Name That Tree

The first time I saw this tree, I thought it had been damaged by wind or lightning.  Not so, for a similarly formed tree is off camera to the right.  And it leafs up in the spring, an indication that it's alive.

I admit to a certain amount of laziness, have not bothered to try and determine its name, and I'm open to comments as to what it is.

It's on the American River Parkway, Disabled Fishing Access, east end of the parking lot.

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Fall Has Fallen

A cyclist takes a break, American River Parkway.
 

“Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go.” (Author unknown, reported by Jessica Sager, Parade).

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Unofficial Memorial Plaza on the American River Parkway

From this site on a bluff along the American River, a wheelchair ramp and a stairway lead down to the water's edge.  There a pier supports people who come to fish or to watch fish swim by, and, yes, you can actually see fish in the water at your feet. 

Original Americans once lived and roamed here. Gold seekers came, and they brought with them a dredge that nosed into shore and began scraping away in search of the precious metal.  When not enough gold materialized, dredging switched to taking gravel from the land.

Over time, visionaries took over and created an outdoor recreational gem, the American River Parkway.  A true escape from city life, the parkway enables users to fish, swim, kayak, run, bike, paint, or just sit a spell.  

At Mile 13 of the parkway. a sign by the parkway's bike trail identifies the Disabled Fishing Access.  A placard near the sign says that salmon, steelhead, perch, trout, and catfish occupy these waters.  Parking lots and restrooms are nearby. 

In recent years the Disabled Fishing Access has also become an unofficial memorial plaza as people have inscribed the names of loved ones on table pedestals.  Most of the names are those of men; I recognized one as a history professor I took a couple of classes from at Sac State.  A few couples are memorialized here, as in this heartfelt tribute:

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Painting the Restroom--Really?

I don't mean to come across as flippant or unconcerned, for the current epidemic is indeed serious business, and it does indeed worry me.  Nevertheless, I think  that maybe an occasional offbeat diversion helps ease the strain.

For instance, I made a morning drive today to the American River Parkway for a diverting and restful view of a beautiful stretch of the river.  At the parking lot, one of the restrooms was closed, a sign over the door advising, "Restroom being painted."

Painting the restroom?  How can they?  At a time like this!  Don't they know there's a crisis?

Ah, yes, but that ordinary activity of painting a restroom is a reminder that life goes on regardless of news media bombarding us with grim stories and body counts and frightening guesses of what could come.

Or maybe we're going to win this one with a cliche.

"Your actions help 'Flatten The Curve,'"  Kaiser Permanente emailed me.  I guess, that here in the New America, we've moved away from dramatic battle cries like "Remember the Alamo!" and "Give me liberty or give me death!"  Instead, the order to flatten the curve seems to be the marching order for the fight against COVID-19, judging by the millions of hits on search engines. 

And then there's Dr. Anthony Fauci, the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases (NIAID), who in Newsweek (April 3, 2020) turned loose of a  sports metaphor:  "We're not even at halftime . . ." Fauci, a prominent member of President Donald Trump's coronavirus task force, said.

Fauci went on:  "What would be really nice, to continue the analogy, is 
that if we can just hold our own and then when we get back in the
second half, just come out, like, blazing. And that's what we really need
to do; otherwise, this stuff is going to be really, really very harmful to us
as a society." 

Give him credit. He didn't say, "Win one for the Gipper."

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"Welcome to the New America"

Let me see if I can get this blog restarted.

I took my wife's car (she's not driving because of illness) out for a drive this morning.  It's a hybrid (the car, not my wife), and its batteries seem to thrive on activity.  That plus the one-time mechanic in me says that precious mechanical fluids should be kept sloshing around the seals otherwise they'll dry out and leak their fluids onto the garage floor and the dog will come along and slurp them up and only God knows what'll happen then.

My route took me to the American River Parkway, the parkway's Disabled Fishing Access picnic pavilion to be specific.  I didn't see any crippled fish there, but there were a few magpies, some wild turkeys, and a lot of Canada geese.  I got out of the car and ambled around to get a wider view of the geese.  A few flew in from time to time, and a few left.  Otherwise, the grassy areas were blanketed with geese pecking for seeds, greens, fiber, who knows.

How could so many birds be so blind to the crisis we've got going on?  They seemed oblivious to the smell of human panic (?) anxiety (?).

On my way back to the car, my path set me on a collision course with a man striding in from my left.  The six-foot social distance rule was about to violated if one of us didn't do something.

I stepped back and remarked, "I 'd stand closer, but I don't want to breathe on you."

He grinned and said, "Welcome to the new America."

Well, there you have it.  The New America should provide plenty of topics for blog posts.  And as a nonessential guy doing nonessential stuff, I should find something to say.

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Don’t Just Sit There! Do Nothing!

Here is where I sit and do nothing. 

Actually, I do nothing in a lot of places, but this is my favorite--the Disabled Fishing Access on the American River Parkway.  There are a few picnic tables here on a bluff, shade trees and a small pavilion, and a wheelchair ramp down to water level. 

I’m usually here early in the morning and often have the place to myself.  Other old men visit the place, and for some of them it’s a last waypoint. Their passing is noted when a new memorial is etched into the concrete base of a picnic table.  The table I’m sitting at while I scribble a few notes has at its base the name of a man who “found beauty, joy, and solace in this place.”

I rarely see a woman here, just old men.  I guess that by the time we get to be this age the women are glad to get us out of the house for a while.

I should really be posting more, but I get busy, often doing nothing.  It’s okay to do nothing, beneficial even.  In the realm of health and wellness the next big thing could be doing nothing, in the manner of the stress-reducing practice from the Netherlands labeled by the Dutch word niksen.  

Of course, it’s impossible to do absolutely nothing, to flatline the activity curve. We have too many things to do when awake, and when asleep the brain continues to turn and churn, sorting out tasks or mischief for when we wake up.

Therefore, the experts on niksen say that the thing to do is do nothing with a purpose, such as daydreaming.  That I’m good at.

Articles on the internet say a lot about niksen.  Please read them if you need any advice on how to do nothing.  As for me, I'm about to do . . .

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