Protection.

On this day in 1872, President Ulysses S. Grant signed the Yellowstone National Park Protection Act into law, making it the world's first national park ...

For the benefit and enjoyment of the people.

Thanks, Jess. 

Heartily.

This week in 1777, George Washington led the remnants of his nearly vanquished, but heartily determined, Continentals to Valley Forge for the winter.

Valley Forge: A Winter Encampment (directly below) is an old orientation film shown at Valley Forge National Historical Park from 1993 until 2020 when it was replaced by the current film (furthest below) Determined to Persevere: The Valley Forge Encampment ...

Unsung Heroes of Valley Forge ...

Judgment.

The Battle of Little Bighorn began on this date, at this hour, in 1876.

Nathaniel Philbrick, from The Last Stand: Custer, Sitting Bull, and the Battle of the Little Bighorn

Custer did not drink; he didn’t have to. His emotional effusions unhinged his judgment in ways that went far beyond alcohol’s ability to interfere with clear thinking.

C-SPAN presents National Park Service interpreter Steve Adelson's stories of Custer and his Seventh Cavalry fight against the Sioux and Cheyenne ...

Excellent Books ...

Happy Birthday, Muir

John Muir was born on this date in 1838.

Toward midday, after a long, tingling scramble through copses of hazel and ceanothus, I gained the summit of the highest ridge in the neighborhood; and then it occurred to me that it would be a fine thing to climb one of the trees to obtain a wider outlook and get my ear close to the Æolian music of its topmost needles. But under the circumstances the choice of a tree was a serious matter. One whose instep was not very strong seemed in danger of being blown down, or of being struck by others in case they should fall; another was branchless to a considerable height above the ground, and at the same time too large to be grasped with arms and legs in climbing; while others were not favorably situated for clear views. After cautiously casting about, I made choice of the tallest of a group of Douglas Spruces that were growing close together like a tuft of grass, no one of which seemed likely to fall unless all the rest fell with it. Though comparatively young, they were about 100 feet high, and their lithe, brushy tops were rocking and swirling in wild ecstasy. Being accustomed to climb trees in making botanical studies, I experienced no difficulty in reaching the top of this one, and never before did I enjoy so noble an exhilaration of motion. The slender tops fairly flapped and swished in the passionate torrent, bending and swirling backward and forward, round and round, tracing indescribable combinations of vertical and horizontal curves, while I clung with muscles firm braced, like a bobo-link on a reed.

In its widest sweeps my tree-top described an arc of from twenty to thirty degrees, but I felt sure of its elastic temper, having seen others of the same species still more severely tried--bent almost to the ground indeed, in heavy snows--without breaking a fiber. I was therefore safe, and free to take the wind into my pulses and enjoy the excited forest from my superb outlook. The view from here must be extremely beautiful in any weather. Now my eye roved over the piny hills and dales as over fields of waving grain, and felt the light running in ripples and broad swelling undulations across the valleys from ridge to ridge, as the shining foliage was stirred by corresponding waves of air. Oftentimes these waves of reflected light would break up suddenly into a kind of beaten foam, and again, after chasing one another in regular order, they would seem to bend forward in concentric curves, and disappear on some hillside, like sea-waves on a shelving shore. The quantity of light reflected from the bent needles was so great as to make whole groves appear as if covered with snow, while the black shadows beneath the trees greatly enhanced the effect of the silvery splendor.

Excepting only the shadows there was nothing somber in all this wild sea of pines. On the contrary, notwithstanding this was the winter season, the colors were remarkably beautiful. The shafts of the pine and libocedrus were brown and purple, and most of the foliage was well tinged with yellow; the laurel groves, with the pale undersides of their leaves turned upward, made masses of gray; and then there was many a dash of chocolate color from clumps of manzanita, and jet of vivid crimson from the bark of the madroños, while the ground on the hillsides, appearing here and there through openings between the groves, displayed masses of pale purple and brown.

The sounds of the storm corresponded gloriously with this wild exuberance of light and motion. The profound bass of the naked branches and boles booming like waterfalls; the quick, tense vibrations of the pine-needles, now rising to a shrill, whistling hiss, now falling to a silky murmur; the rustling of laurel groves in the dells, and the keen metallic click of leaf on leaf--all this was heard in easy analysis when the attention was calmly bent.

The varied gestures of the multitude were seen to fine advantage, so that one could recognize the different species at a distance of several miles by this means alone, as well as by their forms and colors, and the way they reflected the light. All seemed strong and comfortable, as if really enjoying the storm, while responding to its most enthusiastic greetings. We hear much nowadays concerning the universal struggle for existence, but no struggle in the common meaning of the word was manifest here; no recognition of danger by any tree; no deprecation; but rather an invincible gladness as remote from exultation as from fear.

