Longmont, Colorado: Land Acknowledgement

 

                    Mašké by Danielle SeeWalker. Longmont Art Museum. May 2023.

 

                                            Exhibit: "Duality: Contemporary Works by Indigenous Artists"

Being in Longmont for a couple of months, I checked into the city's land acknowledgement, if any. 

Longmont does have one.

In July 2021, the Longmont City Council adopted this land acknowledgment: 

We acknowledge that Longmont sits on the traditional territory of the Cheyenne, Arapaho, Ute and other Indigenous peoples. We honor the history and the living and spiritual connection that the first peoples have with this land. It is our commitment to face the injustices that happened when the land was taken, and to educate our communities, ourselves and our children to ensure that these injustices do not happen again.

John Fryer, the reporter who wrote this article also shared a quote from the mayor: 

Mayor Brian Bagley said approving the statement amounted to sending a message to Indigenous peoples as well as Longmont residents and visitors to the community. But, he asked, if the words in the statement are true, "What are we going to do about it?"

Bagley .... said the community's commitment needs to be "more than just a statement."

He suggested one possibility would be for Longmont residents to provide homes to tribal children attending colleges and universities in the area.

And the mayor is right to ask this. There are two-to-three concrete commitments in the land acknowledgment statement: 

1. Face the injustices that happened when the land was taken, 
2. Educate our communities, ourselves and our children ... to
3. Ensure that these injustices do not happen again. 

..... and yet. 

Here we are in a time when our nation's decision-makers are drunk on a neo-racist cocktail of "invasions" and "border security," stirred with a hearty splash of George Orwell's 1984 doublespeak, where "diversity, equality, and inclusion" is code for a KKK warning against "white genocide." 

 

Sign outside Harrison, Arkansas. August 2016. Photo credit: Mzuriana.

  

Our Declaration of Independence states: 

" .. .  all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. ..."

Longmont, Colorado: 'Snow Way, Go Away!

Graupel hail-snow in Longmont, Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

 I just can't escape winter, it seems. I think spring is coming and then Demeter throws a wrench in daughter Persephone's plans. I mean, heck, what the hell was the snow doing in El Paso this March?!

Graupel hail-snow in Longmont, Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

So last night it hailed here in Longmont. Or it might be more accurate to say it graupeled?

Funny enough, on my way to this very same place back in May 2016, there was snow alongside the roadways. 

Snow along Highway 36 in Colorado. May 2016. Credit: Mzuriana.

Longmont, Colorado: Walks in the Neighborhood: Longmont Estates

Neighborhood pond. Longmont, Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

My temporary home turf is in the Longmont Estates Neighborhood. 

There is a pretty pond within its borders. 

There is a whimsical yellow utility box with storybook mice. 

Storybook mouse on yellow utility box. Longmont Estates Neighborhood. Longmont, Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

A woodpecker or northern flicker surveyed the hood from the flattened crown of a topped tree. 

Bird on a topped tree, Longmont Estates Neighborhood. Longmont, Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

There was the ubiquitous tossed boot. A blue medical glove, an artifact of this COVID era.  

A slide show of walks in the Longmont Estates neighborhood: 

 

#30

Longmont, Colorado: Another City, Another Farmers Market

 

Arranging the asparagus. Longmont Farmers Market, Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

No kettle corn.

Several vendors offered big ol' fat, soft, chewy, yeasty, pretzels. I felt tempted, but no, I am saving my caloric debauch for kettle corn. 

 

Soft pretzels. Longmont Farmers Market, Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

This vendor is clever; made me smile, although I didn't even notice the name or claim - The Off Beet Farm - the Gayest Little Farm - until I looked at the photos later. What pulled me in was how the sunlight played on the leafy colors. Maybe my mind was also distracted by my hopeful search for kettle corn.

 

Gayest Little Farm at Longmont Farmers Market. Longmont, Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Gayest Little Farm at Longmont Farmers Market. Longmont, Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

The mountainous backdrop with its crown of clouds lent drama to the occasion. 

Mountainous backdrop at Longmont Farmers Market. Longmont, Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

Apparently, I am not the first person (or even the second or third) who initially misread the banner of this pie vendor. 

Human pie? Oh. No. Longmont Farmers Market. Colorado. May 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

The bird nest outside the pupusas booth enchanted me. Also, the "Pupusa Family" took me back to Mexico City, when an El Salvadoran family from one of the Central American caravans made pupusas to share. 

Pupusas and bird nest at Longmont Farmers Market, Colorado. Credit: Mzuriana.

