Blossoms of L.A. - Palo Verde

Blossoms of L.A. - Palo Verde

By Armando Ortiz

The palo verde 

rooted along quiet urban streets,

spring brings blossoms 

that vibrate with a glowing beat.

Bright green tips

bursting with yellow flowers,

making a delicate veil of lights

a bouquet for the eye’s delight.  

May mornings shaded by gray skies

the sounds of hummingbirds gives rise,

While these trees reach up to touch the air,

rising from front lawns, behind houses.

Rows of green protect avenues

others stand alone in open spaces,

some planted at street corners,

decorating the city with pulsating halo.

Winds clash- east or west breeze,

Or perhaps cold waters 

touching the arid coast will prevail

pulsating traffic might make it sway. 

Under desert noon, the trees grow vibrant

With Lemon yellows and lime greens

evoking thoughts of cool lemonade,

refreshing beneath the sunny day.

Native palo verde

rooted on this land,

gifts the city blossoms 

that vibrate with a growing heat.

A Quiet Retreat: Free-verse Reflections

 

A Quiet Retreat: Free-Verse Reflections

By Armando Ortiz

I sit here along the coast after a thirty minute drive on Pacific Coast Highway, lying on the sand, watching the waves roll in, each one bringing solace.

The crashing waves blend with memories of hiking the Sierras, where a cool breeze touched my skin as I prepared myself to enter the alpine lake. In the deepest silence, as the waters pulled back, a tiny mosquito pierced my skin with its sharp bite. 

Lost in thought, the crashing waves transform into a gentle rustle of aspen, pulling me back in time. The memory intersects with the present, where the sounds of water and breeze become a delight. 

No need for kegger parties or psychedelic nights; just nature’s embrace heightens the senses, offering deep insights. This mid-July heat wave intertwines with every other summer breeze and every tiny insect that takes flight. 

A single mosquito stands as a buzzing reminder, its bite added to my life's itchy welts. Palm trees and cottonwoods wave gently at the endless stream of people, serene spectators to the flow of life.

If only my tent could transform into a permanent retreat, a place to watch sea lions surfing the dawn’s first light. Or a home nestled among oaks and pines, their gentle shade shielding me from the afternoon’s oppressive heat.

High on a hill, where no buzzing mosquito will dare to exist, a refuge of tranquility. Back at the coast, the sand scorches beneath my feet, but the ocean’s blue embrace offers a cooling reprieve. 

Who needs a retreat when nature’s wonder is just a few minutes away?

John Steinbeck’s The Pearl: Review

Standing Against the Waves - John Steinbeck’s The Pearl: Review

By Armando Ortiz

In John Steinbeck’s novella The Pearl, a young couple named Kino and Juana face a crisis when their baby, Coyotito, is bitten by a scorpion. Desperate for medical help, Kino seeks assistance but finds none due to their lowly status.

Determined to find a solution, Kino heads to the sea to hunt for pearls to pay for his son’s treatment and discovers the largest pearl anyone has ever seen, which seems like a blessing soon turns into a curse as news of his find spreads throughout the town.

The pearl’s discovery attracts the attention of everyone, including those who previously ignored Kino’s family. The entire community becomes obsessed with the pearl’s potential, yet they overlook the dire condition of Coyotito, who lies at death’s door.

Kino dreams of the changes his newfound treasure will bring, envisioning his son attending school, buying a rifle, and purchasing new clothes for the family. Yet, selling the pearl proves difficult as local dealers conspire to undervalue it to maximize their profits.

The pearl soon becomes a source of danger, bringing violence during the night and suspicions in the morning. Kino faces attacks from those who wish to steal it. The same doctor who once refused to help his family now shows up. Though the doctor supposedly saves Coyotito’s life, his true intentions remain suspicious. 

Juana, realizing the pearl’s destructive power, hopelessly attempts to throw it back in the sea, but Kino stops her. The drama by the coast worsens as Kino is ambushed by mysterious figures. Despite the mounting tragedies, Kino and Juana remain determined to persevere.

  Throughout the narrative, Kino confronts the challenges head on. Just when things look bleak, there is a flash of hope and a solution. Nonetheless, this brings even more challenges, and the relentless pressure of his responsibilities weigh heavily on him. Steinbeck skillfully portrays Kino and his family’s struggles, as if standing still against the metaphorical waves that threaten their existence.

Kino is aware of his low position in his community, but the pearl’s discovery emboldens him to seek a better life. When the townspeople refuse to offer a fair price for the pearl, he decides to journey north, hoping for fairer opportunities. However, this decision leads to more violence and the tragic death of Coyotito.

