The dogs and I went exploring the other day. Searching for the edge of the High Plains. Edges can be obvious or imperceptible, depending on perspective, topography and attitude. I’ve always been drawn to the edge but not quite sure why. One day it will become obvious, as I stand along an edge somewhere. One of those aha moments, will chance along. Edges are where change takes place – or some other epiphany. “Why didn’t you see that before?” Part of me will ask another part of me. “Hmm, I don’t know. Needed better light, I suppose.”
I’ve spent decades poking around the Geologic Masterpiece of the Western U.S. Much of that time, looking for oil. Chasing the cheap fossil fuel, that drove the hyperbolic expansion of human evolution for two centuries. When I think of edges, my mind naturally conjures geologic formations, like the massive Rocky Mountains, my favorite. The backbone of our country and the liquid heart of the Wild West.
Edgewise
We live on the High Plains now. The edge is a few hours east of the Rocky Mountains. On the way back to the Emerald City from Denver, we decided to see if we could find it. We wanted to actually walk to the very precipice of the High Plains and have a look over. At least I did. The dogs probably just wanted to run around with their noses cast into the breeze, maybe chase a rabbit or point a quail. They don’t talk much. I have to determine most of their desires through body language.
After years of poking around and flipping rocks, experience has shown that, you can’t find anything flying down the highway. Hell, it’s hard enough to see anything. The only way to find something is to get off the pavement and get out of the car. Just you and a place. A place you can hear and smell. A place you can touch and feel. The journey is not about how fast you can get from one place to another place. The journey is about how many places you can hear and smell and touch and feel. The journey is about slowing down and immersing yourself. Discovering a place, a region, a spot or an edge.
Cedar Point – a place, a spot and the edge of The High Plane. A new energy source, is exploiting this edge. Wind Turbines, 100’s of wind turbines littered across the top of the mesa. Destroying the natural beauty of the place. They may seem to be a cleaner alternative on first glance but their impact to the environment is obtrusive and very likely just as damaging as the pump jacks they are supposed to replace but haven’t. The High Plains are higher than all the country between Denver and here. I suspect there is not a better place for wind turbines in 100’s, perhaps 1000’s of miles as the natural edge squeezes and speeds the wind, across the lower lip of the High Plains and into a thousand windmill blades.
Perfect Angle
We walked across the top of the mesa. I was looking for a good picture. The dogs were looking for birds and rabbits, sniffing about like good dogs. At least, that’s what I thought, as I crawled around in the wild flowers, looking for the best angle. My improbable attempt to capture the natural beauty of a place through the lens of a camera. There is nothing like being there, feeling the wind in my hair, hearing the songbirds and smelling the fresh cow dung.
But one of the objectives of finding something, is bringing back evidence. I worked my way along the top of the mesa, engrossed in gathering the evidence. As I crouched down, trying to work a jazzy, yellow Prairie Rocket into the foreground of a picture. Sadie, comes waddling up, with her excited to be alive wiggle, like a playful little otter.
I couldn’t believe what was in front of my eyes. It was cognitive chaos. I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. I went into an immediate panic attack. Oh my God. She was covered head to toe in fresh, slimy, brownish, green, cow shit. What dog in its right mind goes out with intent and rolls around in a steaming pile of fresh cow shit?
Now What?
This was something I had never had to consider. I’ve had dogs roll in some weird shit, over the years. But never real shit, especially really fresh shit. Thus the cognitive failure. The problem is. I don’t have the jeep, as usual. I have Vickie’s brand new Forrester. She will kill me, if I bring it home with flecks of cow shit all over the once new smelling interior. Leave it to me to be the one that destroys that most cherished of fragrances; new car smell and replaces it with, barn yard.
Panicked, I quit shooting. I quit looking for evidence. All I could think about was; my dog is covered in cow shit, what am I going to do? I fished a t-shirt out of the dirty clothes bag and gave Sadie a rub down, trying to wipe the ripe, grass-fed, manure off her coat. A coat that looked to be designed specifically to collect and hold as much cow shit as possible.
Don’t Panic
It was a long ride home. I kept both vents pointed at her trying to keep the odor in the back. She seemed to be a little panicked too. I think they must read their owners distress. She remained still and none of the shit matting her coat, (like thick peanut butter or thick cow shit in this case), seemed to be rubbing off on Vickie’s upholstery.
Then, heading south out of Hugo, we ran into a storm cell. First rain, then hard rain and then hail. Dime sized and slamming into Vickie’s brand new car. The staccato beat drumming harder and faster. “Shit.”
More panic. More fear – Keep going? Stop? Turn Back?
Tears came to my eyes as I imagined handing Vickie the keys to her once beautiful new car. Now with cracked windows, dented hood and shit flecked interior. My prayers were answered though and the hail turned back to rain and then quit. The sun came out and it was just another beautiful day on The High Planes, as we pulled into Emerald City. The Edge will still be there on another day. Right now, I needed to give Sadie a bath.