A Good Box of Dirt

We met them while we were out walking looking for birds near our rental.

It was January and it was cold – had been in the 30’s since we had arrived. I hadn’t figured this part of Georgia to be this cold even in the dead of winter.  We were on our way to Florida where it was much warmer. Believe me, the sun in Florida is a much deeper yellow – not this tepid light barely yellow that we were seeing here in the lowlands of Georgia.

We stopped for a week to visit with our daughter who lives just up the road a piece. She was coming down for a few days and we were idling a bit, waiting, and taking the opportunity to check out the birds at the two refuges nearby. All in all, it was a good place to stop, a small condo complex in an out-of-the-way place on a salt water marsh just about halfway between Savannah and Brunswick.

On this particular afternoon, it was sunny outside and a bit warmer so we decided to take a walk around the complex so headed up towards the fishing pier just to see if any birds were about that might be fishing in the creek. That’s where we saw them – up by a big pile of dirt over in the back corner of the lot.

She was 87, he was 95.  She was shoveling dirt from the dirt pile into a cardboard box sitting on the back of her golf cart. He was sitting in the cart watching her work.  

We walked on over and Jerry offered to shovel for her.  Without a thought, he reached for the shovel to take over the job for her.  Oh, my goodness, she pulled that shovel away like he was trying to snatch one of her grandbabies right out of her arms.  Jerry stepped back and stammered out an apology of sorts and looked at me like he really didn’t know what to do at this point.

She politely told him, she didn’t need any help, thank you anyway, explaining that this was her exercise and that a person needs projects like this to keep healthy especially as they are getting a bit older.

As we talked, she continued shoveling. We told them what we were doing there, and she told us why she was shoveling dirt into the box on the golf cart.  I had assumed she might be dressing out her flower beds around their condo but that was not it at all.

She also explained that he had a pulled shoulder and couldn’t shovel and that’s why he wasn’t helping. She really seemed to want to make sure that we knew that he was not just some no-account husband who would just sit watching his hard-driving wife do all the grunt work. It hadn’t crossed our minds to question his watching her seeing as she had told us right up front how old they were.

All in all, she was immaculate, all the while shoveling dirt.  She was just about four foot nothing and wearing neatly ironed jeans with knife sharp creases down the front and back. People rarely iron jeans anymore let along crease them like that front and back.

She had on a sweater set like a good Southern woman of her generation would wear (or, maybe any generation for that matter) – a print blouse with a nice pastel tropical print and a color matched sweater. Tropical but tasteful; you know, light yellow hibiscus rather than bright red ones. Her hair was beautiful – naturally white with soft curls framing her very well-made up face. One should always look one’s best when going out to work in the yard, I always say. (Okay, not really. I work outside in torn jeans and stained t-shirts.)

As noted above, I had assumed that she was getting that good dirt for her flower beds or, maybe to fill in a hole or two in the yard. She said no, that wasn’t it and, just to make sure we knew she wasn’t taking the dirt without permission, told us that the HOA folks brought the dirt in here, dumped it, and said that anyone could use it to fill up holes and all in the yard.

He laughed right out loud and said she wasn’t gonna be filling up any holes with that dirt. She was bound and determined to go building a ramp down to the creek from her back yard so she could get down to the creek to go fishing.

‘Need mind that she could ride her golf cart up to the pier – about ¼ mile all told from her doorstep – and go fishing in the creek anytime she felt the urge.

And, ‘need mind that the tide coming and going turned that stretch of water into a mud flat at least twice a day. 

And, ‘need mind that that same tide would wash away all her efforts at building a ramp just about those same times every day. It would explain why the bank was washed out in the first place.

But, never mind all that. She had a project to do. She had set her mind to it. And, she was determined to get it done. Pronto. No need to be messing around and jaw-boning all day about it.

Now, in my world, being who I am, I think I would just have run up to the big box store and bought one of those fancy pre-made concrete steps they make for mobile homes and such. I would have paid them an extra $35 and had them deliver the steps and plop them right down in place up next to the bank.  Project conceived; project done.

