Return to Kiwiland, Part IV: Why New Zealand? Take the Kiwi Kwiz

Posted on January 13, 2017 by gretchenwing

A fun highlight of visiting English-speaking countries is learning just how different a language English can become. We discovered this big-time in New Zealand in 1996.

Just a coupla Kiwi Kids–or as they pronounced it in the South, “Kuds”

First, there were the words that sound exactly the same but mean something completely different. (If you’ve been to the UK, you’ll likely recognize these.) For example:

biscuit = cookie

tea = the drink; but also morning or afternoon tea, the break you take, like in England; but ALSO supper, so when someone invites you “for tea” you really have to nail ’em down

bench = counter (in a kitchen)

bonnet = hood of car

Then there are some which kinda-sorta sound like our terms, but still caught me off guard till I got used to them:

takeaway = take-out (food)

SO ubiquitous, I wanted to write a novel called “Tearooms and Takeaways”

panel beater = body shop (for cars)

Guess that makes as much sense as “body shop”

And then there was the accent.

Understand, we lived in the southern part of the South Island. That’s like someone from outside the US moving to, say, Alabama. Even the folks we met in Auckland, in the North, said, “Oh, Dunedin…they have queer ways down there” (which to me sounded like, “queeh wize dan theh”).

My favorite accent story involves Son One thinking someone at his school shared his name, when it turned out that the kid’s name only sounded the same due to the accent. But I can’t explain further without violating Son One’s privacy. 🙂

Son Two, at kindergarten (“Kindie”), had so much trouble understanding the other kids (“kuds”), that he gave up, poor kud, and spent playtime by himself.

So, I’ve just alluded to two components of the Kiwi accent. One is the tendency to abbreviate everything. (Australians–Aussies–do this too.) Therefore,

kindergarten = kindie

biscuits = bickies

postman = postie

milkman = milkie

OK, Kiwi Kwiz time! You fill in the blanks:

sunnies =

mozzies =

The Kiwi Kwiz was something I developed for funsies, in weekly emails back home. (No Facebook or blogging back then.) To play, you need to know about the second component of the accent: the Great Vowel Shift. You already know that “mate” becomes “mite” down there. But, in the South at least, short “i” turns into a short “u” sound–“kid” becomes “kud”–and the short “e” becomes a short “i”: “fresh” becomes “frish.”

Thus, the brand new supermarket in town, Big Fresh, was pronounced Bug Frish. We loved this.

Other vowel shifts included “skeery” for “scary,” “stike” for “steak,” and “poi” for “pie.” So. Ready for another Kwiz? These are some phrases we heard:

What are “chicken formalities”? (Hint: it’s something they call you to the counter, I mean the bench–or the binch–to take care of at the airport.)

What is “cheetah chase”? (Hint: it’s good melted on bread.)

What is “Kevin sailing?” (Hint: it’s what you see when you’re in a cave and you look up.)

First one with the most correct Kwiz answers wins a prize! I mean a proize.

Next post (which will be the last one will I get back in February): Reason #2 for the Return to Kiwiland. But here’s a hint:

It has to do with running…mountains…and writing.

Return to Kiwiland, Part III: Why New Zealand? Memmmmorieeees….

Posted on January 9, 2017 by gretchenwing

I know I haven’t give Reason #2 for our Return to Kiwiland, but I’m saving that one for right before we leave. Turns out there’s a third reason I hadn’t even considered: Nostalgia. Looking through photos from our year in Dunedin 20 years ago, I was ambushed by memories. Thought I’d share.

First of all, some perspective. Here’s Dunedin:

Fun fact: same latitude (south) as our then-home, Tacoma (north). But climate’s more than latitude.

And here’s a view of the town and its harbor (or “harbour”), looking down from Flagstaff Hill:

See those clouds? Yeah, we did too. A LOT. Only had six FULLY sunny days in 8 months.

Think I showed our house already, but here’s a look from the front:

I know. We couldn’t believe it either. The whole third floor was locked up for our stay, and we still felt lost in that house. Great for hide & seek, though!

Any stay in another country requires getting used to what one thinks as “weirdness,” which the locals call “normal life.” Here are a few examples.

1. “Burn time.” That was something they’d announce on the weather report, as in “this is how many minutes you can be out in the sun without getting bright red.” NZ sits directly under the hole in the ozone layer, we learned. (I’m assuming that hole hasn’t gotten any smaller, 20 years on.) So KIDS WORE HATS. Always.

Son One on a beach field trip with his First Form class.

2. Kiwis–the namesake of not only New Zealanders themselves, but also their money–are not only ridiculously rare, they’re also nocturnal. I got to see one on a tour on Stewart Island, at midnight, but our kids couldn’t stay up that long.

The only kiwi the boys got to see. (Wellington Zoo)

3. Aside from 70 billion sheep–OK, it was “only” 45 million, but then there weren’t quite 4 million PEOPLE in NZ at that time–Kiwis also raised elk for, of all things, the velvet from their antlers, which apparently fetched (still fetches? don’t know) a high price in some Asian countries. So weird to see elk penned up like cattle! Even weirder: they called them “Wapiti,” which is a northwestern Native American word.

Wapiti! Up in Marlborough Sound. The meat is sold too, of course.

4. Christmas falls in summer. At that latitude, it doesn’t get dark till around 10. So why bother with Christmas lights? They’d barely show. This might have changed, but back then, we saw hardly any. Took me a long time to notice what was missing.

But who needs lights when you have the Pohutakawa–the “New Zealand Christmas Tree”?

5. New Zealand is officially bilingual. Here are signs from Otago University, in English and Maori:

“Wh” is pronounced like “f.”

…and speaking of language…oh boy. Language. Don’t get me started. That’ll have to wait till next post. Till then, haere ra!

Return to Kiwiland, Part II: Why New Zealand? 2 Words: Milford Track

Posted on January 4, 2017 by gretchenwing

Kia ora! (Gotta start practicing my Maori for Pakehas–that is, white folks. I just said hello.)

Last post I promised TWO REASONS why the Mate and I are heading back to New Zealand 20 years after spending a year there.

Here goes reason #1: the Milford Track.

But before that makes sense, a little background. As I mentioned, when we lived in Dunedin in the mid-90s, our kids were small. Or, as the Kiwis put it, “wee.” Six and four. Therefore, our experience of NZ’s wonders was somewhat skewed.

For example, if you google Oamaru (the closest town of any size to Dunedin, where we lived), you’ll quickly learn that it’s home to a colony of Blue Penguins, the world’s smallest. I’m sure our boys remember the penguins–but not as well as they remember Oamaru’s AWESOME town playground, which featured a slide in the shape of a life-sized elephant.

Penguins, shmenguins.

We saw a lot of playgrounds in NZ. The Mate and I joked that we should write the kid version of Lonely Planet when we got home.

We also, of course, did a lot of hiking–what the Kiwis call tramping. Ready for some pics?

We tramped in native bush…(here, on the Abel Tasman Track)

…and bush that had been pushed back for sheep…MILLIONS of sheep.

We tramped down south in the Gold Country (near Queenstown)…

…and up on the North Island, in Rotorua (their version of Yellowstone’s thermal areas)

We tramped up mountains–little ones like Mt. Cargill, Dunedin’s high point

…and around the feet of Mt. Cook, NZ’s highest peak. (Saw wild parrots here!)

We tramped through forests…

…across beaches…

…and across some pretty iffy bridges. (I had to piggyback the boys across; they didn’t like the bouncing.)

Most of these tramps, however, were short day hikes–normal kid fare. We only went on one multi-day tramp when my parents were visiting, so we’d have an extra set of arms to help carry gear or pooped-out kids. Tramping the famous Routeburn Track was not only once-in-a-lifetime memorable, it was also, turns out, a bit of a preview of the Lord of the Rings movies.

Son Two enters Mirkwood. Right?!

Which brings me back to Reason #1. We only managed part of the Routeburn (including walking behind a waterfall, so no one complained). We did not even attempt the Milford Track.

The Milford is considered one of the World’s Great Walks. You hike from hut to hut, no tenting, and you have to make reservations about nine months in advance to tramp in summer. This, of course, limits the number of people on the track (the Kiwi word for trail, in case you hadn’t figured that out). We probably couldn’t have gotten reservations even if we’d tried, that year. But we didn’t try. Because the distances between huts ranged from a few miles to twelve. Our kids were up for about five miles; the Mate and I were not up for carrying them, along with packs, for the remaining seven.

So I don’t have pictures of the Milford–yet. But I promised myself, when we left Aotearoa (“Land of the Long White Cloud”–NZ’s Maori name) un-Milford-tracked, that if I could manage it in our lifetime, We Would Be Back.

