Another Hike in Town

On Saturday, after a lazy afternoon nap, we set out once more for Boca Negra Canyon, one of the kids’ favorite hiking spots. The summer heat has begun to wane here, and by the time we left, a wall of dark clouds had risen over the Sandias, threatening rain. Our hike to the mesa top, therefore, was a very pleasant one.
Isaac led the way most of the up the hill, as seen here:

In many ways, the Mesa Top Trail at Boca Negra serves as a coming-of-age tradition. When we moved here, Ryan had to be carried most of the way. He then graduated to climbing up and being carried down, and soon he was hiking—and leading—the whole way. The same process has now been repeated with Isaac.

One of the things I most enjoy about this hike is about halfway to the top, when the winding trail, which begins by going due east before turning south and then north, dips downhill for a spell before veering west. After a steady ascent, this brief downhill forces the children to switch from climbing to careful descending. Here Allyson leads the crew down this part of the trail:

The view from the mesa top is great, but even more awe-inspiring with the clouds billowing up to the east. Here, Isaac poses with the city and the Sandias behind him:

The best part of this outing, however, has no picture, as such photos have been banned. You see, Summer, 38 weeks pregnant and wearing flip-flops, came along, and, to make a point to all who have tried this hike and not completed it, hiked the trail to the mesa top and back down.

From Fall 2000

In a recent bout of tidying, Summer asked me to sort through the dozens of old floppy disks from my collection of stuff that I no longer need. Stretching back to my freshman year at college, these disks included old papers, teaching materials, and journals I had kept through my undergraduate and graduate years. Most of this was trash and ended up there, but I did find some interesting pieces. I plan on sharing some of them as a sort of "greatest hits" feature over time.

What follows is from a class I took my first year in the MA program. We were asked to write the kind of personal narrative we would read from our freshman students. This is the version I submitted for that class:

Our daughter was just a few weeks old when I first gave her a bath. The dark little knot that had remained from her umbilical cord had shriveled up and fallen off, so she was ready for a real bath, and since I could not do anything else for her, it was my job to bathe her. I was very excited; watching my wife do all the things I couldn’t do for her —feed, comfort, dress—was difficult to handle. So I set off to do the one parental thing I could.

She was so tiny and thin, and holding her made me feel so awkward. And then there was the fact that every time I picked her up she would let out this sad little cry, as if she were afraid she would never see her mother again. I set the plastic baby bath over the kitchen sink and began to run the water, checking it with the thermometer we had purchased for this purpose. I grabbed the baby care reference book (Allyson’s instructor’s manual, we called it) and found the page about bathing an infant. The water was to be between 40 and 45 degrees Celsius, and I waited patiently to get the perfect temperature before filling the basin. I set the baby wash, baby shampoo, washcloth, lotion, and baby oil next to the plastic tub in preparation for this most important event.

“Is this enough water?” I asked my wife. She looked carefully at the level, tested the temperature, and smiled approvingly. The bath had her blessing, so I was convinced that things would go just smoothly.

I picked the scrawny little girl up and gently took her pajamas off. Her arms and legs were so skinny, and every time I changed her diaper I feared that I would break her. I set her down and got ready for the transfer across the room to the bath. I looked at her pink little face, trying in vain to communicate to her that she would be okay, that she could trust me.

Carefully I picked her up and carried her to the tub. Until now we were told to only wash her hair under gentle running water and give her an occasional sponge bath, and she had always enjoyed this brief bath times. I had also read that bathing your baby was an excellent way for a father to be involved as a parent. As I held her over the bath I smiled at her and promised her how much fun bath time would be.

I then put her down in the perfectly still water, the water that was the precise temperature and depth, the water that my wife herself had approved and accepted. Gently I placed Allyson on the soft foam back of the tub and prepared to bond with my daughter. She responded to my careful preparations and loving gesture by emitting an earth-shattering scream and thrashing her thin little legs around desperately. Water splashed out of the tub and drenched me, the counter, and the floor. With every contortion of her body Allyson became more and more upset, realizing that she was not only wet and defenseless, but also unable to escape. Her shriek reached higher and higher pitches and her first real tears worked up in the corners of her eyes. She looked at me with horror, her worst suspicions—that this big man could not be trusted—confirmed.

Her face froze in a look of fear and dread; the color drained and her mouth gaped open in shock at what was going on. Tears welled up in her eyes, and I felt them gathering in mine as well. I tried to speak comforting paternal things to my frightened baby, but nothing escaped my lips except a faint apology. “I’m sorry,” I muttered again and again, hoping that somehow she would begin to understand and forgive me. Each repetition was made more and more ineffectual and muted by her screams, which by now had become deafening. And so we were there, both of us crying, Allyson wailing, with water being splashed all over the kitchen.