Steinbeck’s novella highlights the plight of those marginalized by society’s power structures. The narrative illustrates how the ruling class in the story relentlessly obtains valuable resources at the lowest cost, often at the expense of the poor. Kino’s refusal to sell the pearl cheaply attracts dangerous attention from those eager to profit from his misfortune.

The setting of The Pearl reflects Steinbeck’s profound understanding of the Sea of Cortez. His vivid descriptions of the tide pools and the desert boulders that Kino climbs to find safety reveal his intimate knowledge of the Baja California region. By immersing the reader in this environment, Steinbeck extends his narrative of California into Mexico, showcasing the unique lives and experiences shaped by the contours of the coast.

Nevertheless, the story remains relevant today. As we scan the news about faraway places and the precarious lives of the poor, we realize that this narrative is universal and powerful. It unfolds daily from the highlands of the Andes to the jungles of the Congo, from coastal fishing villages to populous megacities. Ultimately, The Pearl is a timeless story of human perseverance amidst formidable challenges, resonating with audiences across cultures and eras.

Shadow, Shade and Stars

Shadow, Shade and Stars

By Armando Ortiz

Under the shade of the eastern face, 

the shadows of the day gave way

to a flickering sparkle of night; 

a tiny light in the sky appeared.

In the shadow of the mountain,

the sun sank behind the western ridge, 

and the summer winds cleaned the sky; 

more stars began to emerge.

Under the stars, I sat beside a rock 

that shaded me from the wind. 

Towards the eastern horizon,

the moon began to cross the shadow plane.

Beneath the shadow of earth, 

the crescent moon appeared; 

speckles of glass marbles scattered, 

dawn became a portuguese tiled floor.

Inside the shade of the pass, 

a warm breeze swept down the valley. 

The purple shadow became a blue mosaic 

that spread across the dye of darkness.

Under the stars,

the shade of trees 

and shadows of rocks 

merged with the night.

Within the darkness of time, 

shadows roamed the forest; 

fires floated in the shade of an ocean, 

on the horizon, fireflies flickered.

Covered by the shade of sleep,

I dreamt of shadows that blended into each other 

while the northern constellations of night slowly 

ascended and descended from the sky.

Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot: Review

Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot: Review

By Armando Ortiz

Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot can be seen from the perspective of the disciplined will that allows us to learn and gain knowledge. It seems ruthless to realize that that is what enables our wisdom to grow even more. Estragon seems to always be in pain with some physical ailment. Vladimir is a bit more rational, but he insists on waiting for Godot. Even though they see Pozzo subjugating and humiliating Lucky they really don’t tae the necessary steps to stop Pozzo from being authoritative, cruel and a dictator like towards Lucky. Instead they become spectators of Pozzo and Lucky’s unfolding drama. Estragon continues to busy himself with his foot pains and begins to contemplate suicide, while Vladimir continues to rationalize everything, and at times helps Estragon reconsider his situation. 

An interesting situation that begins to develop from the dysfunctional relationship that exists in the story is that characters do not detach themselves from the suffering that they inflict on each other, and when they are separated it brings out bouts of blindness and aloneness. In many ways our dependence on particular relationships make us question our ability to survive in this world, and yet it is those close relationships of family and old friends that help us get through our trials and tribulations, albeit these social situations are a cause of those sufferings as well.

A boy appears in the play a couple of times and he might very well represent the childhood that everyone experiences and the people that they come across as they grow up and come into being with, and though the actions of adults might seem frightening, the child too will one day struggle to find meaning in life. They too will have questions about existence, they too will see injustice, and a sense of fairness and equality will be turned upside down and people be redeemed. One thing they too might forget and maybe wait for, is the return to their childhood. In many ways this becomes reminiscent of characters that exist in other great novels where children are exposed to the cruelties and saving graces of humanity. It is up to those in the present to somehow save the children, but also what they see and experience in the society that they grow up in that molds them. 

The children of The Brothers Karamazov and the characters of Huckleberry Finn all grow, live and survive in the conditions that their societies have created. It is within the realities that each nation and cultural region perceives the world that people grow up and reach full personhood. Waiting for Godot reveals that although there are many instances in life where we wait for something to happen, by doing so life and events unfold. The question then becomes what are we as readers doing to affect the realities under which and in which we exist.

