Samuelson's Rocks, Joshua Tree National Park

By Steve Brown

My wife and I have hiked Joshua Tree National Park for years, and one of the great things about this wonderful park (practically in our own backyard) is that you never run out of things to discover and new places to explore.

Today, we drove into the park (I don't call it "the monument" like a lot of the current LA crowd who keep trying to sound like they've been out here in the desert for years - the place has been a national park for more than a decade now) with no specific destination in mind. Frequently, we drive into the park and when we see some place that looks inviting or interesting that we haven't been to before, or if we remember a location that we wanted to explore further, we stop, and hike.

Today, we were enjoying the stunning display of wildflowers in the park, when I spied a far off canyon we hadn't explored before on the western end of Lost Horse Valley. We found a dirt pull-out to park the car, and hiked westward from the road (Note: To me, it seems that the NPS management of JTNP wants to curb the roads of the park, not so much to protect the roads from erosion, but rather to control where you can park your vehicle, and thus limit access to areas of the park. More and more, I find myself driving the "improved" roads through the park, looking at some place I'd like to hike, but with no place to pull off the road, I can't stop.).

We walked roughly southwest along the tracks of a long abandoned dirt road, encountering well over a dozen varieties of wildflowers in bloom, and a beautiful female Leopard Lizard, complete with orange stripes, indicating baby lizards are in her future.

When we intersected a broad wash, we turned to follow it, more directly westward, wandering a little north sometimes too. After a time, some old fencework came in view, along with a small hill with a lot of larger rocks, to the southwest. From a distance, I noticed what appeared to be writing on one of the rocks, and we wandered over to investigate.

"The Rock of Faiht. And Truht. Nature.is.God. The Key To Life. Is. Contact. Evolution. is. The Mother And Father of Mankind. Without Them. We. Be. Nothing."

It was signed, "John Samuelson."

There was a modest bench to the right of the rock where we sat, gazed out at the fields of wildflowers, and drank a bit of water. There were bed springs on top of the little hill, and seven more rocks where Samuelson had etched his political, economic, and religious philosophy, poorly spelled, but quite interesting, nonetheless. It appeared that he had likely been immortalizing his thoughts on things during the Great Depression, from the tenor of some of his rocks. The view from the top of the little hill was delightful, with yellow and white flowers blooming as far as the eye could see.

As it turns out, Samuelson, a Swede, showed up at Bill Keys' ranch in the area in 1926, looking for work (The park's own website, http://www.nps.gov/jotr/historyculture/samrocks.htm, gives you the story). Keys hired him to help with the Hidden Gold Mine, and Samuelson, along with his wife Margaret, decided to homestead the land, and they erected a shack on top of this little hill.

But when Samuelson filed for his homestead in 1928, his claim was denied, as he was not an American citizen. He sold his claim and moved to the LA area.

In an incident that I definitely want to learn more about, Samuelson went to a dance in Compton the next year, got into an argument, and killed two men.

Erle Stanley Gardner found that Samuelson was never tried for the murders, but was sent off to a mental hospital, having been judged to be insane. He later escaped in 1930, and wound up in the state of Washington, where years later he was mortally injured in a logging accident.

We were so fascinated by this little hill with its philosophical etchings from a man who took the time to carve his thoughts into the rock in a place where few were likely to ever see them, that we circled the hill, finding all eight of his rocks. We wandered the corral nearby, and noted what seemed to possibly be some diggings on the hillside to the north (Samuelson's little hill had abundant quartz).

I highly recommend paying Samuelson's Rocks a visit if you're in the mood for a hike in Lost Horse Valley with its expanses of Joshua tree forests, and (right now, anyway), desert meadows of yellow, white, purple, and red wildflowers. I know this is one hike we'll take again.

Locopelli - Progress & Mescal (from the April/May issue of The Sun Runner Magazine)

Locopelli- Progress & Mescal

(from the April/May issue of The Sun Runner Magazine)

I picked my way carefully through the cholla and on up into the rocks. Good old monzogranite. The full moon rising from the east made the climb easier. No eclipse tonight, I noted, the long deep shadows contrasting beautifully with the glowing desert floor. I sat down on one of my favorite rocks and looked out across the desert.



I always like this rock. I feel comfortable here, at ease. Not like those new age people who talk about power-emanating rocks and stuff like that. That’s just the pulse of nature they’re picking up on—the combination of all that is old and new, existing. Life comes in a lot of varieties, but rocks aren’t like people anyway. They see things a lot differently—and a lot slower—than we do. But that’s a topic for another time.



