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Show Page A6 Many 1 imgg-3nhgpgnfte- Thursday, July 17, 2003 nt Idle Thoughts from Mt. Waas Trails by Ollie Harris by Adrien F. Taylor THE FIRST LIAR is heartening to receive a letter to the school patrons from our top echelon school leaders. It appears just across the way on page A7. From calls have received, however, believe that this information will not entirely answer the questions It I shade for coolness, while a horse may lay down in the full sun and sweat, just to avoid the insects which, like the dogs, prefer shade! Here is the Sentinal clip: As the weather gets hotter wish that the animal owners who dont I out there, so there probably be a crowd at the of Board Education's regular meeting July 16 at 6 p.m. at the School District office. Some matters may go into executive session, so those interested in getting reports from the board first hand had better be prepared with a book or something for the interim. provide shelter could spend one day in the same conditions they force on their animals. Standing in the heat, having hot water to drink and being tormented by a host of flies. Maybe then theyd do something. Well, Amen. aft Its called Dear Stella and the column actually introduces itself below. It wont be a weekly feature, but, if it catches on, it will be regular. Dear Stella is a Q&A column compiled by a group of recovering addicts, alcoholics and survivors of domestic violence. The purpose of this column is to offer information and assistance to Moab area residents who suffer from the same addictions and situations, but prefer to remain anonymous. Please direct questions, column topics, and all other inquiries and correspondence to Dear Stella, 59 S. Main Street, Suite 132, Moab, UT 84532. Do NOT include name or re- will walked out onto the front porch the other evening to watch dusk falling and noticed a small creature moving south along our front fence. Skunk, thought. But, no. On closer observation, it was a young raccoon. Probably a of the huge raccoon who loved fresh chicken, and whose pelt we now have. And then, further out in the field, spotted the unmistakable sight of black and white: a parade consisting of a mother skunk with four or five t younguns, headed north. Could be a route to the current chicken coop, which has a fence wrapped with cement floor and a chain-linchicken wire. Raccoon and skunk proof. Chickens are odd creatures. They ignore the presence of skunks. Skunks, after all, dont usually go after the hens, like raccoons do. They just like the eggs. So one day recently, while gathering eggs, spotted a small skunk hunkered down in one corner of the coop. He couldnt get out. How did he get in? Probably when the chickens were let out to scratch. And thats how we got him I I I round-abou- k I (or her) out, as well. Summers a tough time on animals. They move about when dusk falls and the air gets cooler. That includes the deer, which are less afraid of humans all the time, to the point Im wondering if well have any tomatoes at all. Driving home from Grand Junction recently, spotted a bunch of antelope, crowded together in the shade of the billboard that proclaims the wonders of Moab. It was the only shade in sight! And so am in agreement with a reader who brought in a clipping from the Grand Junction Sentinel. This reader has been observing livestock, horses especially, left in fields or corrals here in the Moab area with absolutely no shade this time of year. It is cruelty to animals, and can tell you that in New Zealand, they put you in jail for it. There was a big story going on while was there. The couple had come to the U.S. and left their flock in the care of somebody who was not responsible. That couple was sent to prison. Horses and sheep sweat very effectively as a cooling mechanism. But that doesnt mean that they should be left out in full sun without access to shade. Dogs cool themselves not through sweating, but through panting. They will seek the I I I aft We are introducing a new feature this week. turn address. From Dear Stella, As we all know, Moab has grown and changed throughout the years. Unfortunately, so have the problems with drugs, alcohol and violence. As recovering addicts, alcoholics and survivors of domestic violence, we would like to help others through our own experiences. We would like to offer knowledge from our own lives to those in our community who may not realize there is a problem. We want to help in any way we can, hoping to reach other addicts by sharing what weve gone through what it takes to conquer addiction, no matter what kind. Moab is a small town, and we know that there are addicts, alcoholics and victims of domestic violence suffering in silence, afraid of others opinions. So, whether you, or someone you love is struggling with addiction and nowhere to turn for - help, perhaps this column can lend assistance. Completely anonymous, its a forum for education in the hopes of mending lives that have been disrupted by drugs, alcohol or violence. We, as recovering addicts, alcoholics and survivors of domestic violence, are able to inform the community of the severity of these problems and of recovery services that are available in town. We will provide insight from recovering addicts and alcoholics and survivors of abuse, as well as from judges, lawyers, law officers, mental health professionals, and more. By providing this information, we hope to help those in our community who struggle with addiction and are open to changing, learning and understanding that they are not alone. Community Comments by Sam Taylor multi-pag- e I I I I I I I I I IC trip in Colorado and wouldn't