So that’s Reason #1. Pictures to follow–in a couple of months, probably. For now, here’s a teaser, courtesy of Wikimedia Creative Commons:

Thanks, AlasdairW! Can’t wait to follow in your footsteps.

Return to Kiwiland, Part I: Why New Zealand?

Posted on December 29, 2016 by gretchenwing

No, that’s not the title of my next book. But this post does have something to do with my next book. And New Zealand. And returning.

See, in a few weeks, Wing’s World will morph back to its occasional Travel Blog form. But only after I’ve returned from New Zealand; I won’t be blogging from Godzone.* So I thought I’d better use a few posts to explain the journey. There are TWO REASONS we’re going back.

*Godzone = God’s Own Country (Kiwis are rarely boastful, but this boast makes sense once you’ve been there)

Twenty years ago, the Mate had a sabbatical and we four Wings spent nine months in New Zealand. Specifically, in the college town of Dunedin—way down at the south end of the South Island. Sons One and Two were six and four. The idea was to go somewhere

a) safe

b) gorgeous

c) with a law school to host the Mate

d) English-speaking (although, in retrospect, that southern Kiwi accent was a pretty good linguistic challenge)

Plus– New Zealand?! Who DOESN’T want to go? And this was even BEFORE the Lord of the Rings movies.

The law school at University of Otago could not have been more accommodating. Here’s the mansion they found for us to house-sit during our stay:

[Disclaimer: these are uploaded from 20 year-old digitized slides. Sorry about the quality.]

Large house, wee son. (Boy, was that house COLD! No central heating.)

The scenery could not have been more stunning. If you’ve seen the LOTR movies, you know. But just in case…

Near Arthur’s Pass

The wild west coast, near Greymouth

One of the western glaciers–Fox or Franz-Joseph, don’t remember

Near Haas (giant trout in there!)

Along the Routeburn Track

Milford Sound

OK, OK, we get it, Gretchen–New Zealand’s gorgeous. What’s your point?

Well–remember when I said we’re going back to New Zealand for two reasons? That last photo is Clue #1. I’ll hint annoyingly about Clue #2 in my next post.

Till then–enjoy the changing of the year, and I’ll see you in 2017!

Why Road Trip? A Top Five List

Posted on November 28, 2016 by gretchenwing

“You drove here?”

The Mate and I have become used to that question over our decades together–especially the last six years since we’ve added an annual Washington-to-North-Carolina sojourn to our regular Bay Area jaunts.

Why drive? I’ve been musing on this topic for the past several hundred I-5 miles. Thought I’d share the results.

1. Falling back in love with America. When you love someone, you notice tiny details, like the wrinkles at the corner of your sweetie’s smile. On road trips, I like to notice transitions between my beautiful country’s beautiful sectors. “Look–first redwood! We’re officially in coastal California!” “Aha–sagebrush! We’re in the Mountain West.”

Can’t do this from an airplane!

2. Discovering special unknowns. Like the sign on Oregon’s Rt. 199 that advertises “Sweet Cron.” Or, for that matter, the jaw-dropping Smith River that Rt. 199 is honored to shadow.

3. Strengthening that marriage glue. The Mate does 80% of the driving. I do 100% of the Spanish studying, music listening, blogging, navigating and sandwich-making. Both of us are in our happy place–2 feet apart, but in two separate worlds from which we blow kisses and share smiles when we see a sign for “Sweet Cron.”

4. Bike paths. Hiking trails. (Not many of those in an airport.)

5. Old friends along the way–really a combination of #s 1-3. They remind us who we are, why we love each other, why we love them, why we love this country. Because we can just drive up to their door…and hear them say, “You drove here?”

Canada’s Best-Kept Secret? The Sunshine Coast

Posted on October 2, 2016 by gretchenwing

Ready for a quick morph into travel-blog mode? How about a debate over what IS Canada’s best-kept secret? (I imagine it has many. Unlike the U.S., Canada does not trumpet its specialness.) The Mate and I just returned from a short excursion up British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast, and we are still scratching our heads.

How have we lived so long, and so close by, without knowing about this place?

Quick geography overview: the Sunshine Coast is–duh–on the west coast, or rather it IS the west coast, north and east of Vancouver. It is NOT an island, though it includes many. But considering you have to take TWO ferries to experience its extent, it sure is hard to convince your brain that it’s still on the mainland.

