit for the canyon anyway.

Now, there's this acrobat called Nik Wallenda. He's part of an esteemed acrobat family and has pulled off some impressive high wire stunts, accruing seven Guinness world records along the way. I faintly knew of him, but took no interest until I read of his latest planned feat. It's said that he plans on doing a high-wire walk across the Grand Canyon. His own website says this, as do many media accounts of the event.

Trail Of Learning

Years ago now, I worked at a Boy Scout camp in the Nature Lodge. I believe I wrote about this some time ago. Among the tasks which fell to me were leading nature hikes. You lead a group of people around a short circular trail, stopping at various points to describe the flora of the area. I led that hike many times, and it got ingrained in my memory. That's passed though, and I would be rather rusty if I tried again today.

Still, I remember one or two things. That was evident when we took a similar self-guided hike here in Big Bear Lake, which I expect to have left by the time you are reading this. The trail was not as varied as the one I led, but I suppose it made the most of what lay in the area. It had sixteen items on it, which I think may have been fewer than the one I had led. Really it was rather informative, providing plenty of information that I hadn't known.

Hiking This Year

As I write this, it is the tail end of the year's first day. I've been out hiking today. Don't get the idea that this is something connected to New Year's resolutions or self-betterment. It certainly is not. I just used to hike a lot back home, and in Los Angeles I have done so rarely. When the opportunity arises, I take it. It's a fairly pleasurable experience to share with friends, and if I get any fitter as a consequence, that's good.

It's interesting to compare and contrast the experience with its counterpart back home. One of the first things that occurs to me is the view. Phoenix and LA are both shrouded in smog all too often, but LA's hiking trails often seem to offer more to see. There are of course one's fellow hikers, who often are rather fit and sometimes famous. There are also plenty of famous landmarks to see, from the city's buildings to such things as the Hollywood sign (which one can approach relatively closely from behind).

In Trying To Sleep, A Learning Curve Steep

Nature often knows best. It doesn't know best about everything, as we have certainly improved upon it in some areas. Also, I would hate to see it develop a big ego, so it's best to be measured in issuing praise, but it often does know best. One thing that happens well naturally is sleep. When it's dark, it's a whole lot easier to sleep than to continue on with waking activities, and it's naturally easier to do the reverse when it's light out.

If you sleep when it's easy to sleep and stay away when that's easier, you're bound to be well-rested and productive. Unfortunately, someone had to go and invent both shelter and artificial lighting. We've been messed up and muddling along ever since then, and no one has the nerve to suggest we go back. I'm no different than the rest. I have a terrible sleep cycle, because it's all too easy to go against the natural way now.

Green

I seem to recall there being a good number of citrus trees in many neighborhoods of Phoenix. I guess conditions there are pretty tolerable for oranges and such, although I don't recall that those I ate from trees in residential areas were too tasty. There must have been something wrong with them, or with the soil. Something was no good. It might have been the strain of oranges. If that's it, they ought to eradicate it from the planet.

I remember prickly pear cactus fruit being a lot better. Naturally, some kind of fungus eventually began to attack it just as soon as it was ripe, which is just what you would expect to happen to good things like that back home. Before that started happening, we had some really nice preserves that could be made from something growing in the yard. Nothing else was fruitful around there, although in the neighborhood we'd come from somebody had bananas growing.

Took A Hike

I haven't done enough hiking since I came to LA, which I must lamentably admit was some four or five years ago. I do hike when I'm with my father, but that is never here in town. Only when friends suggest it do I go along with it, although I do go along enthusiastically enough. Maybe I'm a little bit hiked out, having done as much as I did as a Boy Scout. I can take a little here and there, but somehow most of those excursions with friends do not adequately entice me.

The other day three of us went and hiked somewhere near where the Hollywood sign is, although we did not go straight to it. There's a way of getting closer, but even then you can't get near enough to lay hands on in. In any event, this was a different hike. It was rather brief, and that was all right by me. It was a warm day, and while that's something I'm as used to as the hiking, it's nothing I feel compelled to subject myself to much anymore.

Tree Lounge

I mentioned yesterday that I had participated in a charity walk/run event. Because it so closely followed the Toastmasters event that day and because it went all night long, I tried to work on possible ideas for this blog as I walked. Consequently, ideas tended to spring from things I was looking at. One such idea was neatly summed up in a single word: trees. As it worked out, I wrote about the only thing that I could think of as I was in fatigue-driven mental free-fall. That one thing was of course the fundraiser itself.

 Hours later, I was recovered enough to both remember and intelligently develop some of those other ideas. I'll say a few words now about trees. My personal favorite is the Ponderosa Pine, owing to my experiences in the cool upper altitudes of northern Arizona. The aforementioned tree has the lovely scent of vanilla, if not its flavor upon consumption. That smell, incidentally, is potent enough to cover up the putrid odor of an outhouse, which we all appreciated at summer camp there. Yes, I definitely favor pines.

Bone-In

I was scrutinizing a map which related a trip I was to take from my home neighborhood of North Hollywood to the distant outpost of Glendale. Taking public transportation as I habitually do, I am used to what would appear to be less than efficient routes. No one can travel around the city as the crow flies, but I cannot go even as the crow walks, if it should ever do such a thing (to be frank I cannot say I've ever seen it do anything in particular except mark my admissions of being in the wrong). So it was in this case, but for an understandable reason. Standing in the way of my speedy trip like a tree stump in the yard is that glittering jewel in the crown of LA's parks, Griffith Park.

Named after industrialist and philanthropist Griffith J. Griffith (who evidently believed fervently that misery loves company), the park is a worthy rival to Central Park of New York and Grant Park of Chicago (to the latter of which must now be added Millenium Park). That is unquestionably so in my book, possessing as it does such landmarks as the Batcave and other historical chapters of note, not to mention actual natural beauty and splendor. Griffith Park may not have the incidents of civil unrest that other cities' greatest parks do (ceded as those were to MacArthur Park), but it is a great park.

Less Grievous Evil

While strolling through my neighborhood park, I noticed something. It's to be expected that the trees would be defaced, but my experience has been that people carve things into them with a blade. It's downright romantic and acceptable sometimes, in fact. Part of growing up is announcing to everyone via tree trunk that you are in love with somebody, or so I have been led to believe. I never did do such a thing or directly bear witness to it. In any case, I was aware that it happens- with a blade, as I said. What I discovered was that it also happens with spray paint.

I was scandalized, of course. Who could commit such an atrocity, degrading the quality of our fair city's green space? I wondered this until my thoughts took a turn. Is it really worse? It's uglier to see graffiti on a tree, and I would be the first one to say so. What is worse where the tree is concerned, though? Beneath the bark is a kind of membrane which transports the tree's nourishment from ground up to the very top. It's very thin, and carving the tree punctures it. That's bad for the tree, and can kill it if carried to extremes. Romantic a heart with names in it may be when carved into a tree, but not environmentally friendly.