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Seven

 

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Seven

By Armando Ortiz

Final Reflections:

Did you ever cram for a test the night before? Long hikes and backpacking are quite the opposite. They require time, effort and thorough preparation. After my backpacking trip, I realized how crucial preparation is for long treks. This involves consistent practice and training. You must work out regularly. You can’t decide that you will hike Mt. Langley the day before- it can be dangerous.

 Before this trip I’d been hiking 4 to 6 miles on the weekends, regularly increasing the distance and elevation as summer approached. Each hike included carrying a 15 to 17 pound pack, building my resistance and endurance. During the weekdays, I took daily walks and lifted light weights twice a week. The week before trekking up to Mt. Langley, I completed a 15-mile hike up White Mountain Peak with a 3,400 feet elevation gain, which indicated I was ready for Mt. Langley- a two-day trip with an additional 5-6 miles and double the pack weight.

Looking back, my clothing was sufficient, but I’d make some minor changes. A long sleeve shirt, and windbreaker provided good sun protection, but a long sleeve hoodie, a good cap, and a rain jacket would be perfect for high elevations. This setup gives me cover from the sun, wind resistance, and insulation. While my sun hat worked well, using the hoodie in windy conditions covered my ears, affecting my peripheral vision and muffling sounds.

The water filter worked fine, and knowing that there was a source near the camp to fill two liters of water was convenient. Using a light dayback for the summit gave me more freedom of movement and allowed me to just carry the bare essentials, making the climb faster. However, my main pack, over 20 years old, couldn’t distribute the weight evenly. The straps loosen up, and the shoulder straps dug into my shoulders. A new pack is needed for better performance.

I brought more food than necessary, adding weight to the pack. The extra food provided an option to stay another night and rest after the summit, though I didn’t take advantage of that opportunity. I carried energy bars- blueberry and lemon. Interestingly, my taste changed slightly at higher elevations. The spiciness and saltiness of peanuts were nourishing, but the lemon snacks were tastier, with their chewy tartness providing an extra kick of satisfaction.

Monitoring my hiking app for trail updates and tracking the weather conditions online helped me to choose the best route. Before the trip, I read that New Army Pass, though longer, was safer. Knowing as much as possible about the trail conditions is always helpful. Dedicating time to study the topography of the wilderness area helped me anticipate sections along the trail. I knew that reaching High Lake would be moderately easy, with 400 feet elevation gain. By studying the map I was able to identify water sources, with High Lake being the last one before going up Mt. Langley. The toughest section of the trail was near the summit, with eroded terrain, but the cairns facilitated navigation.

Choosing a better location to camp that was less strenuous to the body could have spared unnecessary energy expenditure. Staying one or two miles further down the trail would have reduced the burden of carrying a heavy pack. The one lesson learned was to take down camp and leave everything packed for the return if not planning to stay the night.

Rushing and trying to race the sun gets you in trouble. My arrival was delayed due to the drive, and I started later than expected. Lunch was rushed because I wanted to reach High Lake before sundown. The next day, after a full day of hiking, I quickly packed up to beat the sun. Pushing my body to its limits was risky. My knee, already bothering me before the trip, worsened due to the rush. Being well rested is essential for a successful trek, especially before covering many miles in a day, but also pacing yourself and being aware of time.

Finally, car maintenance is crucial for any long trip. Although I checked the oil before leaving, inspecting other parts like air filters, tire pressure, and the radiator cap could have prevented potential issues. Ensuring your vehicle is in good condition contributes to a successful trip.

Preparation gives you mental space and physical endurance to make informed choices. During a trek, if you feel like you’re disoriented physically or mentally, you can take a moment to pause, breathe, and reflect before making the next decision. At the summit, I wondered how Covid-19 might have affected our physical endurance. Yet, I successfully submitted Mt. Langley. Fortunately, my body persevered, and I made it back to my car. This experience reinforced the importance of preparation and planning for any endeavor, ensuring a successful summit, hike, backpacking expedition or trip into the wilderness.

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Six

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Six

By Armando Ortiz

Almost there:

The last two miles were slow going and the rolling mounds were more like long slow steady climbs. Although the trail was well defined the ground was annoyingly unstable. It wasn’t sand what I was walking on but tiny bits of granite which were both airy and not compacted. My breathing and keeping an internal rhythm were the only things on my mind. The weather was much warmer than it had been at the top with my skin feeling sticky. 

I found myself taking breaks every ten minutes. Finding a rock the height of my waist made a perfect seat to take a few moments of rest. There was a sense of relief that the air I was breathing was warm and earthy. Some areas in this section had open spaces that looked like they might have been seasonal villages for the Shoshone. From this section to the lakes it is less than 4 miles away, which could have provided fish and game for people. Along the edge of the lakes I couldn’t help but wonder if some of the flat and slick boulders were used to process meat and seats.