Look, here’s what I’m talking about:

(Courtesy sunshinecoastcanada.com)

Wanna drive to Whistler? Sure. Wanna drive to Gibsons? Get on a boat.

On Day One, a single ferry ride plus a generous hour’s drive from Vancouver, we were discovering the Skookumchuck Rapids. These rapids are NOT in a river–they’re formed by the tide rushing through an inlet too skinny to hold all that water without throwing it around in standing waves and trenches so deep and gnarly that kayakers come from all over to train and play in them.

Not a river? Are you SURE?!

Wheeee!

On Day Two, after our second ferry ride, I was walking through the largest town, Powell River, on my way to the info center. “Um, you might not want to go that way,” a young woman called to me from a yard. “There’s a bear in a tree down that street, and he’s been growling.” Of course I had to go see that bear. It was a big one, very black, snoozing in a crook of a cedar. In the middle of a neighborhood. Welcome to Powell River, eh?

{Did not have my camera on me at that moment, so I’ll give you a second to imagine the bear.}

Day Three, we drove to the furthest northern town, Lund, and took a 10-minute water taxi ride out to Savary Island–referred to by some Coasters as “our Hawaii.” Not sure about that comparison, but in terms of SUN and wide expanses of sand…sure, I get it. Also never heard of it. Also thrilled to be there at the end of the summer with NO ONE ELSE around.

sunny Savary, with Vancouver Island in the background

Day Two and Four, we rode our bikes 13k around Inland Lake, near Powell River. (We liked the bike path so much, we did it in both directions.)

The lake has its own wee island you can ride onto!

Not a soul around, unless loons have souls.

{OK, I’ll stop. I just REALLY liked that bike path.}

On our last day, back on the lower portion of the Sunshine Coast, we hiked a short ways to Smugglers Cove, where we found…

…THIS.

Madrona in the morning sun

Madrona with berries

I don’t usually post so many pictures, so you can tell what kind of a visual impact this place made on me. (If my computer weren’t so slow to upload them, I’d post more.) The Mate and I feel like we only got a little taste of the Sunshine Coast, and we already want to go back.

Which, lucky for us, isn’t that big of a deal. Which brings me back to that first question: why did it take us 26 years of living in the Northwest to figure this out?

So, what do you think: Canada’s best-kept secret? Or are there others I don’t yet know of?

Good Pie, Good Pie, Until We Eat Again

Posted on August 8, 2016 by gretchenwing

What’s better than pie? Pie with a nod to Shakespeare.

I’m traveling now, back east for my annual Girlfriend Get-together. Which means that, before I left, my summer life was even more hectic than usual. This is how I spent Friday, my “day off”:

Good pie, good pie.

I don’t know the folks whose wedding I baked for, only that they were both men. I baked happily in my own kitchen, putting the extra sweetness of good wishes in with the blackberries and nectarines.

That crazy rush behind me, now I’m sitting in the airport thinking about extra sweetness. It’s easy to find; even easier to increase. In a jostling crowd of strangers (even weirder-feeling when you live on an island with a year-round population of 2,400), I look for the little details that bring me pleasure.

That TSA guy has awesome dreadlocks. (I tell him so; he smiles.) That young red-haired woman is reading To Kill a Mockingbird. (You go, young woman!) That large family appears to be heading to Mexico, maybe on a family visit; I love the way the younger kids seem to be reassuring their elders. That Samoan-looking woman smiles directly at me; maybe she’s doing the same thing I’m doing.

Wherever you are today, whether you’re having a mad-rush kind of day, or humdrum-dull, or peaceful , or sad, may you find some sweetness, or bring some to someone who needs it–or both.

I’ll be back in a week.

Lava Falls: Gateway Drug to Adrenaline Addiction

Posted on July 6, 2016 by gretchenwing

I’ve never thought of myself as an adrenaline junkie. Yes, I’ve climbed Mt. Rainier, but only because she is special to me; I’m not a “peak bagger.” Yes, I did once lie on my stomach in the empty streambed of Tuolome Creek and gaze down the 1,500-foot drop of the then-non-flowing Yosemite Falls, but only because I’m an idiot who is apparently missing the gene that warns humans not to go too close to the edges of things. (Ditto with looking into Mt. St. Helens’ crater from a snow ledge on the rim–a huge no-no.) And yes, I’ve been para-sailing, but only up to 400 feet, with a friend. Easy-peasy.

