Wupatki National Monument

Pueblo Ruins

Pueblo Ruins © 2007

Wupatki National Monument, just twenty minute drive north of Flagstaff, Arizona, was established by the National Park system to preserve Native American archeological sites dating from the 1200s and the surrounding lands.

The area has geological formations and abrupt elevation changes that, within only a few miles, provide six different eco-systems, and a wide variety of habitats for plants and animals.The effects of elevation are visible along the 36 mile loop road connecting Wupatki with Sunset Crater Volcano National Monument to the south.

Desert in Bloom

High Desert Grasslands in Bloom

A drive along this road isa journey from desert grasslands (at less than 5,000’ elevation) to Ponderosa pine forest (near 7,000’). In October, the desert floor springs to life with flowers and new growth. Rabbitbrush glows bright yellow against the black cinders, remains from the nearby volcanic eruption, the red rock in the distance, and the blue sky.

Hanging Pails All in a Row

Metal Pails

Metal Pails © 2008 Bo Mackison

Don’t throw out the old bucket until you know the new one holds water. ~~ Swedish proverb.

These buckets are hanging in the Old General Store at Old World Wisconsin, the Wisconsin Historical Society’s re-creation of Midwestern living in the mid- to late-1800s. An interesting place to visit, but I don’t think I want to live there.

Shrouded Cemetery

Roadside Cemetery in Dane County

Roadside Cemetery © 2008

Cemeteries hold a certain fascination for me. On my travels around the state of Wisconsin and in other parts of the country, too, I often see small cemeteries on private lands. Simple family cemeteries filled with crumbling spires and solid squatty granite blocks. Some are decorated with plastic flowers in every hue and variety, some with teddy bears and pin-wheels, some plain – but not forgotten, I hope.

My favorite grave markers are the ones that incorporate a bench. Not that I will have a bench near my eventual resting place, but I do like the idea of having a place for others to rest a bit, think quiet thoughts, re-consider and make new plans, go on with living. While still taking out a few moments of life to remember and honor.

I’m the cemetery visitor in my immediate family. I think, though, that I am the last in a long line of grave site caretakers. My great-grandmother and both grandmothers with whom I grew up  – they were all Sunday-morning-after-church-services visitors to the cemetery. I often accompanied them as I was the one with the young knees and strong arms. I could run along the gravel paths without fear of turning an ankle or falling. We often brought live plants that required digging holes, setting in, mounding, and watering. In Autumn, we brought rakes so that I could rake leaves off the long line of family plots. Even little clippers to trim the summer’s blades of grass that sprang up in the improper of places.

I still take my mother to the cemetery when I visit my hometown. We now decorate with artificial flowers that can be re-used every year.  And we decorate seasonally – Christmas poinsettias, then red and white carnations for Valentine’s Day, followed in quick procession by spring flowers, Memorial Day in red, white and blue, summer flowers, Fourth of July, and finally fall flowers. In early December we start with Christmas again. And the seasons recycle, each set of flowers returns to the cemetery at just the right time.

I’d rather just wander around, look around, examine. But the flower tradition has been in place for a hundred years in my maternal family. I don’t live near the family site. Hundreds of miles away, actually. So I wonder what will happen when I no longer have living relatives to visit in my hometown.

Red Barn

Barn in Sauk County, Wisconsin

Barn in Sauk County, Wisconsin ©2008 Bo Mackison

I love red barns. I especially love the rusty red roof on this barely red barn, and the red vines creeping around the window frame.

De-clutter? Not Even the Question!

Not for Sale

Someone Else’s Junk ©2008 Bo Mackison

Why do we save the things we save?

When I moved to Chicago 33 years ago to attend school, I arrived with a suitcase of clothes and an army  trunk full of bedding, towels, and everything else I owned. I bought a hot plate and rented a tiny refrigerator. After I got settled and met a few people, I somehow managed to collect other peoples’ cast-offs – and was mighty happy to get them. A folding bed, unfolded, doubled as a couch by day and a bed at night. I found a perfectly acceptable chair on the curbside waiting for the garbage pickup. Some hot water and soap revealed a wood chair made out of oak that gave me the option of offering a guest a seat on a chair or on the floor. Their choice.

Eventually I graduated, married, and started working…and accumulating. Accumulating stuff. Important stuff. Good stuff. But after 32 years of marriage and three kids, I have way too much stuff. Not all of it mine, mind you, but all of it is, well, stuffed into my house.

I recently read about a person who had survived both a flood that destroyed one home and a catastrophic fire that destroyed a second. She bemoaned the loss of work in her studio and her writing samples, her photographs and personal letters, but never once did I read any mention of any stuff. Makes me think I could do more de-cluttering than I already have.

A move into smaller quarters is on the horizon, though a rather far horizon – considering how not-so-quickly I accomplish huge projects. But now that our family of five has dwindled to two, we do not need to inhabit a 9 room house. The two of us have been examining architecture and dwelling spaces, and we are thinking it would be interesting and challenging to try to create a home that is truly designed for the way we live. Smallish, but full of interesting details and open spaces, both inside and out. I’ve been looking at a lot of Frank Lloyd Wright designs and adaptations, and I’m beginning to amass a notebook full of scrawls and sketches and resources and photographs.

But first – I have to get rid of some of this stuff. Think my kids want any of their stuff I’m storing? I’m sure Good Will will be happy to accept some of the extra, too. Maybe I should just pretend I’m moving cross-country and go on a stuff-reduction diet. Gulp!