be taking a home until the next day. Well, he said, we cant wait around for them. Well tell them about it when they get home. Get on that tractor, go home and wash up and get back down here as fast as you can. did as he told me, and later that afternoon it was all over and began a week-lonstay in a is where room. That hospital my parents found me the next day. Im sure glad weve got Doc Allen to depend on when were not around, my Dad said. was too. That guy brought me into the world, nursed me through mastoid surgery, two teen-ag- e bouts with pneumonia and many other scrapes and bruises, as well as all the things kids usually get. When the week was up, gingerly retrieved my tractor that had patiently been awaiting my dismissal, and drove it the three blocks to my home. dont blame the hospitals and doctors these days for all the paperwork. Trial lawyers and a litigious society have made it all necessary. could live well for a couple of years on what most doctors have to pay these days for malpractice insurance. There ought to be a law and some caps place on court awards. That, however, would take an act of congress, and most legislators owe their campaign war chests to groups like the trial lawyers. As said at the beginning of this piece. Times have changed, and in many ways not for the better. two-da- y I I g I I I I I ISSN ) (UPS) Entered as Second class Matter at the Post Office at Moab, Utah under the Act Second class postage paid at Moab, Utah 84532. "V.. rif. kmucn oiiy ctnu ouuiuy Mcwojjapci. address 435-259-75- by John Clayton My friend Fred says that what he enjoys most about camping in the wild is watching people hang their food. Though youre miles from a television, its far funnier than anything Hollywood could invent. And on a recent trip with some friends, Fred and I demonstrated the truth of his theory. The concept is simple: Because bears can be attracted to the smell of food, you dont keep it in your tent. You hang it in a tree out of a bears reach: say, 15 feet off the ground and 8 to 10 feet from the trunk. The first step is to find such a tree. On our d forests of trip through the northwest Wyoming, most trees were tall and skinny, lacking branches that could extend eight feet from the trunk. Luckily for us and I never thought Id use the word luckily in the conblack bears text of being in grizzly country are the agile you need to watch tree-climbe- to: The Times-lndependen- or FAX t, 435-259-77- rs out for. The next step is to loop a rope over your selected branch. My friend Charlie would tie a stick or rock to his rope, throw it in the air, and watch it fall far from the tree. Each time he threw, it seemed, he got farther from his target. Eventually, even people behind him would duck. My softball-trainetossing arm was better: My rock would sail in a perfect arc over the desired branch. Unfortunately, the rock would rarely remain attached to the rope, having fallen out of my attempted knot. One night, this happened three throws in a row. Finally, the rock barely visible under all the rope Id wrapped around it, I watched it sail perfectly, trailing the rest of the rope behind it. Every last bit of it sailed uselessly over the branch: Id forgotten to hold onto the other end. Fred preferred old, dead branches, which are easier to knot but lacking in weight. I found Fred staring up at his rope hanging over a tree branch, his stick bouncing uselessly 12 feet off the ground. I grabbed a long, forked stick with which to haul down his lightweight one. Oh yeah, he said. Were supposed to be smart about this. d . . Once the rope is hung, you attach the food bags to one end, tie off the other and call it a night. Now, conventional wisdom says that bears will even go after toothpaste in your tent. So we always took care to brush our teeth right after dinner each night, before hanging our toiletries. The first night out, we then watched a meteor shower, and I crawled into the tent tired and happy with the day. At which point I realized that the medication I take before sleep every night was hung with the toothpaste. A few mornings later, I was the first one awake and thus needed to make coffee. I was pleased to see that Charlies thorough knot still I unheld the rope to the throwing-stick- . of the the wrapped that end, weight bags pulled on the other end, and the throwing-sticsailed upwards. Then it caught in a snag on the tree. Hmmm. I looked up, puzzled. I untied the food bags, as if that would somehow help. But I still had just one end of the rope, with the other tied to the stick still caught up in the tree. Well, I decided, I just needed to send this free end back over the branch. So I tied it to another stick and threw it (in a perfect arc, of course) back over where it hooked around a different branch. Maybe I should have waited until the coffee engaged my brain. But now I figured I should at least undo the damage. So I went over to the other side and tossed the rope back. Where, of course, it caught on a third snag. The damage was now undoable, even after caffeine, and I regret to say that I violated wilderness to wit, principles by leaving behind a trace $6 worth of tangled parachute rope, 15 feet off the ground, with sticks tied to either end. For those of us who love bears, part of the value of their presence in the wild is the humility they force upon us. In bear country, we are no longer in sole possession of the top of the food chain. We're no longer the beneficiaries of millions of years of engineering innovations. Alone, left to our own devices, were no longer in complete control of the environment. We can barely even toss ropes in trees. John Clayton is a contributor