Other farmers markets: 

2010: Kansas City: Travels With Carol: Day 3: City Market, et al

2011: Color in Harar [Ethiopia], Day 4

2011: Last Day in Gonder [Ethiopia]: The Market, Gold, and God is Calling

2011: Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia: At the "Big" Market

2012: Istanbul: Larceny and Spice

2012: Alamogordo, New Mexico: Farmer's Market

2013: Las Cruces: The Not-So-Farmerish Farmers' Market

2013: Lafayette, Louisiana: Farmers' Market at the Oil Center, Winter

2016: El Paso: Downtown Farmers Market

2016: Antigua, Guatemala: Municipal market stories here and here and here. 

2016: Outside Antigua, Guatemala: The Sunday Blues

2018: Mexico City: New Housemates and the Saturday Market

2023: Las Cruces Farmers and Crafts Market

#30

 

 

10 Years Ago: Sounds of a Weekend

 

Gosh, this makes me smile. 

I'm happy to revisit, to hear these sounds of the past.

Monday, May 6, 2013

Sounds of a Weekend

Flowering ocotillo, Leasburg Dam State Park, Radium Springs, New Mexico. May 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

From Leasburg Dam State Park and Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, one weekend in May:

Flowering desert, Leasburg Dam State Park, New Mexico. May 2013. Credit: Living Rootless

Drumming minute in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. May 2013. Credit: Living Rootless

A hot springs bath in Truth or Consequences, along the Rio Grande. May 2013. Credit: Living Rootless  

 

 

2023 Word of the Year: FEAR: Feelings Expressed Allow Relief

 

Boats along Hudson River Greenway. New York City. September 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

FEAR: Feelings Expressed Allow Relief. 

There are so many angles from which to look at what's meant by "expressing feelings." To myself? To the person or group who provoked said feelings? Or to a third party about the provocateur(s)? And are we talking about negative feelings (fear?)? Or are we throwing in the positive feelings, as well?

I read something recently - the source since forgotten - that resonated: When it comes to expressing one's Big Negative or Fear-Filled Feelings (aka resentments) to someone in our family-and-friend circles, it is best to wait until our wound has healed into a scar. If the psychic injury still bleeds or if the infectious agent is still virulent, we are likely to incur fresh harm. Or perhaps to inflict same to the other person. 

These days, I seek equilibrium, serenity, peace, stability - stability as in the stability of a sturdy little boat in churning waters. The water is choppy, but the sturdy little boat is sound and seaworthy. It can right itself in a storm.

If I let it do what it's built to do. If I remain calm. 

So express my feelings? Sure, that's a good thing. But first I want to pause, to gather peace to me. To express those feelings when I've collected my calm in my sturdy little boat.

On the Road: From Missouri to Colorado: A Night at Love's

I've left Missouri for a two-month sojourn in Colorado. 

I passed the night in Chez Prius at a Love's in Ellis, Kansas. 

A very cozy bed chamber. 

 

Cozy bed in Chez Prius. Ellis, Kansas. Credit: Mzuriana.

I awakened to a glorious dawn, co-starring a slice of Americana. 

 

Dawn in Ellis, Kansas, at Love's Truck Stop. Co-starring an A&W. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Dawn in Ellis, Kansas, at Love's Truck Stop. Credit: Mzuriana.

On the Road to Longmont, Colorado: A Stop in Czechoslavakia, Sort Of

 En route to Longmont, Colorado, I pulled over for gas and other sustenance in Wilson, Kansas. 

Hi, ho! A giant egg! 

Giant Czech egg in Wilson, Kansas. April 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

And no worries, I took more photos of this good egg from different angles and distances, in case you yearned for same. Wilson, in fact, claims that its egg is the world's largest Czech egg:

Giant Czech egg in Wilson, Kansas. April 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

Giant Czech egg in Wilson, Kansas. April 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

There was more visual evidence of Wilson as the "Czech Capital of Kansas:" 

Czech heritage acknowledgement in Wilson, Kansas. April 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

Czech heritage acknowledgement in Wilson, Kansas. April 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

Czech heritage acknowledgement in Wilson, Kansas. April 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

Czech heritage acknowledgement in Wilson, Kansas. April 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

The giant egg puts me in mind of the Big Alaskan Road Trip that my daughter, Kit, and I took back in the 90s, which Kit deemed the trip of "Buttes and Big'uns," thanks to the many "largest in the world ..." roadside attractions we visited, in addition to the countless buttes in the northern plains.

