Trek Post --- The End

The other day, Brother C asked me if I had fun on Trek. I find that fun isn't the right word to describe the experience of Trek. Hard and hot, dusty and dirty, worthwhile, amazing, and "push you to the edge of your own personal type of difficult" might be better ways to describe Trek.

For me the difficulty and the joy in Trek came from being responsible for eight other people, people younger and mostly less experienced with “outdoor adventure” than the folks I normally go out with on these types of trips.

I had prepared myself by walking about five miles a night several nights a week in the months before. I read about pioneers and pondered to understand why we go on Trek as modern day Saints.

I came to the conclusion that it is for several reasons: 1) To show us that we are capable of doing physically hard things. 2) To remind us that others are around to help us through hard things. And 3) To help us understand that having and living the Gospel is worth giving up everything, including your life.

So out we all went into the dust and heat of the Owyhee Desert, dressed as pseudo pioneers to pretend for a few days and gain more perspective on what is really important. And one thing that was highly important to me was to return my young charges to their parents in one -- unblistered, and unsunburned piece.

Life on the trail went along its dusty way and was pretty good and easy for me. I was blessed with a family of quiet but strong and amazing youth, with whom I would be thrilled to spend another long weekend, somewhere beside the desert pushing a handcart. They are excellent young people who have the talent and abilities to do well in their lives.

I was tired and ready to be off my feet the by second day, but I was happy, because I knew I only had one more day to get through and one more meal to cook. And while that was true,  the third day turned out to be the hardest for me.

By the third day, I was somewhat dehydrated. I was worried about two of my “sons”, N and S, who were struggling with walking in the heat, but fortunately building relationships with two wonderful members of the Bishopric. I wondered about the strength and stamina of my husband and Z, who had literally hauled the cart together for most of the way. I felt concern for the two absolutely amazing young girls, S and H, who spent nearly the whole trip being the cart brakes. I was worried about MW's feet and MS’s blood sugar. And I wondered if CS was having any fun at all.

Maybe the last mile of trail was planned to be a metaphor for life. It certainly became one to me. I saw it as the last part of my journey in this painful Trek life. The celestial “green weedy grass” kingdom was before me. I wanted to move through this veil of tears and get on with things like resting in the shade and drinking ICE WATER. (Seen any old people with the same basic desire lately?) But we kept stopping. And Stopping. And STOPPING… And grumbling.

Finally we saw the people on the other side of the river. 

Our dead. 

Waving at us. 

Cheering us on.

 It was heartening. 

Until I realized that we were not finished with the Trek yet. Grumble.

We had to rescue those waving dead people.  Grumble. Grumble. GRUMBLE!!!

This was not on my list of things to do today. (Let's not even go into the possible parallels with getting oneself to the temple to do work for the kindred dead.)

My attitude was less than cheerful as I walked down toward the water to listen to the vignette about the river crossing. I had to scold myself and say a little prayer for strength. Thankfully God loves all his children, even the grumpy, grumbly ones. He sent a cooling breeze almost immediately and my emotions were softly soothed.

I was able to stand patiently waiting for this last piece of Trek trail life to end.

Because I had been reluctant to even go to the river, (yes I was seriously entertaining thoughts of picking up the blasted cart myself and walking alone into Hy Cliffs), I was near the back of the group at the river. When I turned around, I discovered that the parents of all the youth on Trek, being unable to contain their excitement to see their kids, snuck up behind us.

I cannot truly express the euphoria that swept over my body as I turned and saw them. I was no longer responsible for these young people or the cart!

As far as I was concerned any or all of them could have had the cart to push and pull, but my daughter, who was finally recovered from the up and down blood sugar levels, wanted me to be in the yoke with Tad “like the picture on our Trek shirt”, so I want to publicly thank Z for graciously giving up his rightful spot, and allowing me to take it.

I want to also thank TM, RL, and anyone else who pushed on the sides and back to get us the last little way into camp. (I couldn’t see you, and at the time I didn’t care, but I felt your help.) I also am grateful for CA watching over MS on that last day when she needed medical help. Thank you to CH, who during that last difficult day, became our adopted son for a few hours and blessed us all with his pushing and braking talents. 

Appreciation also goes to M and V for taking such good care of E, my own fair skinned boy, who returned with no sunburn or problem. And C and B for watching out for D. I never worried about them.

And finally to my visiting teacher-- Thanks for packing your dishpans...and sharing.

Trek Vignettes: The good, the bad, and the ugly

                                                  Trek Vignettes.

              First of all do you even know what vignette means?

Definition of vignette (n)

Bing Dictionary

vi·gnette

 [ vin yét ]   

1. short essay: a short descriptive piece of literary writing
2. brief scene: a brief scene from a movie or play
3. a really boring story about some dead person who we know we should care about because they were amazing and tough and stuff, but we can't summon the energy to even listen

A Trek Vignette is a retelling of the story of a handcart pioneer.

Here's the thing.