to Writers on the Range , a syndication service of High Country News. He freelances from Red Lodge, Montana. k NATIONAL NEWSPAPER ASSOCIATION UTAH 1538-183- 8 and PRESS ASSOCIATION of March 3, 1897. address: editormoabtimes.com of . Hanging loose in Wyomings bear country Member Published each Thursday at: 35 East Center Street, Moab, Grand County, Utah 84532 Postmaster: Send changes cut-glas- Writers on the Range tmcs(3litfrcpmfrmt 6309-2000- charred wood. In some places I never did cut all the way into clear wood. I thoroughly sanded the shaft then lightly oiled it to bring out the beautiful grain. Meanwhile, it was in Sandras antique store s that I found a pair of old, doorknobs. I bought them with the idea of attaching one of them to the end of the service berry shaft. The doorknob that I used was set in a metal bezel, threaded onto a square shaft and secured with a set screw. I began to polish the black, tarnished bezel and was gratified to see the golden, buttery color of brass slowly begin to emerge. I drilled a hole into the end of the service berry staff, cut the threaded doorknob shaft in two and gently drove one end into the wood. I threaded the doorknob onto it and secured it with the set screw. The transition between wood and brass was a bit abrupt so I wrapped it in a heavy, black cord. It is visually very appealing. I like the walking stick. The wood is from a common, native plant. Like a local girl, it has a deep, unpretentious beauty. There is nothing exotic about it. And, it is a survivor of the consumptive raging of wildfire. There may be fancier sticks out there but this one certainly appeals to me. The problem is that I have to be careful who I show it to or be prepared to endure, Well, if a you think thats nice stick When I was a kid a wise old gent was attempting to teach me about envy. To illustrate his point he told me that whenever I attempted to do anything, I would find someone doing it better and that I shouldnt envy them. Its kind of a depressing thought, really. It would be nice to be the best at something. I suppose that everyone would like to be the best at something. If you cant be the best, and if you're willing to play fast and loose with the truth, you can at least tell people you're the best. But, you're going to have to avoid being the first liar. of the High Country News lodgepole-dominate- Times have really changed, and the paper industry must be enjoying it. Checking into a hospital, or even a doctors office or emergency begins with paper work. First, ones beginning with Have the ordinary of one ever had the following?" The list is a you mile long, and dont even know what some of the maladies are. If treatment is called for, there are permission forms to fill out. If you are filling one out for a child, you had better be a parent. If for a spouse, youd darned well better be married. It wasnt always like that. Times were simpler back then. recall one hot summer day when was twelve years old, was raking hay on our little alfalfa field, pulling a dump hay rake had borrowed from Sog Shafer behind my little red Farmall tractor. had attached a rope to the dump handle on the rake, and would jerk it hard when wanted to drop the hay, hopefully in line with previous swaths. Suddenly while pulling the rope, felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. Suspecting what it might be, calmly unhooked the rake and drove that little tractor up to the hospital on Center street, parking it under an elm tree out back. went it to Dr. I. W. Allens office and told him what had happened. Lets take a look," he said. Sure enough, had a ruptured appendix or one about to rupture. This has to come out quick, he said, asking where my parents were. told him that they were I The first liar hasnt got a chance. Its an old adage. The reason you still hear it is because its too true. There are certain people with whom you need to hold back on your story for awhile. If you innocently toss it out there you will quickly find that it means nothing to them except to provide the benchmark upon which they may begin to build their impossible exaggerations. The truth is that with some people your story is going to be so thoroughly trounced that youre better off tucking it away and just politely listening. For the most part I have distanced myself from the preposterous exaggerators. You can never escape them all, though. For example, 1 just finished making a very nice walking stick. I showed it to a friend who thought it was nice but promptly began to tell me about walking sticks he had made. It quickly became apparent that my feeble attempt paled beside his masterpieces. While mine was sanded, lightly oiled and rubbed, his were intricately carved and flawlessly finished. At least, thats what he claimed. I do not pretend to be very good at making walking sticks. Its not a hobby, but more an event of opportunity for me. I was out on Wray Mesa, not far from Old La Sal, a couple of years ago, hiking through a recently burned area. I noticed several slender shafts of burned oak brush. I thought that one of them might make a nice walking stick so I cut it. On the way back to the truck I was attracted to a nice, burned shaft of Utah service berry. I cut it, also. I began to work with the service berry shaft. Burned and dry as it was, I discovered it to be extremely hard, much harder than a similar shaft of oak brush. As I began to scrape away the charred exterior there emerged the most surprisingly beautiful, gently twisting wood grain. I used my pocket knife to cut away much P.O. Box 129, Moab, UT 84532 Samuel J. and Adrien AflrSAn IT F. 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