I looked north, out across the ever-increasing number of lights of Joshua Tree. At night, I relish those desert landscapes where no lights glare, and the Joshua trees leave long tall moon shadows.



After a time, I heard someone approaching and turned. It was my old friend, Coyote. He looked exhausted, worn out from carrying his full pack of medicine—not funny-named pharmaceuticals, real medicine.



"Hey, Loco," he growled.



"Hey yourself, you mangy old thing," I replied, offering him some of my mescal with a grin. I know how much he likes that stuff—the liquor, not the beans.



"I’m on my way," he said, gladly accepting my offer, looking out to the north.



"On your way where?" I asked.



"Out," he gestured vaguely to the east. "This place is done for. Wait for a lull in the traffic down there. If you listen then, you can hear it—the sound of the old soul of the desert being torn from the rocks, the sky, the earth. And when the soul of a place leaves, the place dies."
"You mean like Temecula, or Adelanto?" I asked. "They’re dead as can be."



"Precisely," Coyote replied.



We sat quietly for a moment, the only sounds being that of traffic down on Highway 62 and the low groaning of the rocks. They’re always moaning about something. An owl flitted by, intent on a kangaroo mouse down in the shadows below. Good eyes, those owls.



"I hear there’s going to be thousands of houses down there," Coyote gestured toward a dark Joshua tree forest between us and the highway.



"Yeah, but there’s going to be 16-foot-high sound walls along the highway, with berms so that only four feet of wall will show," I countered. "It’s going to be the ‘gateway to Joshua Tree National Park.’"



"No soul," Coyote replied dourly. "They say that within a century or so, maybe there will be no Joshua trees here any more anyway, so maybe it doesn’t really matter. Still, it does to me. I must be getting old."



"People have to live somewhere," I said.



He looked up at me in disgust.



"Everyone and everything has to live somewhere, unless of course, it stops living," he said. "Like the desert tortoise. When some human builds a house on a couple acres of land, there is still some room for the tortoise and other animals. This will be just the beginning. No one will hear the sound of the desert dying over the roar of the call of the money to be made. Money. It is a dead thing, yet for many, it is their god."



"People have to make a living," I noted, knowing I was just taunting my poor old friend who never had a penny, but always seemed to get by. His voice was rising in indignation.



"Making a living at the expense of all around you is not a ‘living.’ It’s a killing. Life," he opened his arms, indicating the raw desert nearby, "is worth more than little green pieces of paper. How much is the soul of the earth worth, anyway?"



"Hard to say," I replied. "It’s not traded on the NYSE or the NASDAQ or anything. I’d say it’s worth whatever a developer will pay for it, or whatever you can make cashing in on its funeral."
Coyote just sighed, then took another slug of mescal. We sat in relative silence for a moment, with just the low rush of traffic and the deep groaning of the rocks audible.



"Well, at least I hear there will be a Wal-Mart in Twentynine Palms," I said, trying to think of something to cheer him up. "I heard they want to put it at Utah Trail and the highway—you know, the entrance to the national park. Then everyone in Twentynine won’t have to drive so far to get…"



"Cheap nasty Chinese stuff," Coyote finished my sentence for me.



It was my turn to sigh. Nothing I said, it seemed, would cheer up my old friend.



"Most people," he said, spitting out the last word with what I thought was a rather high degree of contempt, "are so removed and alienated from the real world, the natural world, that they don’t care about losing the soul of the desert, so long as the satellite TV keeps pumping out the crap. They never see the owl at hunt, or listen to the cactus wren’s gossip, or the doves and quail bedding down for the night. They watch TV instead of looking at the stars, and tear around the desert in fast, noisy vehicles instead of hiking into a silent canyon. They hate the wind that has so much to tell, and they ignore the beauty and power of the desert, longing for dirty mini-malls and one-upping their neighbors in some shallow, materialistic way."



"Oh that’s not fair," I replied. "Most of them are just trying to make a living and support their families. They just want to have a halfway decent life, and they’re always being distracted and manipulated by others who want to pick their pockets while they look the other way. They don’t have the time—or space—to think, let alone appreciate beauty or connect with the desert."



"I suppose you’re right," Coyote said, after a long pause. He sniffed the night air. "But I can smell greed, and remember—it often appears wrapped in a more palatable façade. But it’s still greed, and the soul of the desert here is still leaving."



