Bouverie open house; a dying computer

Twenty-two sevenths

This coming weekend, Saturday March 14 is p Day. Yes, a day to indulge in American’s favorite dessert – apple pie perhaps. But also a day to celebrate Pi, the never-ending mathematical number that some young math whizzes delight in memorizing to 100 digits. Pi’s practical application is in finding the circumference of a circle when you know its diameter. 

This year is a significant because on 3/14/15 at 9:26:53 a.m. the first 10 numbers of pi are expressed in the date and time. We also appreciate that March 14 is Albert Einstein’s birthday. 

But, best of all for folks in this Valley, the Bouverie Preserve is celebrating an open house that day. While serving pie hasn’t been discussed, I know they will offer cookies to guests. And, if you especially enjoy math, you can calculate the circumference of your cookie as you amble down the trail. Docents will be on hand to offer hikes at 10 a.m., noon and 2 p.m. 

Gilman Hall, the preserve’s science and education center, will also be open for exploration. There, children (and like-minded adults) will enjoy dissecting owl pellets, stamping a mammal track card, or viewing the bird skins. Literary visitors might enjoy composing a Bouverie Pi-Ku, a short poem with the first line three syllables, the second line one syllable, the third line four syllables, etc. 

Bouverie’s Open House is from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. All visitors are welcome, just show up at the Preserve, 13935 Sonoma Highway 12 in Glen Ellen. I’ll be at the desk welcoming visitors, so stop by and introduce yourself. 

Geeks get it done

Ordinarily I would not profess a love of technical geeks. Engineers’ minds remain an enigma to me. However, today I have to sing their praises. Techies rescued a whole lot of information recently, information that means nothing to most of the world, but everything to me, thereby putting an end to my dreadful fantasies of data lost forever. 

Just over two weeks ago, I was lying in bed watching an old episode of “Downton Abbey,” my trusty computer propped by a pillow covering my tummy, knees bent to support it. Sweetie, next to me in bed suddenly said, “Did you know your battery door is bulging?” 

“Huh, Sweetie, it that some kind of techno, geeky love talk?” 

“No, look at the underside of your computer.” 

Lifting it off the pillow, I could feel its heat. Yep, Sweetie was right, the underside of my computer was bulging badly, and hot to touch, nearly smoking. Expecting it to burst into flames any minute, I clicked it off, listening while it emitted a sort of terminal moan. Suddenly, I was more worried about my data than I was about Isis, Lord Grantham’s dog, who was about to emit a terminal moan of his own.

Antiquated, beat up, and covered with stickers

Clearly my machine was kaput. The next morning, Sweetie kindly schlepped it into town while I stayed home attempting to re-create a column on Sweetie’s computer, an unfamiliar beast … without notes, without contact numbers, without much of a memory. Sweetie’s parting words, “I’m sure I’ll have this back soon; it’ll be fine.” 

My old computer has served me well for more than 20 years. But it’s antiquated and beat up, covered with two decades of “I Voted” stickers, along with a few other accouterments befitting its era. The keys often stick (a consequence of dribbling coffee over the keyboard) and the plastic case sported cracks and breaks, patched with tape. But I loved it. 

Alas, even the clever computer fixing folks could not promise it back the same day. They hoped in 24 hours to retrieve what data they could. 

24 becomes 48

When I called the next day, they said to call again in 48 hours. I grew more anxious, suddenly sure that my mediocre poetry, essays and short stories in progress were potential blockbusters that would have guaranteed my posthumous fame. Mostly I mourned the loss of two decades of photos that weren’t duplicated on Sweetie’s machine. 

Finally, the computer folks called and I trotted into town to retrieve it. Yes, they did give me back my old machine, a sorry wretched wreck. However, they also presented me with the surprise that Sweetie had bought for me: a new computer with all of my data safely transferred. 

Was I thrilled? Was I grateful? Yes, I offered sincere thanks to the techie folks who saved my pictures, stories and notes. 

However, all I could initially say to Sweetie was a grumpy, “miss my old machine.” I wanted the white one, working. This new-fangled gift, a dull silver color, sported no stickers, no personality, and all the new-improved programs were driving me nuts. 

By now, Sweetie has forgiven my exasperatingly glum acceptance of his gift, and has even coached me on coping with churlishly changed programs. 

I am grateful. I guess. But I don’t know where I’ll ever find that sticker of the “quiet old lady whispering hush,” which identified my old computer… you know, the rocking rabbit character from “Good Night Moon.”  

Back when that old computer was new, I never dreamt that I’d grow into that granny rabbit character. But I have, and now I’m trying to decide what possible sticker could predict the next approaching phase of my life. Angel stickers? I’m not quite ready to look for those. 

Spelling Declan

While all of my notes were in town being transferred from my old computer to my new one, I wrote a paragraph in my column about my dear friend, Brenda Crocker and her darling grandson, whom I had just met. It was easy to remember the little tyke’s shining blue eyes and grandma Brenda’s snazzy new-fangled stroller. But scan my brain, I couldn’t quite remember the young fellow’s name. I came close in that column two weeks ago. But I didn’t get little Declan Henry Crocker’s name correct. Now you have it. 

The happy fellow was born July 16, 2013. Declan’s papa and uncle were both Dunbar graduates. Congratulations to Clem and Renée Crocker, Declan’s parents, and to his uncle Drew Crocker and Grandpa Ken Crocker. 