Most people on trek are standing in hot temperatures with no chair or shade sometimes looking into the sun. Most people on trek are teenagers - famous for egocentric attitude. Most vignettes talk about dead people. "DEPRESSING!" in the words of one teenager last week.

I have now polled (not pulled, ha, ha, ha...) many handcart trekkers. Trekkers from this summer and summers before. Even people who have been to the ACTUAL SITES and ACTUALLY heard the stories while touching the ACTUAL ROCKS touched by the pioneers.

THE VERDICT IS

Less is more.

For Some Must Push and Some Must Pull (and none of them possessed a Y chromosome)

Have you heard of the Women's Pull?

Have you asked yourself why? Why, oh why would you do that? Once upon a time somebody made it up. Some masochist I'm sure.

Now it is tradition. And unfortunately the LDS faith, as a culture, is like unto the Jewish faith when it comes to TRADITION, TRADITION....TRADITION! (I personally do not follow LDS TRADITION blindly. I believe that nearly every TRADITION should be analyzed and pretty much unilaterally thrown out. Because they are stupid. And if they aren't deemed less than stupid, they then should be improved upon not just accepted as a good idea and practice because we did it a MILLION times before. Except funeral potatoes. Those are a pretty good tradition. As long as you have no heart problems.)

So to my story --

I did my very best, quietly of course, to discourage the Women's Pull for our ward trek. Losing that silent battle of wills, I determined to understand and resign myself to the TRADITION.

I googled, because that is what one does these days when one has a question. I also prayed and pondered. And I learned some things.

1. Some women think the women's pull is to show how strong and completely capable they are without the men. (I disagree. More later.)
2. Some women think the women's pull is to prove to themselves how amazingly strong and capable they can be when necessary. (I agree, with reserve.)

I personally learned that the message that members of our Women's Pull, and specifically me, needed to learn was this --

Everyone you see (including yourself) is pulling a heavy cart behind them daily. Some you can see. Some you can't. Your job is to help ease the load of the cart. Maybe you help push and pull. Maybe you can't stand to be near them for any number of reasons, so all of your help involves prayer. Prayer for them to have strength. Prayer for you to obtain a heart full of love for them. Maybe your job is to tell them that somebody much stronger than any of us already pushed and pulled that cart overflowing with all of those problems up that steep hill, and we can set some of them down on the wayside and walk away forever. Other burdens, we can testify, will be essentially lifted by angels until we have the strength to bear them or the time comes when they are magically removed.

Regardless we should recognize that we are not alone in this endeavor. We can always look for help and always help in some way. Push our cart up and go back down to help another. Sing. Pray. CHEER. Whatever...

The answer to why do we do the Women's Pull eventually boils down to "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28-30

And also in answer to point number one, women need men, and men need women. Yes we can get along without each other for awhile, but seriously people, it really does work better if you have each other. (Especially if you have to pull a heavy cart up a hill through sand in the desert's sun scorching temperatures. My thanks to brilliant eighteen year old Sarah for pointing this important truth out.)

So that's what we learned on our Women's Pull.

The men were marched away up the trail. We were given the goal of getting halfway up the steep hill. Some groups fell behind. We set down our carts and helped those in front who were struggling. Those at the very front, who had lighter carts or stronger abilities, came back down to help. No cart was left behind. At the halfway point we talked about a couple of dead people who had to pull heavy loads (See coming post about dead people stories.) Words were spoken about the experience Sister Carole M. Stephens from the LDS General Relief Society Presidency shared in the September 2012 Relief Society Broadcast. Time was taken to discuss how this all applied to us today.

Meanwhile at the top of the hill the men talked for a few moments, threw rocks, and generally wondered what was taking us so long. (Which proves the point. We could have used their muscles and strategic planning skills. They could have used some of our spirituality and planning of a lesson before hand, so that they had a bit more of a message than whatever it was that took two minutes and left them bored and rolling in the dust for the rest of the time.)

Much good was shared halfway up the hill. Much time was wasted at the top.

Finally we picked up those heavy carts and the men lined up cheering and together we got those carts up the rest of the hill. And boy was I glad that was over.

Trek Observation # 2 - Please understand, I love you dearly, but you are delusional

The handcart pioneers traveled the Mormon trail between 1856 and 1860.Three thousand people from England, Wales, Scotland, and Scandinavia made the 1,300 mile journey from Iowa to Utah. One has to think that those people coming from four different European countries had different perspectives and personalities. They most likely saw things differently.

The same was the case for our trek last week.

We had six handcarts. Each cart was given to a "family" of ten people. Most families were composed of a married couple, the Ma and Pa, and eight mostly unrelated teens. Our family was a bit different as we had an eleven year old, his sister - both them my children, plus a set of cousins. Only four members of our family were not related to another handcart family member in some way. A story about that tomorrow.