"True enough," I admitted. I’d heard the wailing of the desert’s soul rising for some time. It was strongest down below still, all along the Coachella Valley where both the souls of the desert and the mountains were almost annihilated, replaced by smog, walled developments and country clubs, shopping malls, and politicians who kept spouting rhetoric about how they loved living there because of the "natural beauty," a beauty they often were directly responsible for destroying.



But the cries of the desert’s soul were also coming from Lancaster and Palmdale, Victorville, Hesperia, Adelanto, and up here in the hi-desert too. I wondered if soon the whole desert wouldn’t be in its death throes, soulless and vanquished, but I didn’t voice my fears to Coyote. I knew I didn’t need to. He could often see far into the future, father than I, and would know what lay ahead. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t bear to stay around and watch the process.



Coyote sat down one of his medicine bags, took out some desert sage and matches, and lit the sage. I didn’t need to ask what he was doing, but he told me anyway.



"I’m going to sing the prayer for this place, it will ease its passing," he told me. "And it’s my way of saying goodbye too. It’s an old prayer—very old," he said. "For all that has come before and all that will come to pass."



He raised the smoky sage up into the night sky and began to sing, his shape lengthening as he began to shuffle a little in rhythm with the chant. I dug into one of his bags and found the coyote melon rattle, to add to the beat. I did not know all the words to what he was singing, if words were, in fact, what they were, but I joined in when I could. It was a sad, beautiful, and powerful song, and even the rocks stopped moaning long enough to listen.



When it was over, Coyote placed the last of the smoldering sage on the rock next to me, after waving it around me for protection.



"You’re not coming with me," he almost asked.



"No, my friend," I replied. "I must stay a while longer. Someone must stay while the soul finishes preparing for its departure. I have been here a while, and a while longer I must remain. I too, will eventually have to go, I fear. But I know where to look for you, and you for me, and we will sing a happier song when next we meet."



He looked at me as if he wasn’t quite sure of my last statement. But then he smiled.



"This soul will not be gone forever, nor this land dead for all time," Coyote said, as he gathered up his medicine bags. "The desert will change, and for a time it may die and be soulless, but things pass, and as I and my brothers have seen, it will return. And I will return too, to dance again, upon its return."



He turned from me with a half-hearted wave, and began walking off through the moonlight.
"And that," he called out with the kind of strength that comes from a connection to all that is life, "will be a better day."



As he vanished into the shadows, I realized he had kept my mescal. Some things never change.
"Vaya con queso, you old rascal, you," I shouted, laughing into the darkness. Funny, I missed him already. Even though the desert seemed to be filling up fast with people and cars and houses and mini-malls and garbage and things like that, it was feeling lonelier by the day. Change was definitely on the wind, and I got the feeling that even the mescal wouldn’t be enough to dull the pain we both knew was coming.

Art Reclaims a Lost Symbol From Hate

By Steve Brown

From the April/May 2008 issue of The Sun Runner Magazine

Art is the stored honey of the human soul,
gathered on wings of misery and travail.
– Theodore Dreiser

It is an ancient symbol, dating back to Neolithic times, its name derived from Sanskrit, ironically carrying the conno-tation of good luck, its translation roughly meaning "associated with well-being." It’s name? Swastika.

The swastika has appeared in many cultures and locations, from Iceland to India. I remember stumbling upon a beautiful and well-preserved mosaic on the floor of an ancient ruin on the sacred island of Delos in Greece. Its border was a swastika pattern. The swastika was found on a mosaic in the ruins of Pompeii. It appeared as a symbol at various times in Indo-Aryan, American Indian, Persian, Roman, Celtic, Greek, Hittite, Hopi, Navajo, Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, Mithraist, and Jainist cultures and faiths. It was found in ancient Troy, though I didn’t see it there, as well as Russia, Denmark, Finland, England, Poland, the Ukraine, Iran, Korea, China, Japan, Lebanon, Iran, and Tibet. It has been used by everything from Boy Scout groups to sports teams, and on clothes, coins, temples, bridges, ballots, stock certificates, historic buildings, carpets—you name it, the swastika has probably been on it at one time or another throughout history.

But starting in the 1920s, the Nazi Party in Germany adopted the formerly auspicious symbol and made it the strident sign of the Nazi’s campaign of evil, hate, and death. The red, white, and black colors of the Nazi banner were taken from the old German imperial flag. It was the Nazi’s Aryan connection, though it is doubtful any of the symbol’s historical Aryan users would ever have endorsed its denigration by Hitler and his überthugs.

