The Time of Falling Acorns

Yosemite has deer jams.  What's a deer jam?  That's when cars stop in all the wrong places so people can look at deer.  During the time-of-falling-acorns deer jams can be found almost all the time just to the west of the park headquarters where the drive intersects Northside Drive where the deer are eating acorns.  

A windshield shot with an Olympus Stylus Tough-8000 I use as my pocket camera.

Leaving the museum after talking with Julia Parker (see the last blog), I went out the back door to go see the Indian Village that Julia helped design.  Just a few feet from the door and right at the fence that runs around the village, was a little doe laying in the fall leaves.  Turning to face her made her uneasy, so I turned my back on her and she lay back down.  With the Olympus aimed behind me I was able to get this shot.

"Look one way, photograph the other way" shot with the Olympus.

There were no deer jams around this little doe.  People just walked right past her without seeing her hidden in the leaves.  I love it when nature sneaks up on us this way.

When nature comes

On four legs

Or two wings

Or the west wind

I feel like a bridge between

Creator-made and man-made

Reality and pretend

Permanent and temporary.

Julia Parker Kashia Pomo/Coast Miwok

Julia Parker can be found most days in the museum in Yosemite making traditional baskets.  She uses materials she gathers herself in the nearby forest.  The materials have to be processed in the old way before they can be used in her baskets.

The day I was there, she was answering questions about her work that the tourist were asking her.  Before I moved from California to New Mexico, I had taken a basket making class from her at Point Reyes Nation Seashore near San Francisco.  I wanted to let her know that her teaching had made a difference to me so I waited until others had their questions answered and had moved on.

"Julia, I'm sure you don't remember me, but I took a class from you at Point Reyes."

"Oh, yes."

"I just wanted to let you know that your class has inspired me to go on and learn about other ways of making baskets."

"That's good.  I'm glad to hear it.  Do you still live here?"

"No, I've moved to New Mexico."

Her eyes light up.  "New Mexico.  I've been thinking about that big powwow there in Albuquerque.  What's it called?"

"Oh, The Gathering of Nations."

"Yes, that's the one.  There isn't any tribes from California going to that one and I'm trying to get some to go."

We discussed the powwow for a few minutes then more tourist came and I moved on.

I feel very humbled that she would seek information from me when she is the one giving and sharing her culture and knowledge.  The greatest gift she has given me is the ability to see in a very small way what all native people must see and that is the resources in nature.  She can go into the forest empty handed and come out with a beautiful basket of her own creation."

This video by KQED tells it better than I can:

You Can't Take a Picture of That!

Have you ever walked or driven along in a beautiful area enjoying the scenery and decided you just had to have a picture of it?  You stop, or maybe you just "windshield" it, and later when you look at the photo you wonder why you took such a lousy picture.  Next time, you think, I'll take more time and really get a good photo.


Next time comes and you do stop this time and look around for the perfect shot that conveys the mood of the place (you've been reading some photography magazine).  You spend a few minutes and take a few shots, maybe even with a tripod if you are serious about it.  Later you look at the photos.  Ah, much better. You have some nice photos that friends politely say are great but you know deep down they don't come near what you experienced at the time.

I've done the same thing.

We are walking toward Mirror Lake in Yosemite when we see a photography class stopped ahead.  A forest of tripods fills the forest of pines.  Some cameras are aimed down to get close ups and others are taking more general views.  Students are changing settings on their camera, the teacher is calling out reminders of things previously discussed.

Quietly we pass through and try to stay out of any pictures.  The weather is perfect for this hike.  The leaves are just starting to turn with a few trees all yellow and others still all green.  There is a very light breeze from time to time that makes the aspen leaves spin on their stems.  They seem to be saying, look at me! Look at me!


Overhead ravens Caw! Caw! as they swoop and glide.

The creek happily rushes under Tanaya Bridge toward the River of Mercy, the Merced River.

We feel content, at home, happy.

You can't take a picture of that.

Can a Poem Save a Bear?

Crash! Tinkle. Tinkle. The sound of broken glass cuts through the sleep-fog and reaches my brain.  A trash truck picking up? I wonder.  No, wait.  I'm camping in Yosemite and it's the middle of the night.  Can't be a trash truck.


The sounds of breaking bottles continues along with some very low pitched grunts.  "Is that a bear?" someone in the next campsite ask in a half whisper.

I slip half-way out of my sleeping bag and the cold night air hits my skin. Shock waves ripple down my spine.  Reaching for the window I unzip it to check my bear-proof locker. Did I close it all the way last night? I see nothing near our table or food storage locker.

Zipping the window closed I glance at the great blue cocoon of a sleeping bag next to me. My husband isn't moving. "There's a bear out there."  He makes some sort of grumble but doesn't move. I'm already one ahead of him on the bear sightings count and I thought he might want to see this one.

More glass-breaking sounds. Lights are coming on in nearby campsites. I move to the other side of our tent - now I'm completely out of my sleeping bag and cold. I unzip the door a little and stick my head out. The lights are at the next campsite and I see the black shape of a huge bear with his head in a cooler. He's right next to a pickup camper. The door of the camper opens, hits the bear and slams shut. "There's a bear out there!" a man yells. People from another campsite run toward the bear and yell at it. Submissively it plods away into the darkness.

Slipping back into my sleeping bag, I wonder at the foolishness of the next-site campers. There are signs everywhere about the bear lockers. There are pictures of bears eating out of coolers they have liberated from cars using the handy bear-claw key to rip out windows. How could these people think that shoving their cooler under their camper - it's obvious that's where it was - would keep it safe?

Talking and the sounds of collecting broken glass continue for half an hour.

I've been reading Can Poetry Save the Earth?: a Field Guide to Nature Poems by John Felstiner.  Can poetry save the earth? If I write a poem about this bear, will it save some bear somewhere? For that is what happens when bears eat human food. Some become aggressive and have to be killed by the rangers.

Keep your food in the bear-proof locker
Or the results will be a shocker!


No! No! what bad poetry that is.

What if I could just whisper to the bears, "Eating out of a cooler isn't cool."