Six families meant six Ma-type women: Ma Sherbet (her whole family had food nicknames), Ma Musically Melodic, Ma Ultramarathoner and Positive Thought Thinker, Ma Superfit & Beautiful Nurse, Ma Primary President who is also amazingly crafty, and me, Ma Miriam. More on Miriam later. We also had lovely Aunty Melon, Grandma EMT, and the Lead Woman. Naturally these nine women were diverse. Most women are. But as I conversed with them, I realized something; they were also delusional.

Not really, although the fact that you could convince that many women to go out into the dirt to experience 100 degree temps with teenagers for three days pretty much guarantees some level of insanity.

They weren't delusional, but we sure saw things from different points of view.

It became abundantly clear to me as I talked to two of the Ma's. I can't remember what Ma Sherbet said, but it was something like "Aren't the rainbows, butterflies and unicorns around us so absolutely BEE-YOU-TI-FUL?"

"No."

"Now Kristen, you need to cheer up. This is such a lovely place with sparkling rainbows, fluttering butterflies, and prancing unicorns."

"Rainbows fade. Butterflies die, and unicorns aren't real." I said that just to get her goat. And I really didn't say that exactly since she was talking about the beauty of the sage brush and the joy of the handcart journey, but I said something that was real and it got her goat. She wasn't amused. I'm pretty sure that she is convinced I am a pessimist. I'm also sure that Ma Musically Melodic, also thinks I am a depressing pessimist. (They are cock-eyed optimists - BTW.)

Here is the thing. I am not a pessimist. I am not an optimist.  I am a realist. A hopeful realist.

I hoped that no one would die. I had faith that no one would die, but then I worked to make sure that everyone that I came in contact with had water and drank that water. I sun screened the kids up one side and down the other. I taped feet and toes against blisters. I tried to cheer up the sad and make others feel glad, but I was also honest and agreed that this thing we were doing was REALLY HARD. And we were amazing for doing it.

And when I couldn't stand anymore, I sat. In the dirt because apparently pioneer women didn't bring folding canvas chairs along on their journey.

It was dusty. It was dirty. I hated it, but I knew I'd live and my stuff would wash, mostly. (That apron will never be quite the same.)

So let me share a secret with you in case you don't happen to know. Treks are hard. They are sweaty and dirty. They stretch you in ways you aren't normally stretched.



And by the way, just in case you didn't know, there are no unicorns...

Picture drawn by the talented Miss M.

Trek Observation #1 - I'm Melting...

I pretended to be a pioneer family for the last three days with my husband, two of my children, and the children of six other people. We dragged handcarts through dust and sagebrush. Seventy people were out there in the Owyhee Desert near Nyssa, Oregon. Forty-eight of them were youth ages 12-18.

(May I comment here parenthetically that Eastern Oregon looks pretty much like Southern Wyoming.)

The temperatures were hot the first day in the 80's and scorching the next two at over 100.

I learned somethings.

You can die in freezing cold and from starvation like the Willie and Martin Handcart companies AND you can die while being too well fed, but HOTTER THAN HECK.

If it is HOTTER THAN HECK, the modern day trekker has a difficult time sympathizing with the Willie and Martin pioneers.

We didn't die. We didn't even lose the diabetic, although it was a possibility that last day. We kept walking and stopping, and walking and stopping, and frying and broiling, and walking and stopping. Coming on the heels of the previous day of baking and walking, it was brutal. Lucky for the diabetic there was a rhino behind us. (Unlucky for the rest of us, there wasn't a herd of rhinos.)

No not this kind

But this kind

She got to eat candy and ride into the Emerald City, also know as Camp HyCliffs.

While the grass at HyCliffs is weed and clover filled; it appeared like a heavenly oasis to those of us who traveled the 20 miles through the dusty, scorching desert. Which brings me to the first of several observations. If you don't believe in life after death you can stop reading now. Maybe the next trek installment will interest you more...

That last day as we walked along, one of the other leaders of the youth group stood on the side of the trail and heckled us. He said things like "Turn back now!" "This isn't worth the work!" "You will never get to the end."

If he'd had a cooler of ice, he might have gotten several of us to stop and get bogged down in the heat even longer.

And isn't that just like life?

I know that there is a God looking out for us and providing a path through the wilderness. I also know that there is an opposing force that is trying to pull us away from progression to our goal - to be to together with our family in a cool, shady, and WONDERFUL place.

That opposing force, who I will call Satan, uses everything to distract us and pull us away, He promises that his offerings are worthwhile, desirable, even COOL like ice. Yet his distractions generally seem to last about as long as crushed ice cubes in a 103 degree desert. And then we sit sad, still stuck along the side of the trail, hot, wet, and sometimes facing a rattle snake.

Most vital lesson from trek #1 -- It is important to know the goal. It is important to keep walking toward the goal. Otherwise you are going to suffer and fry in the desert wasteland. (And no you won't get enough water to help you melt away into a puddle. Any water you get will be the same temperature as your bathwater. In the end, you will melt from the inside out.)

Sublesson -- Sunscreen is a modern day gift from God.