Evidently, the Thule-Gesellschaft, or Thule Society, had used the swastika in its symbology, and the Nazis had numerous connections with that organization. By 1935, the Nazi flag with the swastika had become the official flag of the German nation, and the world became intimately acquainted with the formerly auspicious symbol, whose arrival usually heralded a most inauspicious arrival of German troops.

Most of us are acquainted enough with the evils perpetrated upon this sad little world by Hitler and the Nazis that it would be redundant to restate them here. Suffice to say that during the time of the Nazis, the swastika was an emblem that presided over some of the worst examples of mankind’s inhumanity, brutality, and insane genocidal machinations.

It is a sad comment that even today, some people with more hate than brains continue to look to the swastika for the wrong reason. That the Nazis were finally and justly defeated and their evils exposed as the cruel, bent lies they were, only serves as inspiration for these small-minded, violent criminals, whose only philosophy is hating others because they themselves are so sadly pathetic as human beings.

Ramon Mendoza, an artist based here in the hi-desert, created an art installation, The Eagles Beak, for the EarthWorks at Copper Mountain College in Joshua Tree, that incorporates the swastika into its design. Mendoza is not someone who would ever consider endorsing a hate group, and he used the double swastika in his work along with other symbols as emblems of ancient cultures, going back to the swastika’s original meaning.

A number of desert residents have condemned Mendoza and the college for displaying these symbols, but I think that is unfair. If someone effectively co-opts a benign and universal symbol for a vile purpose, does it become a part of the history of that symbol that we may learn from, or must that symbol never return to its original meaning? Symbols have been used, and abused, by humanity throughout history, as various peoples have used and abused others.

I think we can acknowledge the Nazi’s misuse of an otherwise innocuous symbol, and we can also acknowledge that Mendoza’s artwork, and other works like it, lend no support to hateful ideologies. Instead, these works remind us of a time before, when the meaning of this symbol was beneficial, not harmful. In these works, those who came long before Hitler’s rampage are connected once again with the present, and history’s story grows longer than World War II.

From the Other Desk, April/May 2008

Every day in the desert is proof that you just never know what’s going to happen next out here. Since our last issue, so much has transpired that I’m hard pressed to remember it all, let alone convey it to you.

Whether it’s wandering through the desert lilies in bloom east of Twentynine Palms in silence, talking with a wonderful and welcoming group of writers in Ridgecrest, meeting Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp, and German Pete out at Whitehorse Ranch, wandering into Amboy Crater where the Five Spots are in bloom and the lizards are friendly, hiking up into the mountains behind Mitchell Caverns, taking in the quiet of the community in Goffs, cruising Needles at sundown, dining al fresco on Palm Canyon Drive in Palm Springs, rocking out with a thousand Marines and their famiies, or enjoying a Sunday afternoon margarita at Pappy & Harriet’s—our deserts have so many memorable moments to offer those of us lucky enough to share in their wealth.

To try to help keep all of us up to date, and to help create more of a desert-wide sense of community, we’ve just established a Desert Blogs page on our website, which includes a theatre blog by our Theatre Editors, Jack and Jeannette Lyons, as well as a brand new Sun Runner blog, Mojave Winds. We’re also updating the format of our Sun Blast weekly e-mail newsletter with more coverage of desert issues, as well as arts and entertainment picks, desert travel news, and more—all in a fun format.

As The Sun Runner continues to grow, we continue to add contributors from around the desert to our roster. I hope you’ll join me in welcoming our latest folks to grace these pages—Mary Sojourner, Linda Saholt, Mike Cipra, and Edith Billups.

These four join our other fine writers in sharing their desert-inspired perspectives, information, and stories with us. I hope you enjoy their contributions as much as I do. They make this magazine special, and are a constant source of pride for me (when they make deadline).
Maddy Lederman takes a look at wind power in this issue, and we’ll continue to explore "green" power in the desert in the June/July issue. Meanwhile, all of you writers out there from El Centro and Brawley, to Borrego Springs, Indio, Palm Desert, Palm Springs, Joshua Tree, Twentynine Palms,Yucca Valley, Landers, Lucerne Valley, Essex, Blythe, Barstow, Ridgecrest, Death Valley Junction—get your submissions ready for our second annual Desert Writers Issue, coming up in our August/September edition.