Declan is a mellow fellow who was willing to sit quietly in his stroller while his Grandma and I talked. Years ago (actually even more decades ago than my old computer was first purchased) Brenda and I used to walk and run together. We even entered a few fun races, not bent on our personal best time, but just on our personal pleasure. That was long before replacement parts (her hip, my knees), encroaching arthritis and demanding jobs. 

Chillin in Chinle 

On our recent visit, Brenda had inspiring news to share. After a year of training with daily walks of at least four miles (from her home in Glen Ellen to her nursing job at SDC) and weekend hikes upwards of 13 miles, she attempted the dream trip of a lifetime. 

The story begins years ago. While Brenda was working on her master of science in nursing, she took a leave from her SDC job and moved to Chinle, Arizona, to work at a medical clinic. She and the boys, Clem and Drew, loved it. Besides providing a notable contrast to their Glen Ellen home, working at the federal-sponsored medical clinic with Navajo Indians and Hispanic residents helped Brenda to pay for her student loans. 

Of course, it wasn’t always easy. The medical facility was remote, the town was tiny. “It took a two-and-a-half-hour drive to find pizza,” which may not have entirely mattered to Brenda. But with two young sons, pizza was essential for birthday celebrations.  

While the population of Chinle wasn’t all that different from Glen Ellen’s, it was remote in a way that those of us in this thriving valley, close to San Francisco, can hardly imagine. Red rock and clear blue skies were common; city-style amenities were not. But giving up city lights for starry skies was hardly a sacrifice. Brenda and the boys found plenty of opportunities for hiking, camping and exploring the Southwest. Summertime swims at Canyon De Chelly were highlights, as were the snowy winters. 

Rim shot dreams

While in the Southwest, Brenda visited the Grand Canyon several times. She shared, even back then, that she wanted to hike it someday. On her first sojourn to work in Arizona, Brenda and the boys stayed in Chinle for 13 months, in 1984-85. After the boys were grown and left home, Brenda, once again left her Glen Ellen house and job returning to Chinle, working with Indian Health Services from 2009 through 2011. That was when she became an honorary Navajo, but that’s a story she will have to share. 

Last September, Brenda finally realized her dream of hiking the Grand Canyon from top to bottom, no easy stroll for a middle-aged woman, not extremely athletic. Hence the year of training with walks and hikes high onto Sonoma Mountain. Initially, she had a group of friends willing to join her, but her friend Joyce Kirk, also an SDC nurse, was the only one to actually make the trek. 

“It was incredible to see the canyon that I’d only seen from the rim - the different layers, the variety of environments from desert, to forest, to stream side.” It was all more wonderful than she had anticipated. And more difficult too. Carrying 35-pound packs, with everything they needed and going down the steps of the Supi tunnel, Brenda admits, “It was hard, really hard.” But she quickly adds, “Phantom Ranch, at the bottom, was lovely, a little oasis with a stream to soak our toes,” adding “and the suspension bridge was not nearly as scary as I thought.”

Artificial hip hike

In the end, Brenda and Joyce hiked down 8,676 feet and up 6,800 feet. That latter part turned out to be the hardest. Her clanking artificial hip, combined with the direct sun on the uphill climb, proved to be more of a trial than expected. But she made it. With a chuckle, Brenda says, “Down is optional; up is mandatory.” 

I’m impressed. A four-day backpack through difficult terrain is not what I would have expected of the walking companion that I knew back in the day. Sure, we both enjoyed our hikes and runs, but neither of us were super athletes bent on tackling difficult feats. No, it isn’t anything like Cheryl Strayed’s thousand-mile grueling trek, but it was a significant accomplishment for Brenda. I’m proud of her. Inspired, too. 

If Brenda can do something like that, maybe I could. I’ve never particularly desired to hike the Grand Canyon, but there are other personal achievements that I would relish as much as Brenda’s triumph. Talking to her about her trip and her life-changing satisfaction from doing it, made me feel that things we only dream of doing can become a reality, despite age, and disabilities. But it doesn’t come easily. It takes work and perseverance. Brenda did it. Do you have a dream? Brenda might well advise, “There’s no time like the present.”

Saving nature

In 1903, when Theodore Roosevelt saw the canyon for the first time, he claimed, “The Grand Canyon fills me with awe. It is beyond comparison, beyond description, absolutely unparalleled throughout the wide world. … Let this great wonder of nature remain as it now is. Do nothing to mar its grandeur and loveliness. … keep it for your children, your children’s children and all who come after you, as a great site which every American should see.” 

Saving the Grand Canyon took another President and nearly two decades. In 1919, after 30 years of fierce opposition from ranchers, miners, and entrepreneurs, President Woodrow Wilson established the Grand Canyon National Park. For one, that pleases Brenda; me, too. 

Is there a lesson here for our Valley? Though our environment isn’t as awe-inspiring as the Grand Canyon, there is much beauty in its wild places. From flower-festooned oak woodlands, to foggy redwood forests, our Valley and hills still have much natural beauty. Worth saving? I would think so, but I don’t believe we have two decades to decide. Ditto for saving our earth.   • • •

The Folks in Glen Ellen column also appears online. Look for my column on the Index-Tribune website sonomanews.com under the category Lifestyle. Click on Sylvia Crawford for current and old columns. Want to see your own name in the news? Call or write me at 996-5995 or P.O. Box 518, GE 95442. Or email me at Creekbottom@earthlink.net. Glen Ellen chatter rarely requires timeliness; however, if your news does, please be sure to contact me at least three weeks before your desired publication date.