A thought from the 19th century that resonates today, courtesy of Eddie Two Hawks.
Category Archives: Forrest Fenn
Thank you, Eric Sloane
Ferris Wheel (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
No, I haven’t solved the TTOTC poem, but I will forever remember which way high pressure and low pressure systems circulate in the northern hemisphere!
I can see it spinning.
Wildflowers (Judy Collins album) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels . . . .I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down and still somehow, it’s clouds’ illusions I recall . . . .
Dizzy now. Where’s that Dramemine?
English: Eric Sloane, circ. 1983, La Tierra, near Santa Fe, NM (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
On a side note:
What Direction Does Earth’s Center Spin? New Insights Solve 300-Year-Old Problem.
So. Is North still North?
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If You’ve Been Wise . . . .
“To finish the moment, to find the journey’s end in every step of the road, to live the greatest number of good hours, is wisdom.”
Spectacular Blaze
A young Amish boy on his way to work at 4:30am looking at the light show on Fuller Road in Easton, Maine. The image was captured by 61-year-old photographer Paul Cyr
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2442531/Solar-flare-causes-Northern-Lights-US-Kansas-Maine-Donegal.html#ixzz2gmD0onGL
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I Know You’re Out There Somewhere, Somewhere . . .
Now playing on a continuous loop in my head—
The Moody Blues
Oh, yes, I know you’re out there somewhere, somewhere, somewhere,
Oh, yes, I know I’ll find you somehow . . . .
They’re playing in Peoria next Monday. Yay!
The Best of The Moody Blues (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Next up:
Once upon a time
In my wildest dreams . . . .
Forrest Fenn’s Treasure Chest
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Let’s call this non-partisan, please
I hope this link works—
Honoring the guardians:
Our local heroes (Quad Cities) are scheduled for tomorrow!
Spc. James Phillips, 249th Eng Battalion (Prime Power), assists World War II veteran Vernon Bolstad as he arrives at Reagan National Airpor from Minnesota as part of the Honor Flight Network to see the National World War II Memorial. http://www.army.mil/armylife/veterans/ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
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Book Signings & Fireside Chats (Updated)
Twelve hundred miles, twelve hundred miles, ….
It’s too far too walk. Or drive. Or fly. Just to get my new TFTW book signed. I can’t fault the shipper. They were expedient. Prompt. Speedy. Only the book flew out of there before Mr. Fenn could sign it.
I’m jealous of you New Mexicans, Coloradans, Arizonans, and others who live within a couple hundred miles of Santa Fe. Don’t it make my brown eyes green.
Forrest Fenn. Douglas Preston. Michael McGarrity. Details for you lucky ones who can mark October 22nd on your calendars —
http://www.collectedworksbookstore.com/event/forrest-fenn-too-far-walk
And now, the blues. Folk music, rather. I’m also going to have to forego the chance to have a glass of wine with Forrest and to hear Bob Haworth of The Brothers Four and The Kingston Trio, (am I old enough to remember? almost, maybe) in front of a cozy fireplace in the lounge at the Inn and Spa at Loretto!
The Inn and Spa at Loretto (Photo credit: Jim Nix / Nomadic Pursuits)
Details: Monday September 30th from 6 to 9. See Stephanie’s blog Chase Chat for the invitation to bloggers.
Also, Tuesday, October 1st from 5-7 (you’ll need to RSVP). Visit Dal’s blog, Thrill of the Chase, for the actual invitation from Forrest Fenn/Charmay.
My RSVP —- Regrets.
Where will I be? Twelve hundred miles NorthEast by East (–ish). Flyover country. The Midwest. Flat lands.
I plan to start a campfire. (That would be about 6 or 7 pm CST. Hmm. Still daylight savings time? Whatever.) I’ll crack open a bottle of wine. Put on some folk music. Watch the blaze.
Warm waters blazing a trail down my cheeks….maybe.
My feet are wet from thinking this thing over. . . [See/hear Blue Umbrella lyrics by John Prine.]
Any Midwesterners so inclined may join me in spirit. Can you play guitar?
Five hundred miles, five hundred miles, oh Lord, I’m five hundred miles away from home.
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A very very very bad frog joke
A Australian Green Tree Frog (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
For grins and giggles:
A very very very bad frog joke.
(I realize that this may be lost on you millennials… just pass on by.)
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Perspective
The prior blog referenced Forrest Fenn’s rescue in the jungle of that “conflict overseas”. *** He was shot down twice during his service.