Our deadline for those submissions will be July 7, and essays, short fiction, poetry, etc., will all be accepted. Those whom we can’t fit into the print edition will be included online, so please spread the word to all your writer friends. We loved last year’s inaugural Desert Writers Issue, and we can’t wait to see what’s in store this year.

Finally, to all of you who have sent notes of support and encouragement regarding our coverage of desert issues and dedication to our desert, thank you so much. We would like to hear more from all of you on desert issues, and will set aside room for your letters to the editor in future issues, as we all will have much to discuss in the coming months.

Good News, Bad News from Anza-Borrego Desert State Park

Reposted from the April 18, 2008 Sun Blast e-mail newsletter:

Foes of the Los Angeles Department of Water & Power's Green Path North project that would string high voltage power lines through the Big Morongo Canyon Preserve, the Pioneertown Mountains Preserve (formerly Pipes Canyon Preserve), through historic areas such as Johnson Valley's rock corrals (a wonderful place for hiking - the wildflowers were exquisite there recently), may want to take serious note of the battle south of here in San Diego County over the proposed Sunrise Powerlink project - the evil twin of Green Path.

While San Diego Gas & Electric (a Sempra Energy utility company) has been gathering supporters for the project, from the Governator to Imperial Beach Mayor Jim Janney, more interesting information is coming to light.

First, it would appear from documentation here in my hot little hands that - surprise - the Sunrise Powerlink project may not be satiated by stringing those high voltage "green" power lines through pristine areas of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park (as if our state parks aren't having enough trouble already), and through designated Wilderness areas (which sets off even more trouble by setting precedent), but they may already have ... plans for expansion.
Yep. Green Path foes take note: The destruction doesn't stop with the initial proposal - that's just the starting point. Sunrise Powerlink already appears to have plans to connect SDGE's power lines to Southern California Edison lines.

Yes, it appears that SCE already has 250 Megawatts of wind power in Mexico under contract, ready to connect to the Powerlink transmission project. It looks like everyone is ready to cash in on the green power windfall.

Meanwhile, the Center for Biological Diversity and the Sierra Club have taken issue with the draft Environmental Impact Report/Environmental Impact Statement for the project, in a 31- page response.

"San Diego Gas & Electric Company ("Applicant," "Company," or "SDG&E") has repeatedly failed to provide adequate information, leaving the DEIR/EIS with significant flaws in its analysis and inadequate information for the public to consider," the organizations note. "We do not support any transmission line route alternative and therefore, the mitigation recommendations in this comment letter are only intended to assist in reducing harm from the project in the event that the CPUC / BLM approves a transmission alternative."

There they go again. Those cholla-hugging, enviro- fascists - fighting against the "greater good" that corporations like SCE and Sempra are trying to bring the good people of San Diego. Only like-minded loonies would take a similar stance. Right?

Wrong.

In a finely written 18 page response to the DEIS/EIR, it turns out that the County of San Diego has gratefully given government a good name. And these folks waste no time in making their position clear.

"The DEIS/EIR does not support the need for the Proposed Project," the County response begins. "It is unclear why this alternative was selected for analysis..."

The County goes on to note that the No Project/No Action Alternative - in other words, doing nothing - would have fewer impacts than the proposed project, and notes that quite a few of the likely impacts would be unmitigable, and are therefore unacceptable. Period. I really liked the folks who wrote this response by the time I was through reading.

Now someone needs to send it to San Bernardino County...

Thank you for your support,
Steve Brown
Publisher and Executive Editor for The Sun Runner Magazine,
in sunny, Twentynine Palms, California.

Joshua Tree Takes a Stand

Reposted from the March 21, 2008 Sun Blast e-mail newsletter:

If you're wondering why the Sun Blast is arriving at around midnight, well, it has something to do with a three hour meeting in Joshua Tree. Normally, long meetings are the bane of civilized society, in my experience, but this one was different. I apologize for reporting on the meeting in the Sun Blast, but for those of us who live in the hi-desert, this is an important turning point in whether we retain our rural desert culture, or we turn into the sprawling mess of a new Temecula.

The packed meeting of the Joshua Tree Municipal Advisory Council featured a presentation on a proposed development of 2,600-2,700 homes, accompanied by commercial development, situated on one square mile of what is now a beautiful and healthy Joshua tree forest, running on the south side of Highway 62 as you enter Joshua Tree from the west.