I grabbed the washcloth and began desperately to wash her face and neck, forgetting completely the baby wash. I even skipped over washing her arms and hurriedly scrubbed her legs, rushing to get to her hair and the end of this disastrous bath. Her crying had either subsided or desensitized me, because it seemed less ear-splitting. I now wet her hair—something she was more accustomed to at bath time—and washed her hair. Her tears seemed to have dried up, and she looked at me more knowingly, more reassured, more trusting. The fear that had gripped her was slipping from her face, and she almost smiled. She plainly was not happy with the whole turn of events, but her features had softened and she looked more compassionately at her stumbling father.

I washed her hair and let the warm water run down the sides of her face. By now she had stopped crying and was much calmer than before, although she was still visibly agitated. I picked her out of the water and handed her to my wife, who wrapped the towel around her and set off to dry and dress her. Allyson shivered as Summer dried her back and head. I turned and gathered up the dripping bath supplies, taking them to the bathroom and the hamper, and grabbing a towel to dry the counter and floor. I drained the bathtub and put it to dry, and then I walked over to where the two of them sat. The house was dark except for the one lamp in the corner of the living room that illuminated the ceiling and walls and cast a dim light over the rest of the room.

I stood a few feet away from them as Summer comforted our daughter and rocked her to sleep. Allyson heard me approach and turned her head to see me. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but she seemed to recognize me and approve of my presence. I sat down and Summer handed her to me. Allyson lay there in my arms, her whole body swaying with each breath she took, looking up at me. Her delicate features showed no sing of the trauma of just moments before, and a smile crept over my face. My shirt was drenched and my eyes were red from crying, but I couldn’t help smile at the fact that this little person, who would so many times in the years to come be disappointed and upset with me, was willing to forget all that and just be my little girl. My smile grew, and I held Allyson closer to my face to kiss her tiny nose. As I looked at her this way, a tiny smile broke forth on her face as she looked at me, her innocent little face reflecting so much that I had to learn from her.

A Day on the Town

On Saturday Allyson and Summer planned a girls day in, sewing pillowcases and watching movies in which nothing blows up and no one chases anyone else in a car, so the boys and I went out to hike the bosque. We began in a bit of open space near the bosque, where Montano Road crosses the river. Built in 1997, the Montano bridge was a bit of a controversy, as it cuts through Albuquerque’s North Valley, an old part of town that prides itself on its rural ambiance. The bridge has made the commute from the West Side immensely easier, and helped propel the urban sprawl on our side of the Rio Grande, for better or worse.

The area near the parking lot was burned out a few years ago in a bosque fire, and the city commissioned a local artist to carve some of the dead but standing cottonwoods; here is one of the pieces:
A pedestrian and bike path crosses the river with the car traffic (this was actually one of our first glimpses of the city—a bike path across the river), and we walked out about halfway. Here an overlook extends from the edge of the bridge, and you can stand over a grated surface and watch the muddy water (“too thick to drink, too thin to plow”) beneath your feet:

After working our way back to the car, we headed off to the east side of the bosque. Our destination was the Rio Grande Nature Center State Park. We hiked a spell to the river’s edge and then returned to the picnic area for lunch. But the challenge here was to decide which of the two trails to follow; the boys disagreed when we reached the fork in the road:

After a quick trip to my office, we decided to visit Tingley Beach. Named for the mayor and then governor, Clyde Tingley, who revitalized the area in the early 20th century, the beach is a series of fishing ponds directly south of the BioPark off of Central. We walked over to the train station (a little line runs from the aquarium to the zoo) and watched a few trains come by. Then we wandered around the kids’ fishing pond (the boys begged to go fishing, so maybe we’ll do that some day); here the boys pause by the decorated inlet that fills the pond:

Tingley Beach is a wonderful little oasis in the city, minutes from downtown, but a haven for geese and ducks, 3 or 4 dozen of whom float the ponds and waddle around the edges of the water. We actually saw a mother duck with 6 ducklings coming ashore. Here a small band follows the boys, hoping for handouts:

Ryan at 6

Thursday was Ryan’s birthday, so Summer made the boy a fancy-looking baseball cake. The cake itself is chocolate, and the red striping is melted chocolate piped on.
To celebrate, Allyson, Ryan, and I went to the Summer Nights concert at the BioPark (Summer stayed home with Isaac, who forfeited his right to go by throwing fits all day). The Summer Nights concerts are every Thursday through August on the grassy area near the duck pond at the Botanic Gardens. We got there early and found a nice spot. Here the kids pose right before Pandemonium, a world beat band whose songs typically have 8 words each, performs.

After a few numbers from the band, we strolled around the grounds. On our way to the Rio Grande Heritage Farm, Allyson spotted a rabbit to the side of the path. Here is Ryan watching the critter.

All in all, Ryan had a wonderful birthday. He wears his new Orioles shirt (from my mom and dad) every time it’s clean, and he reads a Calvin and Hobbes book (he got one from us and three from Summer’s parents) at least 2 hours a day. We also got him a big set of legos (a helicopter, ambulance, police car, and hovercraft) from us. Thanks for the gifts.