It looked like a perfect meeting point where people for thousands of years gathered in the summer and trekked into the mountains to hunt and collect food. Many of the lodgepole pines on this last stretch were far enough apart that numerous temporary shelters could have been built. The area provides enough shade from the sun which would make it ideal for a summer’s stay. The weather is slightly cooler to the hot Owens Valley. Then again their meadows could have easily been created recently. The lakes could have been an excellent source of water to the first peoples that called these mountains home. Although I was moving like a tortoise and found myself pondering how the first peoples lived in these areas, I knew that I was nearing the end of my trek.

I could sense that I was nearing my last few meters. On the last turn of the trail I finally descended towards the left and could see a sign. I had made it back, relief and accomplishment filled me. My car was close. As soon as I reached my car I took a long gulp of water, and attempted to send a text. There was still some light, though the sun was quickly beginning to set. I quickly changed clothes while I boiled some water on a portable stove.

Dinner- shrimp ramen with chili and a packet of jalapeno tuna fish. The meal was comforting, the broth savory, and salty liquids would replenish me of the fluids I’d lost throughout the day. The vapor touched my face and the condensation mixed with my skin.

 After the quick meal I opened the hood. All the coolant in the reservoir had either evaporated or leaked. I turned the radiator cap, it was broken, but there was liquid in there. I searched for residue of coolant salts along the engine hoses and below the car and didn’t see any. There was some residue under the reservoir which made me conclude that coolant had escaped from there. I did not have to put water in the reservoir. The broken radiator cap could have been the source of the car losing the coolant. I returned to the drivers side and hoped I was right with my final inspection, the car could at least get me to Lone Pine.

The engine quickly turned on and began to hum as if nothing had happened. Good old reliable Toyotas. I returned to check the engine, and all was clear. I decided to drive down towards Lone Pine and from there I’d see how the car was doing. It would not be as taxing on the engine as it had been coming up and the weather would be slightly cooler. As I left the campground the forest seemed to merge with the darkness. I drove slowly down the winding road.

Arriving at the Lone Pine intersection the car seemed to be humming along without a problem. I pulled to the side and sent a few quick texts, made a right and merged with the 395 South bound. Family was glad to receive my messages and I was glad to have made it down to the valley. Everything was surprisingly fine. The drive home was smooth, with a stop at the town of Mojave where I filled up on gas and bought some snacks. 

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Five

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Five

By Armando Ortiz

Approaching the Final Stretch - Initial Reflections:

The trail changed as I descended. Rockslides had been cleared, and people had taken shortcuts. The way along the canyon face didn’t seem as stable as it had earlier in the morning when I climbed up. Now High and Long Lake looked like big rain puddles in the sunlight. Though it was a bit past three in the afternoon, it felt directly overhead, casting minimal shadows. I kept looking towards the boulder where my tent was, wondering if marmots had entered or nibbled a hole into the backpack.

Around that time a group of three or four were ascending the pass. We greeted each other and continued on our way. After about an hour the trail began to even out slightly. New Army Pass now seemed like a canyon of hightowers. More and more patches of green mossy grass came into view the lower the elevation it got. My steps going down were slow, but my body felt light. I scanned the trail below when suddenly my eyes saw wildflowers moving with delicate excitement as the breeze blew. Things were looking good. After reaching the foothill, I searched for my tent.

The tent was missing. As I approached the granite boulder, my green backpack came into view. Vexed, I stopped and looked around. It was packed, and under it was the tent. My eyes scanned the scene in confusion. Under the bag was a note that read, 

“Hello, From the top of Army Pass, we saw your tent getting blown away down the mountain. We retrieved it 9000 years from your site and also found your sleeping bag a distance from your tent. We collapsed our tent and secured all your stuff (that we could find) with rocks. Your tent is damaged (torn a bit) I hope you didn't lose anything. Take care” - Jim

A sinking feeling inside hit like a flash as I simultaneously wondered, “why didn’t I pack my tent?” It could have taken 5-10 minutes at most getting everything packed. In the rush to summit the peak as early as possible, the tent not being as secure and anchored as it was supposed to be didn’t cross my mind. 

This was a valuable learning experience. If I’d been on a multi day trip and had decided to summit a peak I’d be in trouble. Discovering that the tent was in tatters, the sleeping bag torn, and being 20-25 miles away from the car would have been trouble. My bear canister was where I’d left it, so I pulled it out and used it as a seat. 