I kept my lofty perch for hours, frequently closing my eyes to enjoy the music by itself, or to feast quietly on the delicious fragrance that was streaming past. The fragrance of the woods was less marked than that produced during warm rain, when so many balsamic buds and leaves are steeped like tea; but, from the chafing of resiny branches against each other, and the incessant attrition of myriads of needles, the gale was spiced to a very tonic degree. And besides the fragrance from these local sources there were traces of scents brought from afar. For this wind came first from the sea, rubbing against its fresh, briny waves, then distilled through the redwoods, threading rich ferny gulches, and spreading itself in broad undulating currents over many a flower-enameled ridge of the coast mountains, then across the golden plains, up the purple foot-hills, and into these piny woods with the varied incense gathered by the way.

John Muir, from "A Wind-Storm in the Forests"

Nothing.

Rustic.

Visitors to our system of national parks and monuments seldom pay much attention to park architecture. This is as it should be, for since its founding over 60 years ago, the National Park Service consistently has sought to provide visitor facilities without visually interrupting the natural or historic scene.  Occasionally, however, the park visitor will discover in one of the older parks a structure so highly stylized in its attempt to be non-intrusive that it attracts the immediate attention of those who are accustomed to the simplicity and frequent sterility of contemporary architecture. It may take the form of a pioneer log cabin, or an Indian pueblo, or a New England "salt-box, " or it may be built of over-sized, rough-hewn logs and stones. Whatever its style, its obviously intensive use of hand labor and its clear rejection of the regularity and symmetry of the industrial world, mark it as the work of another age, the product of an attitude far removed from our own.

For lack of a better phrase, these varied styles have long been inadequately lumped together under the term "rustic architecture."  But perhaps a voice from the 1930s can explain the problem more clearly:

"The style of architecture which has been most widely used in our forested National Parks, and other wilderness parks, is generally referred to as "rustic. " It is, or should be, something more than the worn and misused term implies. It is earnestly hoped that a more apt and expressive designation for the style may evolve, but until it appears, "rustic, " in spite of its inaccuracy and inadequacy, must be
resorted to . . . . "

A superior term has never appeared, so "rustic" it remains. 

CONNECT

Shenandoah.

Thank you, Jess.

Leatherstocking.

"Rocky Mountain Harry" Yount has been described as, "... a typical leatherstocking frontiersman. He was rough, tough, and intelligent." After building a winter cabin in the park in 1880, he became one of the first white men known to spend time on a year-round basis in Yellowstone. Independent and resourceful, able to subsist on his own without close supervision, and having a familiarity and knowledge of the natural processes surrounding him, Harry Yount has become an archetypal model for the National Park Ranger. Horace Albright, a founding father and the second Director of the National Park Service, wrote of Yount, "After that first winter alone, with only the geysers, the elk and the other animals for company, Harry Yount pointed out in a report that it was impossible for one man to patrol the park. He urged the formation of a ranger force. So Harry Yount is credited with being the father of the ranger service, as well as the first national park ranger.

CONNECT

Elegy.

Over the course of two languid seasons at Arches — beginning in 1956, 15 years before Congress changed its designation from national monument to national park — Abbey looked after the park and its visitors. But he also roamed and communed with the high desert of the Colorado Plateau, chronicling his experiences with a naturalist’s eye, a philosopher’s mind and a rebel’s heart. The result was “Desert Solitaire,” his most enduring work, which, despite tepid early sales, went on to garner critical acclaim and a place in the canon of American nature writing. It’s not just a love letter to the land; Abbey’s physically and psychologically vivid portrait of the desert became a rallying cry for its preservation against the forces of development. “Most of what I write about in this book is already gone or going under fast,” he lamented in the preface. “This is not a travel guide but an elegy. A memorial.”



CONNECT

Zion.

Protect.

CONNECT

Hide.

Indoors and Outdoors: The human and the non-human.  Privacy and space.  The manmade and the natural.  All that is the product and projection of man and his mind, vs. all that procedes, underlies and surrounds man and his mind.  To go truly Outdoors is to escape for a while the narrow limits of prvious human experience (the cutural apparatus) and to enter a world that is new, different, much greater, and of course largely incomprehensible.  A church, e.g., is a place in which to hide from the real world.  That's why they're so comforting.

Edward Abbey

Zion.

Massacre.

“At daylight this morning attacked Cheyenne village of 130 lodges, from 900 to 1,000 warriors strong,” Chivington wrote his superior late on November 29. His men, he said, waged a furious battle against well-armed and entrenched foes, ending in a great victory: the deaths of several chiefs, “between 400 and 500 other Indians” and “almost an annihilation of the entire tribe.”

This news was greeted with acclaim, as were Chivington’s troops, who returned to Denver displaying scalps they’d cut from Indians (some of which became props in celebratory local plays). But this gruesome revelry was interrupted by the emergence of a very different storyline. Its primary author was Capt. Silas Soule, a militant abolitionist and eager warrior, like Chivington. Soule, however, was appalled by the attack on Sand Creek, which he saw as a betrayal of peaceful Indians. He refused to fire a shot or order his men into action, instead bearing witness to the massacre and recording it in chilling detail.