The Week That Was

A few stories from this past week. First, Isaac. The kids and I have spent some time each day after work playing ball out front. They take turns batting, and I lob softballs to them (we actually use tennis balls because they hurt less when someone is hit in the face by a line drive, as happened twice this week). The two who are not batting take turns chasing down hits that travel to the far reaches of the cul-de-sac.

On Thursday, Isaac was chasing a ball when he tripped and fell on the pavement, skinning his right knee and scraping both hands. I hurried over and picked him up, but before I got there, he had pulled himself up, and, here’s the great part—he kept going for the ball. Here’s a toddler bleeding and crying, but refusing to give up the play. I have high hopes.

On Saturday, the kids and I spent the morning together. We began by going to the foothills of the Sandias on the eastern edge of town. We’ve done some hiking here before, but there’s a lot to explore. The Sandias hug the eastern edge of Albuquerque, rising abruptly, a curtain of granite that marks the end of the urban space and the beginning of wilderness. The sign by the parking lot, for examples, warns of cougars and bears, a 15 minute drive from downtown. Here we see some of the other wild animals of the area:
After parking, we headed off, traveling south toward the pass through which I-40 runs on its way out of town. The trail stayed mostly flat for the better part of a mile, after which it ascended, circling up a small hill. At the crest, looking southwest, we got a beautiful panorama of the valley before circling east and then north around the hill and returning to the flats. Here the kids pose with the city behind them:

We found a 10 foot slab of granite that was perfectly flat and ideally suited for resting and eating a snack; here Isaac does just that:

The hike around the hill became pretty serious, and Isaac spent much of it atop my shoulders. Allyson and Ryan, however, both tackled the slope well. We had started off early, so the summer heat was not unbearable, but we were all sweating nicely by the time we got back to the car. The gentle breeze was exquisite. Here is a shot of the older kids on the steepest part of the climb:

Birthday, Baseball, and Fireworks

One of the true joys of having children born in the summer months is being able to take them to baseball games to celebrate. We went to a game on Allyson’s birthday, and this week we did the same fro Isaac. After dinner, cake, and presents at home, we headed off to what would be a very memorable game.

Albuquerque, like much of the West, has been under a rather oppressive high pressure system for a few weeks now, and we’ve been consistently at or near triple-digit heat. Tuesday was no exception. According to the unofficial thermometer at the park, the game-time temperature was 103. And being somewhat directionally challenged, I failed to consider the location of the setting sun when I bought tickets, so we found ourselves on the first-base side with the New Mexico sun in our eyes for the first three innings.

Once the sun dipped below the edge of the shaded first-base seats, where, as I was reminded several times, we could have been sitting, we were in much better shape. The home pitcher was wild through the first two innings, at one point throwing ten consecutive balls and giving up six runs through the first three innings. The ‘Topes rallied with a three-run shot in the second and a smattering of one-run innings to finally take the lead in the seventh. And they held on for the win with a strong ninth from their new closer, a fireballer named Roy (not me, sorry to say).

Another advantage to Isaac’s birthday is fireworks. Not setting them off, but having them after the game on his birthday. We get to say that they’re doing fireworks just for him, and, since he’s three years old, he will believe us. But the steady and at times gusty winds threatened to cancel the show Tuesday. So as the game concluded, the announcer came on with news that made the second-largest crowd in team history roar in approval—the show would go on.

The fireworks themselves were nice, but the best part was watching Ryan’s face. He tends to disdain loud and bright things, but his rapt attention to the pyrotechnics was a sight to behold. During the height of the explosions, he actually began to tremble a bit, not from fear or surprise, but the sheer ecstasy of the display.

And as I watched him back in the light from the fireworks, I noticed that, for all my cynicism toward all things pyrotechnic, I too was enthralled, and the look on Ryan’s face was that of my own face a couple dozen years before.

Boca Negra Canyon

Most of you who have visited us have been hiking in the Petroglyph National Monument on Albuquerque's west mesa. On Saturday, the kids and I went bakc to hike the mesa trail at Boca Negra Canyon, a spot with a fascinating concentration of petroglyphs and a nice hike to the top of a mesa overlooking the valley.

By way of preface, it is important to note that we have been under a long hot spell here in NM; Saturday topped out at 97, and, as you can see, the sky was bright and blue. The kids and I drank over a quart of water on our 30 minute hike. Here the kids pause on their way up the mesa:
Boca Negra Canyon slopes southwest from the top of the escarpment on the city's western edge, making it an ideal spot for the carving of petroglyphs, which usually are found on south-facing rocks. The shorter trails on the canyon feature dozens of fascinating petrogylphs of animal and human figures, as well as the abstract designs common to the ancient populations of the area.

But I like the hike for the views. Atop the mesa, you have a sweeping panorama of the city, and some day I want to bring binoculars and scan for the temple in the northeast distance. For now, however, I am content to watch my children learn to hike by scrambling over the rocks and realize in the process how much they can do. Boca Negra has become a nice family tradition, as a child is truly a "big kid" when he or she can do this hike without being carried at all. Here three big kids pose atop the mesa: