Le Raggazze di Birch Creek

In the 40 year history of Bennion Teton Boys Ranch, and the subsequent three of Birch Creek it has been soley and institution for the betterment of strapping young lads. This year, I took on organizing and directing the first ever girl's session! Same program, same hard work, same living in yurts and showering outside, just different gender. This has been a life long dream of mine (in fact when we first got the girls in the van and where driving them down I leaned over to Kelly and whispered "Kelly, I'm driving a van, and it's filled with girls! And we're taking them to the ranch!") and I couldn't have done it without the incredible program already established by Adam Bateman and Eric Peterson.

The girl were incredible. They were strong, worked hard (I never had to tell them to keep working), brave, hilarious, talented, and inspiring. They started with a backpack the first day up Horseshoe mountain, and they all summited (and all spent the night outside not in a tent for the first time in their lives)!

At the top of Horseshoe and still smiling

The girls worked HARD, they bucked bales, moved pipe, dug out bigs rocks and made fences out of them, hauled wood to the dump, dug out horse manure and mulched a garden with it. . .they done me proud.

Dirty toes were just the tip of the ice burg, gone were the days of needing a shower every day!

In addition to all the work there was lots of fun had including campfire songs (hello, it is camp!), a day at the lake, african dance, documentary watc hing (hitting the apartaid issues with the teens), pinata hitting, horseback riding, tie-dye . . . you get the picture. Pretty much the best camp ever.

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Jeanne and Lauren making tamales, my cuz Heidi and I, Hannah leaps at the yak, the cool crew.

Back from the ranch

Well, after long last (I know, I'm probably fired from the blogging life after this lapse of activity) I am officially back within a close enough range of the internet vein that I can sit and post a bit about the rest of the summer. I need to post a blog dedicated to the fabulous girl's session of Birch Creek Service Ranch. . . and I would do the same about the second session, but somehow my camera ate ALL the photo's I took from that session. So I'll try to do it justice in words alone.
Then there will be a report on my vaca to the east coast, and some documenting of my new home. So keep checking, I promise this blog will be at least a little more exciting in the near future. Until then, VIVA LA PLAGE!!!

Coyote Gulch

The landscape of my childhood is found in the curving sandstone canyons of the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument area in southern Utah. Some of my earliest and best memories are of countless backpacking trips down there with my family and assorted friends. I think I first spent the night in the Calf Creek campground at age three, and it's been a long time affair ever since. I've participated in weddings, baptisms, vision quests, reunions, art happenings, jobs, and other assorted events in Death Hollow, Sand Creek, Coyote Gulch, Upper Calf Creek, and numerous other canyons. Needless to say I'm always more than happy to lead a group of campers down there each session, and this time our trip to Coyote was no exception.
We got to the trail head late, so we only hiked about twenty minutes in the dusk till we plopped down in the last open sand patch before we hit sandstone.

Goodmorning sandpatch, Neil, Topher, Matt
The next day we traversed some sandstone moonscape, till we came to a spot where you can lower your packs, and then squeeze through a crack made by a large slab against the cliff.


Boys looking over the cliff, squeezing through the crack, and packs getting lowered.
We spent the remainder of the day playing in the water, skipping stones, catching frogs, and then hiking about 7 miles to our camp in the Jacob Hamblin Arch alcove. Dehydrated beans and fresh spring water never tasted so good. The next morning we got up and hiked out Hurricane wash.


Neil showing how it's done; Steven's Arch; Conner likes lunch; me, my new hat, and jr. counselor Eli (who in a teen game of 'husband, lover, muse & friend' I chose as my husband, and then he chose me as wife! we're only 9 years apart. . . )


The boys take a much needed desert shower, the weirdest bug the boys found

Morning hikers, Jacob Hamblin Arch (named for my 4th great grampa).

Hippy up, or fight in the war

At the ranch, we fill our afternoons with a variety of excellent activities co-ordinated by my dear friend Neil, or by my soul sister Kelly. An example of the disparity which can exist in the interests of teen boys is the combo we had one day of either making tie dyed t-shirts , or marshmallow guns and bunkers for a full fledged war. Being the once founder, owner, and sole employee of Zi-Dyes (yes, yes, I was a high school hippy and thought it cooler than cool to wear at least three different tie-dyes at a time layered with old jeans and a chunky brown sweater)- I opted for the more peaceful of the two activities. I'll admit I took some pleasure in instructing the boys in the making of shirts that undoubtably would cause some of their parents to squirm when they welcomed their camper home clad in the rainbow of hippy peace with his neck still encrusted in dirt. One boy told us how last year he'd made a tie-dye shirt and his mother hid it from him the whole year saying it was lost, only to pull it out in time for camp- the only place she saw fit for him to wear such a thing. The boys did a remarkable job, and the shirts turned out super.


As you can see though, the war faring group didn't do half bad either. The following pics illustrate the construction, love, and result of a good mallow gun.


Clark and Max B. designing their guns, Graham with "The Death Taker", and Pancho post war.

Back on the Ranch

Dear faithful readers, (of whom I'm assuming there are about two). Let me apologize for my lapse in bloggingness, my life as a teen boy has been exceptionaly busy these last few weeks, and whilst every day contained many blog worthy events, pics, and anecdotes. . . alas my proximity to the internet, and time sufficient to blog have both been severely impared. Since I last posted the first session of boys ended, I ran the first ever girl's session, and now the second boy's session is underway. . . so there is a lot to report on for all you hungry for the latest BCSR gossip. Hopefully over today and tomorrow I'll be able to post about the end of the boy's first session, and the girl's session- baring this afternoon thunderstorm doesn't knock the power out for a few hours as it is wont to do.

The horned flaming bus, one of our many fine vehicles
used for toting teens around the valley.

Cast Iron Chef

Tonight marked the historic fourth year of BCSR Iron Chef desert competition. As the cook the first year, I was inspired by one of the few t.v. shows I watch to give the boys a chance to try their hand at some culinary magic. As I have previously pointed out (you know you're a teen age boy if. . .) just a spoonful of competition makes almost anything go down amongst your average teen boy. So, to try to teach them some of the finer culinary arts. . . we devised a fool proof activity in which the campers divide into teams and are all given the same ingredients, an hour and a half, access to the kitchen and a challenge to create.

"Sunshine" sports a powdered sugar soul patch

While the first year started out a bit bumpy (ingredients included cherry frosting, green apple jell-o, gummy worms, and pineapple sherbet) each year has been increasingly better. As one might imagine turning a gaggle of boys loose with that much sugar and often little cooking sense, generally results in sweet, sweeter, and I'm going to puke sweetest (the first year there was the everything mixed together boiled and then blended into thick brown sludge sugar shake- I nearly vomited).

Nothing like a little indian techno and some freestyle rapping to get everybody in a party mood

Each year there is the crazy elaborate gingerbread/science fair diorama inspired creation (this year was a mountain of cake and whipped cream with caramel filled carved apples replete with mullets, mohawks and the Utah claw). But once in a while they really pull through and surprise you.

A rather delicious apple compote

Such as a flan cooked in a make shift dutch oven double boiler, apple turnovers drizzled in homemade caramel, and this year a pop tart-esque concoction comprised of a hard chocolate layer, mint pudding all wrapped in a pastry shell and topped with grated chocolate. Pretty darn gourmet for the teen squad cooking in the rec shed kitchen in the middle of a juniper forest.

The Tales of Two Kitties

This June marks major feline milestones in my life. I'm not a crazy cat woman. I'm an animal person. We grew up with: cats, dogs, horses, ponies, chickens, pigs, goats, sheep, rats, gerbils, bunnies, and a few random newts/horned toads/lizards and robins. I love them all. However, there are always those signature animals that have stood out from the rest and gained special precedence in my heart, like Britta Ann our brood sow, or Nemo the horse born on our property that I rode through my teenage years, or Sandy the spastic dog who defended us from bully dogs and let me brush his teeth and put clip on earrings on him. Yuki stands supreme in the realm of our kitties, a statuesque part of our family unit from 1987 till last week. My uncle found him as a kitten in a dumpster in LA, and somehow my dad wound up bringing him home on his way back from Japan- hence the uber inappropriate Japanese name (Yuki means snow in Japanese, Yuki was jet black). As a kitten he was called Spaz and spent his hours wildly chasing milk rings on the linoleum, or one of our braids as we held him and teased him. At night he slept with my sister and I, and we would often wake up with the lacey fronts of our matching nighties wet from Yuki sucking and kneading.
As the years went by, Yuki became a god among the Bennion cats. He was gorgeous, a mini panther with eyes the gold of an Egyptian sun and an ego as wide as the Gobi desert. He was a hunter- mice, birds, squirrels even gophers were fair and frequent game. He owned the house and he owned us. It was always a matter of when he wanted to be loved, not when we wanted to give him loves. Usually his whims where right as I sat trying to do homework and he was set himself demandingly in the middle of my work. At one point he suffered a midlife crises during which he started obsessively licking himself till his belly and inner legs were bald. After a few months of kitty prozac and some substantial weight gain (we started calling him the King. . . very Elvis reminiscent) he regained his stately composure and character. He aged gracefully, even when he began to lose his hearing and his coat began to match his name. Sadly, Yuki perished last week at the jaws of Red Bear, a foster dog we were taking care of. Needless to say there was some serious grieving, it's hard to lose an old friend, especially in such an unnecessarily harsh and violent way. I can't help but feel we somehow betrayed our old boy. But in a way it fits. . .he died claws slashing and tale swishing, forever the mighty hunter.

June also marks the one year birthday of my current feline flame, Reuben. Reuben is a hairless sphinx cat and came to me last year by way of a friend in vet school who was looking for homes for kittens. While having a cat in some ways cramps my wanderlust ways (though his grandparents are always happy to kitty sit), I love having this little shadow companion always waiting for my return from school, and happy to curl up next to me each night. So happy birthday Reubs. Maybe I'll get him a live mouse for his birthday.

Teen Boy Squad

Well, we've successfully finished the first week and then some of the first boys session of Birch Creek Service Ranch and so far its going pretty awesome. I wish I had the time and energy to give you a bio on each camper, and tell you all the hilarious things they've said and the awesome things we've done, but I'm tired. So this blog will accomplish the following: 1. a brief history of the yurts and subsequent yak fascination, 2. my nose job, 3. you know you're a teen boy if. . . , 4. Costco shopping for 30+ teen eaters, and 5. some incentive to visit.
1. This is a yurt


We bought 5 of them from Mongolia for the ranch, for the boys to sleep in. They are jaunty, they are charming, they smell like a yak (being that they are insulated with a yak fur/ Fiberglas felt). They came all in a large shipping crate from Mongolia and took some serious work setting up. The boys sleep in these, whilst we female staff sleep in this American yurt, not so jaunty, nor charming, but sans yak smell and with lovely large windows.


Eventually we'll have bunk houses, but the boys are totally digging the yurts and they lend to the rustic experience. On the first night evening co-ordinator extrodinaire, Ash, organized a yak effigy making extravaganza (out of newspaper) which were then burned in a fire to please the yak gods. A lore of the yak ancestors was composed and read by counselor Jeff, and they boys ate it up like candy from a stranger.
2. Well, during the setting up of the yurts (which came with zero instructions) we were frequently endangered by falling poles out of the main spoke wheel whilst getting the frame set up. On one such occasion I happened to catch a falling pole with the bridge of my nose. It hurt. A lot. It bled. A lot. It was bruised internally for quite some time (still is a little) and I got a nasty deep cut. . . I'm hoping for a sweet scar , and there is a permanent indent in my nose now. All this for free, yesiree folks, a free nose job just for setting up a yurt (now I know next time I have a yurt setting up party you will ALL be there!).
3. Spending the bulk of my waking hours with teen boys (12-15 years old) has given me new insights into these strange creatures, and I feel I may be slowly morphing into one. So I made this handy dandy checklist to see how far along I am to teen boydom, you can assess yourself too! So, you know you are a teen boy if:

• Chuck Norris is a constant standard to which all things are compared and measured, e.g. "Chuck Norris could buck 200 bales at once" or "Chuck Norris could set up 5 yurts in 5 minutes";

• a mixture of dirt/sweat/hay/manure/etc. encrusted on your skin is no reason for a shower, it's just the way you are;
  
• you wonder, after eating 11 plates of pasta salad, if you are still hungry;
• EVERYTHING, even what things you did in your sleep, is fodder for competition with other boys;
  
• and finally, you KNOW you are a teen boy if you ask questions like "are those sandwiches you're making for lunch today?" or "is beef a horse?".

4. Now, part of my ultra glamorous job as teen camp counselor is being over all the food buying and planning. As a former cooks for the ranch, Kelly and I got the illustrious job of shopping for food for 30 ravenous people for three weeks. After countless hours of planning, several hours in Costco, and many shopping carts later, we had the bare necessities stocked. If you ever want to be totally grossed out, just shop for 30 and you will feel yourself melting in to a puddle of excessive material consumption and waste on the spot. Here's the proof.

5. So, in parting I leave you with picture taken from the road leading to the ranch. . .it's gorgeous here. Come visit. Come let your inner teen boy free. I'll even let you sleep in a yurt, or buck some bales. Pinky promise.
p.s. I'm still trying to figure out this blogging thing, I'm afraid I'm dreadful at configuring the page with photos and text, please forgive the appalling layout of this post. . .

i heart the grand canyon

So pretty much my favorite part of any blog is pics, so in order to try and convince you that this is a cool kid blog I'll slap up some pics from a recent Grand Canyon river trip. I went for three weeks with my dad as a swamper on a commercial trip. It was pretty sweet. It was a super nerd bomb trip with a geologist, botonist, archeologist, and historian on board. . .I was in heaven.