“Hundreds of women and children were coming towards us, and getting on their knees for mercy,” he wrote, only to be shot and “have their brains beat out by men professing to be civilized.” Indians didn’t fight from trenches, as Chivington claimed; they fled up the creek and desperately dug into its sand banks for protection. From there, some young men “defended themselves as well as they could,” with a few rifles and bows, until overwhelmed by carbines and howitzers. Others were chased down and killed as they fled across the Plains.

CONNECT

Art.

NO RUBBER TOMAHAWKS SOLD HERE.

More.

There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

William Shakespeare

Grand.

On this day in 1908, Theodore Roosevelt made The Grand Canyon a National Monument.

In the Grand Canyon, Arizona has a natural wonder which, so far as I know, is in kind absolutely unparalleled throughout the rest of the world. I want to ask you to do one thing in connection with it in your own interest and in the interest of the country to keep this great wonder of nature as it now is. I was delighted to learn of the wisdom of the Santa Fe railroad people in deciding not to build their hotel on the brink of the canyon. I hope you will not have a building of any kind, not a summer cottage, a hotel, or anything else, to mar the wonderful grandeur, the sublimity, the great loneliness and beauty of the canyon. Leave it as it is. You can not improve on it. The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it. What you can do is to keep it for your children, your children’s children, and for all who come after you, as one of the great sights which every American if he can travel at all should see. We have gotten past the stage, my fellow-citizens, when we are to be pardoned if we treat any part of our country as something to be skinned for two or three years for the use of the present generation, whether it is the forest, the water, the scenery. Whatever it is, handle it so that your children’s children will get the benefit of it. If you deal with irrigation, apply it under circumstances that will make it of benefit, not to the speculator who hopes to get profit out of it for two or three years, but handle it so that it will be of use to the home-maker, to the man who comes to live here, and to have his children stay after him. Keep the forests in the same way. Preserve the forests by use; preserve them for the ranchman and the stockman, for the people of the Territory, for the people of the region round about. Preserve them for that use, but use them so that they will not be squandered, that they will not be wasted, so that they will be of benefit to the Arizona of 1953 as well as the Arizona of 1903.

To the Indians here I want to say a word of welcome. In my regiment I had a good many Indians. They were good enough to fight and to die, and they are good enough to have me treat them exactly as squarely as any white man. There are many problems in connection with them. We must save them from corruption and from brutality; and I regret to say that at times we must save them from unregulated Eastern philanthropy. All I ask is a square deal for every man. Give him a fair chance. Do not let him wrong any one, and do not let him be wronged. I believe in you. I am glad to see you. I wish you well with all my heart, and I know that your future will justify all the hopes we have.

Theodore Roosevelt

Stars.

Protected.

President Donald Trump’s Dec. 4 proclamation robs the American people of their public lands heritage. The President and a handful of politicians would like you to believe that they are doing what is best by rescinding 85% of Bears Ears National Monument and nearly half of Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. Nothing could be further from the truth. This action is unprecedented and widely unpopular. It is also illegal, and Patagonia will be challenging his decision in court.

By eliminating so much of Bears Ears National Monument, the President is putting over a million acres of land at risk for permanent destruction, and we aren’t going to just stand by. Protecting public lands is a core tenet of our mission and vitally important to our industry, and we feel we need to do everything in our power to protect this special place.

People often look at this as a states’ rights issue. We acknowledge that people who live closest to these lands often want what is best for them, like the Native American tribes near Bears Ears who are filing suit alongside us. We must also acknowledge that history shows when states control public-trust land, 70% is sold off — and then often used for oil drilling, mining and other industrial activities. This also means that hunters, fishers, outdoorsmen and families like yours can no longer enjoy them.

CONNECT

Measured.

CULTURE and the UNIVERSE

Two nights ago

in the canyon darkness,

only the half-moon and stars,

only mere men.

Prayer, faith, love,

existence.

                   We are measured

by vastness beyond ourselves.

Dark is light.

Stone is rising.

I don’t know

if humankind understands

culture: the act

of being human

is not easy knowledge.

With painted wooden sticks

and feathers, we journey

into the canyon toward stone,

a massive presence

in midwinter.

We stop.

                      Lean into me.

                   The universe

sings in quiet meditation.

We are wordless:

                   I am in you.

Without knowing why

culture needs our knowledge,

we are one self in the canyon.

                                                               
And the stone wall

I lean upon spins me

wordless and silent

to the reach of stars

and to the heavens within.

It’s not humankind after all

nor is it culture

that limits us.

It is the vastness

we do not enter.

It is the stars

we do not let own us.

Simon Ortiz

Thank You, Jessica.