The box was about half full of dirt now (or still half empty depending on whether you’re an optimist or pessimist). I wondered how full she would go and who would be lifting that box off the back of the golf cart….being he is 95 and has that hurt shoulder and all. I didn’t dare suggest that we might follow them home and provide some bit of assistance.

He said she’d never catch any fish in that creek anyway. What fish were there came in with the tide and went out with it…..everyday. But I have to say, we knew there were fish in the creek because we’d seen the Hooded Mergansers and Great Egrets out there fishing. Okay, they were little fish…but they were fish, nonetheless.

She said she would too catch fish – she just knew it. How could anyone doubt her? She’d grown up fishing and I reckon she knew what she was doing.

We asked if she’d eat the fish that she caught. Well, of course, she would. Why would she ever go to all that trouble to catch a fish and then just throw it back? Why, that would be just crazy! Of course, she was gonna eat any fish she caught.

While we watched her work, he gave us the lowdown on other things. He said she’d lived there (at the condos) since her husband died about twelve years ago. She’d moved up from Darien down yonder to the south.  He said she’d had two properties and got tired of mowing and taking care of things at the big house where she’d lived with her husband and raised her babies. So, she was living up here now in a condo that was much smaller and easy to keep up.  

Her daughter lived just up the road – you could see her house from right there where we were standing. Looking out over the marsh to the southeast, he pointed out a blue house on the point where the creek curved its way out to the river.

The box was really getting full now. She was barely getting half a shovel of dirt each time she lifted so I knew she’d never lift that whole box of dirt off the cart. Maybe she would just tip it over dumping it into the yard and then work from there.

We asked how they’d met…they had both mentioned previous spouses that had died. She said – she had started doing most of the talking now – that they met in church. They had gone to the same church for years and had known each other only in passing when their respective spouses were alive. They had continued to sit in different parts of the church after they died and then, just like that, one day they started sitting together on the same side…he’d moved over to her side….and that was that. Make a long story short…. they became a couple.

Well, the box was full of dirt now and that ramp was waiting. They had to go. Nice to meet you fine folks. She plopped the shovel into the back of the golf cart, hopped onto the front seat and, with a last wave back in our direction, drove on off across the field.

Later, we spotted her working at the edge of the yard building her ramp. I wondered how long it would take for her to ramp up the four foot drop down to the water’s edge or how long before the incoming tide would wash it all away. It was a gonna be a crap shoot as to which thing happened first.

But a project is a project and you gotta keep at it or it ain’t ever gonna get done.

I was absolutely 100% sure that this was one woman that was gonna keep at it until she could take her fishing pole and march right down that new ramp to the creek and catch a fine big ole catfish just ready to be battered up and fried in the skillet with some hush puppies and cole slaw on the side. It’d make a fine meal for the two of them.

That was just how it was gonna be. I didn’t doubt it for one minute.

California Days – Fossil Falls

It was hot. We’d left the mountains with temperatures in the low nineties (90’s) and were now in the middle of the Mohave Desert and heading out in 104 degrees to find a local landmark called Fossil Falls. We were staying down the road at Ridgecrest, California which is noteworthy for a big military weapons testing and desert training facility called China Lake. But it is the Mohave – we never saw a lake – just a few salt flats here and there that would imply that there might once have been a lake there in the past and that there just might be a lake again in the future if it ever rained enough. But there wasn’t much chance of rain on this hot dry day in July…and it was doubtful for the near future.

California Oil Fields

We had arrived in Ridgecrest on Saturday after a long drive around from Three Rivers over on the western side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. We’d gone from cultivated areas with lots of orange, almond, and olive groves to drier “farms” with lots of oil wells pumping steadily throughout the long hot days. As we traveled further east, it became drier and the oil wells changed to gigantic windmills covering every ridge. Maybe about half of the windmills were slowly turning but they seemed to be calibrated to the same slow ever-droning-on sequence as the oil wells we were leaving behind. Then turning north and moving even deeper into the desert, we encountered fields of solar panels…which probably moved slowly if they even moved at all. It was like traveling through a diorama of the history of power generation for the past fifty (50) years. Then it was nothing but desert and the occasional Joshua Tree until we left the highway and headed east to Ridgecrest.

