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David Franklin

Is This Heaven, Hell, or the Baja Bus?

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2004 Spring

Two-and-a-half days. One bus. Twenty-six hippies. No showers. Heaven? Hell? Or, just the Naka-Ima Baja Adventure?!

After sharing our intentions, visions, and fears, a group of people who participate in Naka-Ima hopped on a Green Tortoise bus to embark on a ten-day trip to Baja, Mexico. Upon pulling out from Lost Valley, I almost immediately questioned my motivations for taking this trip. Being a person who needs a fair amount of space and independence, who has difficulty sleeping on moving vehicles, and who gets motion sickness fairly easily, I wondered, "What the hell was I thinking?!" I hadn't given much thought to this part of the trip, as I'd been thinking more about actually being in Baja. "OK, ok," I reasoned. "It's the middle of the winter, I need some sun and heat, I'm spending time with a group of people I love, and I'm going to a beautiful place. I've never really traveled with a group this large who all share a desire for community, growth, and intimacy, and this is a unique opportunity to do so." I decided to let go of my concerns and see what would happen.


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The Nature of Irony

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2000 Winter
Close your eyes and imagine--It is a beautiful summer day in the Pacific Northwest. The sun is shining, the air is warm and dry, and a gentle breeze is blowing, caressing your skin and stirring the maple and alder leaves. Sweet chitters are heard overhead as a flock of kinglets passes overhead, and the gurgling rush of a brook looms up ahead. You are surrounded by the beauty of nature on all sides, from dark-green lacy boughs of cedar to the ocean-blue sky above and the cool brown earth below. Sword ferns dot the landscape as far as the eye can see, and the soft layer of conifer needles sends tendrils of an ancient scent into your nostrils. You feel at one with nature, with creation, your mind passing from thought to thought like a stone skipping over the smooth surface of a mountain lake. You can't think of anyplace else you'd rather be, until...wait! Jeez, what is that godawful sound? Squeaky shoes on a basketball court in the middle of the woods? A forgotten alarm clock? Someone hiding in the bushes dragging fingernails over a small blackboard? No, my friends, I'm sorry to say that it is none of those things that has shattered your blissful excursion through this peaceful forest. I wish it were, for the odds of having this wonderful image interrupted again by the above disturbances would be slim and unlikely. Unfortunately, this disturbance is much more common, and you run this risk every time you venture out into the woods. Welcome to the realm of...the chickaree.

The chickaree, or Douglas Squirrel, is a year-round resident in the Pacific Northwest. Smaller than most squirrels, it has huge beady eyes, gray fur, a reddish-gray belly, and a short stubby tail. It is typically found in evergreen forests, often simultaneously shucking Douglas-fir cones into its fur-lined cheeks and into big piles on the ground below. And, of course, watching and waiting for poor, unsuspecting naturalists or outdoorsy-type folks to wander past just so that it can emit its terrible cry and take its revenge on humans for all that we've done to its home. The chickaree. Just writing about it causes my muscles to tense and my face to grimace. I can hear the sound playing in my head, over and over like a broken record, as one barks from its post, stubby little tail punctuating each shrill emission. If animals really are helpless against humans, then this creature is truly the great equalizer, for there is no way to stop it. Much like the dreaded Energizer Bunny, it keeps shrieking and shrieking and shrieking. The only recourse is to run away, and even then one has to run rather far before the sound is out of earshot.


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