But I digress. Below is Wilson's historic opera house, undergoing restoration: 

Historic opera house undergoing restoration. Wilson, Kansas. April 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

So why the hell did the Czechs land in Wilson? 

They came to build the railroads, back in the 1870s. They left their homes in Europe because of poverty, for the most part. American railroad companies even advertised in Czech papers about the opportunities to be found in the American plains.

Also, early Czech arrivals to Kansas wrote back home about the opportunities in Kansas for work and land. Some Czechs, already in the US, simply migrated west from the American east.

Next stop: Longmont, Colorado

 

Ski Run Road and aspens, Highway 532, New Mexico. December 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

I'm leaving tomorrow for Longmont, Colorado, where I'll visit with my sister, Murphy, for May and June. 

The last time I was there was in 2016, my summer of multiple travel adventures: 

• Toronto
• Antigua
• Washington, D.C.
  
• Revisit in South Louisiana to share it with my grandchild, Jet (nee Avery)

It's also the year where I bought a new laptop and a new digital camera. At seven years old, the laptop is now geriatric, and I've found that I depend too much on my mediocre phone camera, and less on the petite, pocket-sized Canon I bought back then.

 

Jefferson City, Missouri: 'tis Spring

 

From a friend's garden of spring blooms. April 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

A Kansas City friend and I met in Columbia recently. She brought me the best kind of flowers: Cut from her own garden and in a glass vessel from her home. 

Add to that spirited conversation over coffee (me) and tea (her) on a sunny, warm day .... yes, 'tis spring. 

This is my friend who packed 6000 condoms in her suitcase on a volunteer mission to a country whose people suffer from a very high STI rate and a shortage of just about everything else.

 

10 Years Ago: Columbus, New Mexico, Part 1: You Mean There's More Than One Part? Are You Kidding?

 Yeah, crazy. 

There were ultimately TEN parts to the saga of little ol' Columbus, New Mexico: 

• Part 1's original post here. 
• Part 2: Drug Running
  
• Part 3: The Wall
  
• Part 4: There's Something About ...
  
• Part 5: Raids
  
• Part 6: Going Over to Puerto Palomas
  
• Part 7: Pat, Who Rescues
  
• Part 8: The Library
  
• Part 9: Odds and Ends
  
• Part 10: "A Future We Don't Know About"
  

And then I took a brother and a friend there two separate times when I lived in El Paso in 2016.

 

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Columbus, New Mexico, Part 1: You Mean There's More Than One Part? Are You Kidding?

Columbus, New Mexico. April 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

I know, I know! How could it be possible to require more than one post to talk about a town with fewer than 2000 residents, a lackluster landscape, and where the "good" restaurant closes at 3:00 p.m.?

Where the in-town state park has a sad sort of parking lot vibe? 

Where, counter to "normal" New Mexican water towers with painted murals that display community pride, the Columbus water tower is strictly No-Bullshit Black?

Where downtown Columbus boasts perhaps 6 or 7 storefronts? OK, maybe 8.

Columbus, New Mexico. April 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

Stay tuned. 

 

2023 Word of the Year: FEAR: "Take More Risks"

 

Tammany Trace, Mandeville, Louisiana. May 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.

Around the beginning of the year, the universe whispered into my ear : "Take more risks." 

I've done scary things. Adventures. Acts of derring-do here and there. Uprooted myself.

But the whisper in my ear - "take more risks" - came from a different wellspring. There was a sense of some urgency.

I'm not getting younger, and evidently I am not immortal.

My grandparents are gone. Both my parents are gone. Most of my aunts and uncles are gone. 

I'm almost at the front of the line, closest to the abyss. 

I don't want to be on my deathbed regretting that I didn't take the fullest advantage of what life offers because of silly ol' fears of things like looking stupid, experiencing rejection, failing, falling, flailing. 

I've got to take more risks.

Related posts: 

• 2016: Flashback: Fear and Adventure: A Skydiving Story
  
• 2013: One Thing That Scares You Per Day Keeps Apathy at Bay
• 2023 March: Word of the Year: FEAR: Forgetting Everything's All Right 
• 2023 February: Word of the Year: FEAR: Fuck Everything And Run
• 2023 January: Word of the Year: FEAR: Looking Into the Abyss Without Falling In 

 

El Paso, Texas: Snow 'way!

 

Snow in El Paso! March 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

 Last week I visited a couple of El Paso friends, staying overnight at their place. 

What the hey?! In the morning, it snowed. 