My point is, I did these things because I felt drawn to them, not because I wanted to make my heart pound. I don’t even think my heart DID pound that much (except for exertion–Mt. Rainier is quite a slog).

I used to be a competitive runner. I associated adrenaline rushes with the hours and moments before races–never a good time. Often as not, you want to throw up. So what’s so great about adrenaline?

But since running Lava Falls on the Colorado a couple of weeks ago, I’m afraid I’m beginning to understand.

Lava is the biggest, baddest rapid in Grand Canyon. On the 1-10 rating scale rafters use for that river, it’s a 10, or 10+, depending on the level of the river. Scary as hell. As you might guess, it’s formed by the remnants of a one-time dam of black lava that blocked the river. To the right and left, the river roils and boils with giant waves, but boats can make it through. But in the center is a full-on waterfall, which dumps into a trench the size of a mobile home. You don’t want to go down the center. Here is what can happen, courtesy of Yakbas, who posted this:

(This video must have been taken during the “monsoon season,” when flash flooding in the side canyons turns the river back to its original color–hence “Colorado.” On our trip, it was a nice sage-green.)

Luckily I hadn’t seen this video before going on this trip. I didn’t know that the rapid could spin a raft and all its occupants like laundry in a washing machine. I just knew Lava was bigger than any rapid I’d experienced, and I WANTED it. The way I wanted Mt. Rainier and Yosemite Falls.

So the day came: June 19. It happened to be our son’s 24th birthday, and he happened to be with us, paddling in the same boat. That felt perfect.

We broke camp earlier than usual, about 10 miles upriver. The guides seemed more subdued. Our trip leader took a good 20 minutes to talk us through the rapid, drawing diagrams in the sand. Off we paddled.

After an hour of the usual red canyon walls, the lava made its appearance. Then, in the middle of the river, Vulcan’s Anvil. I was too busy paddling to take a picture, so I’m borrowing this one:

(courtesy ralphandmaida.com)

Pretty damn ominous, right? Even more so close up. And then we heard the distant roar. All rapids roar, and some small ones are even pretty good at sounding louder than they are, thanks to canyon acoustics. Lava Falls was different. Deeper, louder, throatier. A beast around the bend.

Ten minutes later, we were tying up the boats to scout the rapid from above. I decided not to take a picture. Giant, boat-eating waves never look like much till you’re in them. But I did take a picture of the huge hole in Crystal Rapid, a hundred miles upriver, when we scouted it. So this’ll give you some idea.

BIG water. Lava’s bigger.

The guides double-checked everyone’s life jackets, repeating instructions about leaning toward the waves, and about keeping your feet pointed downriver if we did “swim.” As we swung back into the smooth current, my heartbeat started filling my ears. The beast roared louder. And there we were, paddling toward it. Voluntarily. I checked my facial muscles to make sure I was smiling. Yes.

At the cusp of the rapid, where the glassy green tongue of the river glides you straight into whitewater oblivion, I could not risk taking my eyes off the rapid. But had I been able to look down, I’m pretty sure I would have seen my life jacket moving up and down from the pounding of my heart.

We hit the first wave and the four people in the front of the boat disappeared behind a wall of water. When we resurfaced, we were missing the front guy, a large rugby player we’d stationed there on purpose. They say 20 seconds or less is a good run for Lava Falls; any more and you’re in deep trouble. We came through under 20, only adding a few at the end to rescue the rugby player, who was grinning at us from the crazy rapid he’d just “swum.” (I’m glad it wasn’t my son who went in; he would’ve been fine, but parental adrenaline is the WRONG sort.) Once our boat was intact again, in time to run “Son of Lava,” we woo-hooed and smacked paddles in celebration. Then we stopped for lunch and I spent some time thinking about what I’d just felt.

Nothing more exciting, ever, with my clothes on. Wow. Damn. I can see why that stuff’s addictive.

From a limestone edge just below the falls, I took pictures, zoomed in, of what we’d just run. Of course they fell flat. As does this description.

Not even close to capturing it.

Understand: I am NOT encouraging this behavior, nor celebrating it as bravery. I’m still not entirely sure I like the way I gave in to that feeling and responded with joy instead of terror, which seems more appropriate. I guess some cliche about “feeling more alive than ever” applies here.

For the record, I can find other ways to feel alive than to make my heart pound like that. But man. I’m glad I know what it feels like. Or am I? Anyone want to weigh in on this?