I reflected a bit on what had happened. As late afternoon approached, I scanned the area to ensure that nothing was missed by those that recovered my tent. Two aluminum stakes were still on the ground where I’d jammed them into the earth the night before. After making sure I’d scanned my area carefully, I paid attention to quickly inspecting the damage.

As I held the rainfly in my hands it looked like it had been attacked by an angry feral cat. The bottom of the tent was torn and scratched a bit, while the mesh area had one or two holes- it was no longer usable. The footprint was pretty much done. It was made of some type of flimsy plastic. The sleeping bag was ok, no visible sign of damage, maybe superficial scratches, but none that had gone through. 

This set back definitely had me thinking for a bit, but my attention immediately went to reaching my car. I took a short break and gathered my thoughts. Everything seemed calm and quiet. I sat there, eating a granola bar and glanced at my watch. I could still get to my car with the afternoon light that remained. At a distance a marmot stood up to inspect the views. The lake was like a mirror and I was an audience to the sky. Looking around I realized I had set up camp in a place with lots of marmot activity. There were burrows and feces all around the boulder. 

Reflecting on the situation, I realized that packing up the tent before leaving could have prevented damage and loss of stakes, ultimately avoiding a failed attempt to repair the damages. With these thoughts lingering, I ensured the area was clean before resuming my descent. 

The pack felt heavy, and uncomfortable. I wanted to make it back to my car. Afternoon light was slowly turning into late afternoon shadows. The walk was steady, but I kept leaning slightly trying to give myself an impulse forward. I zigzagged my way through a foxtail pine grove with knotty branches. The gnarled trunks made them look really ancient. Red bark of these pines was contrasted by the evergreen bristles they held. I reached the Cottonwood Lakes around half past five in the afternoon.

 Passing by the lakes different campsites were spotted. I thought of the two miles I could have saved in carrying the weight. My backpack kept loosening up. I stopped several times to adjust the straps. At times I’d wiggle my thumbs in between my front shoulders and the straps to relieve some of the pressure. 

As the descent grew increasingly uncomfortable, I failed to realize that I had already hiked seventeen miles. The next five miles were slow, grinding and potentially dangerous. As I got closer to my destination it felt like I was carrying more than what I had started this adventure with. My pace was much slower, but the trekking poles kept their constant ticking sound.

Reaching the last five miles was a bit of relief, but at the same time began to feel greater discomfort. Here the air had seemed heavier and earthy. You could almost breathe in the greenery. Around six in the afternoon, a bit past mile twenty, and a few meters past the John Muir trail I ran into two backpackers that were beginning their week-long trek through the mountains. “Do the lakes have water?,” one of them asked. “Yes, but they were half full.” We all continued on our way. A tiny bit of jealousy did creep up while talking to them, hearing that they’d be up here much longer than I had. Their carrying load was definitely much more than mine. These encounters reminded me of the journey’s camaraderie, but also of the remaining distance ahead. 

Despite nearing my car, the remaining three miles still seemed daunting. The trail was gradually flattening, but the ground was now soft, bordering on squishy. Every step I took seemed to make my feet sink into the fine gravel. I was tired. I’d stop, lean against a lodgepole, and the pack on its trunk. Its shiny bronze bark was rough. It was a relief to my back even if for a few seconds. 

With each break there was a quick sip of water, and wiping the sweat from my eyes, and occasionally checking my watch. Then the trudge would resume. Although the air was still, the atmosphere was warm. I was sweating more. With every streak of sweat a thin white crust would build along my temples. 

Things did get serious at one point. I began to have a dull pain in my knee, but I continued trugging. I struggled to stay synchronized with the poles and my steps. In the rush to get back to my car I pushed myself so much that by the time I was two miles away it became a trudge. 

Although I still had the energy to continue my body had reached a point it had never experienced before. Yet, looking back now, all the hikes and training that took place can never prepare you for the challenges that an almost twenty one mile trek can take on the body. This is why it's important to never take long hikes that are considered difficult or strenuous lightly, but that one has to continuously train the body for those types of challenges.

Little by little, the loose ground made the last section uncomfortable and turned the sense of satisfaction into a restless desire to reach my final destination. As I traversed this flat section, it felt the most treacherous, with reaching my car looming as the biggest challenge at that moment. The trees were slowly being covered by the shade of the mountains, and the forest shadows were beginning to blend with the lifeless fallen trees. With determination fueled by the challenges overcome, I pressed onward towards the final stretch.