To gain some of Fenn’s perspective on those experiences, see his writings on his blog @ Old Santa Fe Trading Co.com, and in his book The Thrill of the Chase. Maybe there will be more in his latest book, Too Far To Walk, which is being released this week.
*** “the conflict overseas” from Sam Stone by John Prine, one of the great singer/songwriters.
Fair & Square (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I had the opportunity to see Prine at Chicago’s Earl of Old Town ( & other folk legends—Steve Goodman, Bonnie Koloc) back in the day, and also last week when he “played Peoria”.
Forty years on, Prine’s lyrics still resonate. For example, Paradise:
Chorus:
And daddy won’t you take me back to Muhlenberg County
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay
Well, I’m sorry my son, but you’re too late in asking
Mister Peabody’s coal train has hauled it away
Bittersweet
A U.S. Air Force Sikorsky HH-53C Super Jolly Green Giant helicopter being refueled over Vietnam. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
This was a footnote on the previous post, but I think it deserves more attention——-Forrest Fenn was the rescuee.
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“Hear Me All . . . ” Forrest Fenn
Somewhere south of Duluth
English: John Muir (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
“There is a musical idea in every form. See, hear, how sharp, loud, and clear-ringing are the tones of the sky-piercing peaks and spires; and how deep and smooth and massive those of the swelling domes and round-backed ridge-waves; and how quickly the multitude of small features in a landscape suggest hurrying trills and ripples and waves of melody. We not only see the forms and colors of the mountains, but hear them. Plants and animals also seem to be music both in form and color. Everything breaks forth into form, color, song, and fragrance – an eternal chorus of praise going up from every garden and grove, a wide range of harmonies leading into the inner harmonies that are eternal.”
Signature of John Muir (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
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How A 3200-Mile Loop Became a 4000-Mile Crazy 8 (The End)
When I wished Forrest Fenn a Happy Birthday, I mentioned I was in Cody. He asked about my search and by Saturday, when I was halfway up/down the Gallatin, he invited to meet him for a cup of coffee. Wow, I thought.
Now, I’d told my husband I’d be home by Friday, unless I found the chest and needed to swing by Santa Fe to return a bracelet to Mr.Fenn. Hmm.
I could do both if I knocked off a visit to a hot springs and a great restaurant I had reservations at. Hmm.
I’d also brought my book hoping to get it signed if the opportunity presented itself. Hmm.
“Life is short and getting shorter” said Mr. Fenn. Hmm.
Mr. W’s phone was off on Sunday. By the time I got ahold of him, I’d already flown by Billings, Casper, Laramie, and was maybe nearing Denver.
“Cool,” he said. I told him he was invited, too, but he’s still busy supporting my hobbies.
Serendipity. A southern suburb with a gas station, a car wash, and across the street, a great steak salad for a late lunch. I didn’t recognize anything of the Denver I knew in the mid-80’s.
Back on the road, it was dark when I passed through the mountains north and east of Santa Fe. I had reservations on the west side and thought I’d have no trouble finding the Fenn estate the next morning.
Wrong. I plugged in the address but it wanted to send me about 12 miles back east of town. Time was getting short, so I stopped at a place I was sure could help: The Collected Works Bookstore.
Fortunately, the guy at the desk knew it was only a couple miles away, and gave me a start in the right direction. Museum Hill would be ‘too far’. That’s where I turned around, but at least I’d passed the correct address.
(Was anyone else a bit claustrophobic with the narrow streets, adobe walls, and one way streets in old Santa Fe, or is it just that I’m used to seeing horizons?)
I turned in the drive and pushed a button. The gate opened and I pulled forward. I grabbed my book and camera, and hoped the big dog was friendly.
Yes, those are Post-Its in my book.
Mr. Fenn met me at the door, and I was escorted into the big room, familiar because I’d seen Dal’s pictures: the wooden Indian by the fireplace, the ancient books on the shelves, the buffalo skull. Bells. Baskets. Beautiful things.
He was curious about my search; I was curious about everything. The time flew. Then, I took a couple pictures, he signed my book, and a “homely girl” got a kiss. No. How does it go? I mean, smile. (Is it too late for braces?)
I headed home with my treasures. Amarillo, Tulsa, St. Louis, Bloomington…..
Friday evening, I was greeted with a vase full of roses, happy chickens, and fresh peaches on the tree. More treasures. They don’t all fit in a chest.
Life is good.
The Fenn Diagrams 