After checking into our hotel, we went into town to check out a small local museum where we’d heard from our hotel clerk that we could get some information on how to get to some well-known petroglyphs in the mountains nearby. The Maturango Museum was lovely – small and well-maintained with quite a few native crafts and displays, but, alas, our hopes to see the petroglyphs in the area were dashed when we were told that the petroglyphs were in a restricted area on the military reservation and no one was permitted to enter without a guide from the base. For a glimmer of a moment, we thought maybe we could hire a guide and see the petroglyph site that way…but that was not to be. The Government only allows visitors into the site twice a year in fall and spring. They would not even be considering allowing access to the site at any point before September – we’d be long gone on our way home before the next reservations would be made for visitors to see those petroglyphs. In all fairness, the problem was the heat…the military just couldn’t take visitors up into the mountains in the heat.

Maturango Museum in Ridgecrest, CA

Outside display at Maturango Museum

Checking the time on the human sundial at Maturango Museum

Seeing my disappointment, the kind docent at the museum told me that just up the road from the museum there was a lovely park where a few years ago, the community had set up rocks along the walking path and local artists had painted their “interpretations” of the petroglyphs on the rocks. She said I should take a look at those renderings if I wanted to see petroglyphs. Her heart was in the right place, I am sure and she only wanted to help. I thanked her kindly but, somehow, seeing modern versions of ancient drawings and carvings just wasn’t going to be the same as seeing the originals carved a few thousand years ago.

The artistic renderings of petroglyphs in Petroglyph Park

But, we did cruise by Petroglyph Park anyway and it was indeed a lovely park with a pretty good walking path just as she had told us it would be….and there were great fake petroglyphs that we could enjoy if we chose to take a stroll through the park while enjoying the nice stiflingly hot weather.

Did I mention it was hot? Cruising by the Baptist Church to check out the temperature.

On Sunday, we’d had a lovely morning visiting a local church for the morning services and had then stopped in at Arby’s for a sandwich for lunch. It’s a military town – lots of strip malls and fast-food joints – always something available to grab a quick bite. Our plans were to head out to Death Valley bright and early on Monday so we had Sunday afternoon to do a little exploring. Since petroglyphs were out, we decided to check out another local landmark called Fossil Falls.

So, here we were traveling north on Highway 395 looking for a roughed up National Monument sign that would direct us onto a washed out gravel road leading across the massive lava fields to the site. The sign turned out to be relatively easy to find and soon we were passing Red Cinder Cone, also known as Red Hill, one of the many evidences of volcanic activity in the area, and heading back to the visitor’s area near the “falls”.

Lave Rocks. Somewhere in there is a trail…or not. Red Cinder Cone Hill is in the background.

Of course, there are no waterfalls today. The Owens River that flowed here at the end of the last Ice Age and carved out a path through the lava rocks is long gone. The lakes and ponds that filled Indian Wells Valley and supported aboriginal peoples are also long ago dried up leaving only rocks and gullies that might support a flash flood now and then in the event a storm comes sweeping in from the mountains to the west.

Red Cinder Cone Hill, one of the volcanos that would have helped create the Lava Fields here.

But no such storm is predicted for today. Today it is dry and hot…..very much so. As we drive into the parking lot, I am surprised to see that it is a relatively well-maintained park with a cinderblock toilet rather than the usual porta-potty we have been seeing in all the national parks we’ve visited on this trip. Nonetheless, in this heat, I eyed that bathroom with a goodly amount of consternation telling myself that there was just no way I was going to venture into what would probably be a very hot stinky hazardous filled to the brim with all sorts of nasty bacteria box in this heat. Not no…but NO!!! Just wasn’t gonna happen.

Ancient Lava Flow coming down from the mountains nearby.