Igneous, Sedimentary & Metamorphic Rock: Why Grand Canyon Offers The Best Metaphor For Love & Marriage

Posted on July 2, 2016 by gretchenwing

I adore geology metaphors. Plate tectonics, uplift, magma–are you kidding me? In Grand Canyon last year, even before this trip, I was struck by the way the three types of rock symbolize the growth of a long-term relationship. So struck, in fact, that I wrote a song about it. I’ll let the lyrics explain themselves, ok? It’s called…

Rocks of Ages

When I first met you, I couldn’t get you

Into my arms fast enough

You said you adored me, you melted down for me

Hot lava lava lava love

Two igneous kids, swimming in bliss,

That’s what we were at the start

Now that we’re older, the magma’s grown colder

But we’re still rock solid down deep in our hearts.

[igneous, ok? Plenty of that around Lava Falls in the lower half of the river]

Hot lava lava lava love

Rocks of ages, counting the stages

Life is what happens while you make other plans

After so many changes, the only thing strange is

How the earth still moves when you take my hand.

[That’s just the chorus. Now for the sedimentary, the layered stuff:]

Albums in piles, stretching for miles

Children and homes and careers

Stacking our cares and blessings in layers

Years upon years upon years

Life’s mighty stratified, but I’m nothing but satisfied

Let’s go ahead and grow old

Call us sedimentary, we must have been meant to be

‘Cause the age that we’re heading for is looking like gold.

Call us sedimentary…

Rocks of ages, counting the stages

Life is what happens while you make other plans

After so many changes, the only thing strange is

How the earth still moves when you take my hand.

[here comes the bridge…]

Who could have seen us, all that passion between us

Living those promises of sickness and health?

I’d like to say I knew, when we said “I do,”

But you know I’d really just be fooling myself.

[and now, finally–metamorphic. Rock whose chemical structure’s been changed by pressure, heat and time. That’s marriage for ya!]

After so long, feelings so strong

Generate forces so vast.

Family pressures, too strong to measure

Uplift a life that will last.

We didn’t plan it, but our love is granite—

Yeah, we got metamorph hearts.

Love in our souls like diamonds from coal

Gives us riches to live on till death do us part.

Yeah, we got metamorph hearts

[my beloved Vishnu Schist!]

Rocks of ages, counting the stages

We entered into with those golden bands

After all of our changes, the only thing strange is

How the earth still moves when you take my hand.

Rocks of ages, counting the stages

We entered into with those golden bands

After all of our changes, the only thing strange is

How the earth still moves when you take my hand.

Yeah, the earth still mooooves when you take my hand. G. Wing, April 2015

See what I mean?

Oh, want to hear what the song sounds like? Copy & paste the following URL into your browser (sorry, couldn’t get it to work as a link):

C:\Users\Gretchen\Documents\songs\RocksOfAges.MP3

Or maybe you want to share your favorite geology metaphor? Please, rock on!

Reason # 7,582 Why Grand Canyon is Just That: The Great Unconformity

Posted on June 28, 2016 by gretchenwing

If you read my last post, you know how hard I’ve been grooving on Vishnu Schist, the somewhere-around-2-billion-year-old rock at the bottom of Grand Canyon. For all of y’all who aren’t quite as rock-geeky as I am, how about this to blow your minds: in this picture, I am spanning approximately 1,050,000,000 years (that’s 1.05 billion) with my thumb and forefinger:

And my fingers aren’t even all that long.

Huh?

Allow me to let the geology experts at LPI Education Resources explain for me:

An unconformity is a surface in the rock record, in the stratigraphic column, representing a time from which no rocks are preserved. It could represent a time when no rocks were formed, or a time when rocks were formed but then eroded away.

The Great Unconformity (a.k.a. huge gap in the rock record) happens to exist between my beloved Vishnu Schist (metamorphic, formed by pressure) and the sedimentaryTapeats Sandstone laid down (much later) above it.

For me, it’s one thing to contemplate the scale of millions and billions of years laid down in rock. It’s another entirely to contemplate millions and billions of years that AREN’T THERE.

Where did they go? Were they laid down, then eroded away? Why those rocks, those years, and no others? Or were they never laid down at all? Why on earth–or, more accurately, why NOT on earth?

I already want to come back in my next life as a geologist. Since this life is already too full, I think I’ll have to wait till then to fully explore those questions. Right now, I’m content just to groove.