Snow in El Paso. March 2023. Credit: Mzuriana

 

Something I have tried to avoid since that day on a marshrutka between Rustavi and Tbilisi in Caucasus Georgia. 

Snow on palm trees = This Is Not Right.

 

Snow in El Paso. March 2023. Credit: Mzuriana

 

Las Cruces, New Mexico: Spring Comes

On Sunday, I visited the arts and crafts show in the village of Old Mesilla, which is just outside of Las Cruces. 

I saw my first daffodils of the year. Spring approaches. Blades of joy there. 

First daffodils of  the year. Old Mesilla near Las Cruces, New Mexico. March 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

In a long-ago March, in my rooted life, stoic daffodils bore a mantle of snow in Missouri: 

Daffodils in snow. Jefferson City, Missouri. March 2007. Credit: Mzuriana.

To reap the joy of daffodils, someone must plant the bulbs the year before, in the faith that beauty will come.

10 Years Ago: A View to a Kill

This wasn't the most startling thing I'd seen outside my windows, both in Alamogordo and after, in other temporary domiciles. Such as this tragedy.

But it was damn startling. 

 

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Alamogordo: View to a Kill

When it happened, I was working at my desk. On the phone, in fact. With the IRS. So I couldn't just hang up and see what was up, because I was deep into my own surreal drama.

But what happened is this. I was on the phone and I heard, then saw, a rustling of dead leaves on the ground in front of the french doors. Whatever was happening was happening in front of the wooden part of the doors, so I didn't actually witness the attack.

But I saw the aftermath.

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

While I was pinned to my phone call with the IRS, I watched the hawk methodically pluck the fine feathers from the dove's breast, pull out some meat, eat. Pluck, pull, eat. Pluck, pull, eat. It was like watching stuffing being pulled out of a pillow. Presently, the hawk moved the bird aways from the breast feathers. 

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

Above and below are the deshabille of the dove's downy breast feathers. 

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

Finished with one part of the bird, the hawk took its dead prey to a different location (still in front of my french doors) and commenced to denude the bird of its larger feathers, as evidenced below:

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

Once released from my engagement with the IRS - an hour or so - I went outside to get the pics of the feathering grounds. The hawk, annoyed, carried its meal up to my backyard tree and laid it in the crook of some branches. 

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

The hawk dined on the dove into the afternoon, and then left it alone. The next morning, I saw that the hawk had returned for leftovers.

Even later still, I noted the carcass was gone from the branches, but was now on the ground nearby: 

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

Hawk and dove, a lunch. March 2013. Credit: Mzuriana.

A feast for smaller forms of life.

2023 Word of the Year: FEAR: Forgetting Everything's All Right

 

Alligator, Audubon Bird Sanctuary, Dauphin Island, Alabama. December 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.

FEAR: Forgetting Everything's All Right. 

 

Let's get some things straight right off. I am NOT one to embrace any of these ideas: 

• Everything happens for a reason. 
• Everything turns out for the best. 
• Everything is going to be all right. 
  
• It's God's will.
  

What I can embrace is that in this moment, and this next moment, and now this one - everything is all right. 

I hearken back to Aldous Huxley's utopian novel, Island, with its chatty birds ever-present (get it?) to remind people: "Here and now, boys. Here and now." "Attention. Attention." 

I began this rootless journey as a woman of a certain age. I'm more than a decade older now. The agent of my future demise might even now be stealthily amassing an army of corporeal insurrectionists under cover of an arterial stream or within or on or behind an organ. Or perhaps a wall is thinning, like the tires of my car, ready to tear or pop at a most inconvenient moment. Or deep dread: Maybe my brain cells - the ones that govern my cognition - are draining rapidly down some well of oblivion, with critical mass as yet not reached, thus not yet on the screen. But soon.

And, too, I have a grown-ass daughter, Kit, who has recently realized that her parents are .... mortal! All of the grandparents are gone now; her parents are the front line. So she'd like to call me back to base, as it were, to be closer to her. I don't dismiss this desire. I will factor the desire into my plans, which have always had intrinsic plasticity.

But in this moment, everything's all right. I can allay fear by remembering this. 

I can make course corrections in my rootlessness. I can change my core mission if I want. I can re-prioritize goals. 

I will plan for various tomorrows, but live in today.

It's sunny today; the temperature mild. I will visit two El Paso friends this evening. We will laugh.

We will laugh despite recent losses in our individual and mutual circles, and despite the uncertainty of tomorrow. I tell myself to remember this when we three laugh: 

In this moment, everything's all right.