The temperature had risen to just about 107 in the meantime but we decided we would go ahead and walk the trail out to the former river bed and take a look at the cliffs where once the raging river had rushed over the lava rock polishing rough knife sharp edges down to the glassy smooth surfaces that were now so slippery as to require caution even when dry. That’s what the signs said and I believed it. However, I found the sharp rocks much more intimidating as we tried to navigate the “trails” through the lava. One misstep and an ankle could be broken or sprained just like that….then I suppose I would be forced to hobble my little hobby back to the car. There just weren’t any improved walking trails here…no markers….no cleared pathways…..just more or less tracks laid down though the lava rocks by previous visitors and hikers to the area.

The trail was just under half a mile one way so I figured I could handle it even in the heat and even with all the rocks. After all, haven’t you heard all about it being a “dry heat” and not the same as that oppressive heart-stopping humidity back home? The air is dry here….so dry. That’s what I have always heard and I can vouch for that for the most part as we hardly even broke a sweat all day although breathing was a bit of a chore. Then again, I suppose that every ounce of humidity that dares to form on our bodies was just evaporated away into the heated air before it ever had a chance to form a good solid drop of sweat.

In the heat, as we walked across the lava field, I found myself wondering about the ancient peoples who lived here. According to my research, the Coso People had lived and camped along the river about 10,000 years ago but, by 6000 BCE, those natives had abandoned the area due to drying conditions. The glaciers finished melting…the rivers stopped flowing.

Sometime around 4000 BCE, the climate became more moderate and the natives had returned to the area. It was still plenty hot and dry but they learned to use what resources were available in the area. By the 19th century though, only the Little Lake Shoshone peoples came here to look for obsidian in rocks among the lava fields to make the spears and knives and arrowheads they needed to survive in the harsh climate.

(We didn’t find any obsidian although we did look for it. It is probably best that we didn’t as I would, no doubt, have wanted to bring it home as a souvenir. As I get older, I’m finding that some things are best left in the preserves where they are found and not lugged all the way back home to sit on a shelf somewhere. And the sign said not to take anything out of the park…so, there’s that.)

The “Falls” at Fossil Falls. The Owens River would have rushed over the 40 foot drop        creating the waterfalls.

Now, the area is abandoned and the site is managed and controlled by the state. The river no longer exists; the falls no longer overflow with water thundering down onto the rocks below….no more water, no more trees, and no more people….the land is silent now and left to the small desert creatures who can still manage to survive in the harsh environment.

The ancient Owens River bed (center). Note that the lava rocks in the old flow area are smoother here.

We found the old river bed with few problems. Just pick you way through the rocks until you reach the gully, and then head downstream until you can see the cliffs where the falls used to be. We didn’t hike all the way down to the cliffs themselves….time and the heat just did not permit it….at least not for me.

We weren’t the only ones at the site that day. We had noted with amusement the two teenage girls who headed out across the lava rocks taking lots of “selfies” wearing absolutely the wrong shoes. Really, who wears flip flops and sandals through a rock-strewn desert with snakes and lizards and scorpions and spiders?

The trail begins. That Owens River bed is towards that small hill in the distance (center).

On our way, we met four young men who seemed to appear out of nowhere heading back to the parking lot. They looked just plain hot, beat up, exhausted and ready to get back into an air conditioned car and head to some cool oasis for a nice cold glass of iced tea. (Tea, right?) I think that I must have looked equally as bad when I emerged from the trail and headed across the parking lot because a nice lady hurried up to me with a nice cold bottle of water straight out of her cooler. Guess she thought I was going to pass out or something.

I thanked her profusely but I was on a mission at this point and couldn’t be delayed. You see, I had other things in mind…..I was going to have to do it….going to have to risk everything….put aside my better judgement and my sanity….just take my own safety in my own hands and head right into the heart of danger. I was going to have to risk it….I was going in….just had to do it….no other choice. I was going into that bathroom after all. Imagine my surprise to find a bright sunny well-ventilated clean-smelling composting toilet with plenty of toilet paper and a full container of hand sanitizer.


You just never know what you are going to find in the desert in the middle of nowhere.

Sources for Factual Information:

  1. Wikipedia Fossil Falls – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fossil_Falls
  2. Visit California Website – http://www.visitcalifornia.com/attraction/fossil-falls