Steven Katz of Katz Builders & Developers, a company based out of Philadelphia whose motto is "Exeeding Expectations," first trotted out a presentation by Laura Bonich of Nolte Engineering. Bonich's Power Point excursion into the world of "sustainable" development was simplistic, and came off a bit, as some present deemed, "condescending." "We're not a bunch of dumb hicks," one speaker noted in reference to the presentation.

I don't think Bonich was trying to be condescending, but her presentation served as a statement as to how out of touch Katz is with how the community views itself and its future.

The first slide of Katz's presentation was loaded with irony - it showed a sketch of buildings with a big parking lot with not a Joshua tree in sight, helping make the point that more than 11,000 Joshua trees would likely be removed from the property. Katz talked about one of his company's older developments. The folks who originally bought into that development are able now to take up residence in an assisted living kind of facility in the area that his company is building - a builder for all generations.

Katz presented an air of self-assuredness, often phrasing his plans as, "We will..." There is something of the air of a carpetbagger about someone who comes into your community and sets about telling you what they will do to it, whether you like it or not. "We're thinking about people, people, people," Katz said innocently, to a bout of laughter from the audience. He had summed up the problem precisely.

Then, Katz continued on his parade of hi-desert faux pas, showing an example of a project in Scottsdale to demonstrate the features he wants to bring to Joshua Tree. Nobody in Joshua Tree wants their town to look like Scottsdale. Why not just tell them you're going to turn their community into Adelanto, Temecula, Corona, or Riverside - San Bernardino even? After that, he spoke about the possibility of using artificial turf in the pocket parks his sustainable "village" development touts along with miles of "trails" - trails that wind among scenic high density neighborhoods, roads, and manicured washes lined with dying transplanted Joshua trees removed from other areas of the development. By that point it was clear that Katz has no clue whatsoever about the desert, why anyone would live here, or why the desert would be important to anyone. More than two years into planning his project, and he doesn't get it. But most developers don't get it - and don't care. They do what they do well, but what they don't do well is often what they pay lip service to, in order to placate a community. But Joshua Tree wasn't buying it.

I was proud of the people of the Morongo Basin who attended the meeting and spoke from the heart about what this desert means to them and how they will not let this suburban nightmare plop itself down on the road into town without a fight. They intelligently and passionately raised legitimate issues, and were direct, yet respectful. If Katz listened at all, he has to know that he is not just going against the wishes of much of the community, not to mention against the intent of all the planning the community has done for its future, but that he is also quite literally causing a lot of hurt to some of these people, all for the sake of a buck.

But of course, millions of dollars (quite a few millions at that), can help ease one's conscience when you live far, far away from those you've hurt. Still, he had to hear the threats of lawsuits, and the serious, intelligent, and organized tone of the opposition. And I get the feeling that that's just the beginning.

A recent news story about the development noted that Katz said he had been in contact with Trader Joe's and it sounded like he had hinted that they may locate a store in his development, which seemed odd since they had reportedly denied having any interest in our area not long before. Too bad someone checked with Trader Joe's, who reportedly denied any interest in the area once again (they haven't responded to my inquiry yet). Could Katz just have tossed that out there because a recent economic development survey cited Trader Joe's as one of the most sought after stores by hi-desert residents? Nah, he wouldn't stoop that low, would he?
It was likely just a misunderstanding. Just like the one about the several meetings Katz had with the superintendent of Joshua Tree National Park, Curt Sauer. Unfortunately, Curt was in attendance, and noted that they had only met once, with a number of other agencies and developers, and it was a general meeting about desert tortoise issues. Katz had spoken correctly though when he had said that their meetings were general in nature, and he had been at another meeting with other JTNP staff once, so it is understandable if he was a little off. Developers are human too.

Comments from those in attendance were strong, but civil, ranging from, "We're simply not going to allow you to do it," and, "There's nothing about this project that's green," to, "I don't think anyone in this room buys that at all," in response to one of Katz's explanations. Many good points were made, and thoughtful perspectives were offered by the folks from JT. My favorite was when Katz was asked how many nights he had slept out in the open on his property. "None," was his reply. A suitably lengthy number of nights was recommended. Then, "How many nights have you slept out in the open in Joshua Tree National Park?" Again, none was the answer. Finally, "How many nights have you slept out in the open in the Mojave?" Katz's answer remained the same. The speaker responded gently, "I recommend a lifetime."

Well spoken.

Thank you for your support,
Steve Brown
Publisher and Executive Editor for The Sun Runner Magazine,
in mostly sunny, Twentynine Palms, California.