Little Girl Blue

For over two months now I've taken a liking to Janis Joplin.

(Chad would say I am absorbed).

We just happened to watch an American Masters premiere showing of the documentary Little Girl Blue.

I was hooked.

I'm consumed with her life story. Every biography that was written on her is stacked on my bed stand. I'm enthralled by who she was, her path and what she became. I'm also kind of tormented by it all.

The funny thing is, the more I know about her, the more I can relate to what kind of person she was, what she was like as a teenager, what she did, why she did it, what she thought about, how she felt about things and I feel for her.

(I, too, am made fun of by the way I cackle when I laugh).

I could have been her friend. I would have been her friend.

The book I'm getting the most out of is "Love, Janis", written by her sister, Laura Joplin. It's precisely and lovingly written with all the details one would beg for. Her story is bittersweet. When I look at pictures of that young woman, dressed in her beatnik clothes and layers of beads, her wild hair, cackling with laughter, she was always smiling. I've grown so fond of Janis that now, her music is constantly playing in the car and on my stereo.

When I pull on my bell bottoms and throw strings of beads around my neck, silver bracelets up my arm; when I never brush my hair and talk a little bit too loud, I am not copying her.

I am being myself.

This is the way I've always been.

When I was a teenager I never listened to her music. She had this raspy, shrieking voice that I wasn't attracted to. Janis wailed the psychedelic blues. I did however listen to Jimi Hendrix.

I was into playing Joni Mitchell and James Taylor records. Folk music.

But, after watching that documentary and learning about what that girl went through,

I would say she had every right and reason to yell and scream her songs.

She was shouting out to the world "Listen to THIS!"

And she had soul. A whole lotta soul.

 

Summer so far

It's too hot!

There. I said it.

Out of the mouth of someone who thinks she's related to the lizard. Lying about on a hot slab of granite in the Dragoons, admiring the mosaic of quartz and feldspar.

Gambel's quail, roadrunners, ocatillo and ironwood blooms are just some of the desert essence that bring me joy.

I absolutely love the desert.

Maybe I'm more comfortable with hot weather when I'm in the desert.

Maybe it's because Wyoming hasn't felt so hot before.

Never mind. It's all good.

Because it's starting to rain!

Good 'ol Green Mountain on the night of a full moon. A prairie moon. A big red moon. Around midnight, sounds like squeals, gulps, grunts and piccolos filled the air. Elk were communicating on both sides of our tent.

Have you ever heard all the different sounds an elk makes? There are more mating calls besides the typical bugling.

It's unbelievable. It's remarkable. I could barely sleep.

One afternoon, we watched as this horse and another galloped laps around Main Meadow. They would stop and whinny, looking all around, whinny some more and then run away. Were they looking for someone? Were they running from something? Someone? They were an impressive couple of rowdy bachelors, for sure.

Wild horses dance on Big Meadow.

I came close to stepping on this nest of eggs. I've been trying to figure out what bird nests on a meadow ground.

We got to spend an afternoon in the same meadow with a stunning group of elk. The horses and elk hung out together. I was thrilled about that.

I've been reading a really good book.

THIS HUMAN SHAPE by Chad Hanson chadhanson.org

Just one more poem before I leave for work.

We had more company! Chad's sister, Jessie, and her five year old daughter came to see us all the way from Minneapolis.

Allie-bug got a lesson in fly fishing and Aunt Squirrel showed her some real live mustangs.

My favorite female author has written a new book. They are essays but it reads like a memoir.

Terry Tempest Wiliams celebrates the national parks with passion and anger, deeply concerned about them disappearing and "why lands matter to the soul of America."

Sadly, sometimes a girl needs a shovel.

I walked home from work one day and heard some extremely loud laughter coming from over our backyard fence. As I poked my head out the gate I witnessed two young boys under our giant cottonwood tree taunting a stick at a squirrel who was clearly injured and distraught. I was shocked at their behavior. I became angry and questioned them in my best mom voice. Apparently the squirrel had fallen from it's nest, broken it's back and was flopping around in convulsions. It was horrible. And they were cruel. I scolded them along with a lesson in compassion and nature.

And then I buried my precious Chaca. My little squirrel friend who knew her name, who came to our back door for almonds, this squirrel who was friends with our cats.

I miss her terribly.

On a happier note, I've been obsessed with watching an online Audubon Osprey nest cam.

The nest is located in the woods of Maine. Every morning it's the first thing I tune in to. It's been fun watching the three babies grow. To see the male bring back something like 20 fish per day to the nest while mama feeds them. Their alert calls and all the happenings at the nest is riveting. It's even on our computer at work. I've got everybody hooked.

Skye taking over the laundry pile.

Guess I don't have to fold clothes after all.

The sun going down over the Red Desert.

Saying goodbye to another summer evening on Green Mountain.

Holding on tightly to the memory. To one more treasured day spent with the wildest horses I know.

Because after this summer, most of them will be taken away. Bands will be split apart. Foals will be separated from their mothers. Stallions will be jammed in a pen together. And it's unessesary.

In an instant they will lose their families and their freedom.

All because of cows. For the profit of ranchers.

And because the BLM won't make an effort to manage them like they're suppose to,

by law.

Some herds have been successfully managed by the use of a birth control vaccine called PZP. With a darting gun, pellets are shot into the haunches of wild mares.

Dart guns instead of helicopters.

"PZP, long used on large zoo animals and wildlife species, has proven a success in controlling horse numbers with BLM-managed herds in the Pryor Mountains of Montana and Little Book Cliffs of Colorado, according to Jay Kirkpatrick, the veterinarian who developed the vaccine in the 1970s."

If you're interested in reading more about this, here is a link:

http://www.wildhorsepreservation.org/media/blm-will-dart-horses-attempt-control-fertility

It's very interesting, a better solution and extremely important, especially right now.

We must get involved. We've got to be vocal!

I'm so happy to tell you that I will be going to Montana to take part in a three day class to become certified to dart wild horses. I will do whatever I can for the good of America's mustangs. A friend told me it's my destiny.

I believe she's right.