You can almost set your watch by the afternoon rains. Ah, monsoon season at the canyon.
You run for cover for about 20 minutes.
And then the sun returns leaving a freshness that is palpable.
Western Arts Day commemorates the western way of life which helps define what Grand Canyon, Northern Arizona, and Southern Utah are today.
Don Kramer demonstrated leather tooling while his wife Karen and a friend quilted.
Mountain men showed the tools of survival from the 1800s.
I heard Marlene Bussma recite poetry. Then I hung out by the demonstrators to answer visitor questions and give breaks when needed. In between a few rain drops.
More poets and musicians finished off the night but I was too tired to go back after working a ten hour day.
This year’s event went off without a hitch due to the remarkable coordination by Ranger Jessica, on her birthday no less, and a staff of Rangers who work together like a well oiled musket.
Nancy and George have been volunteers for eight seasons at the North Rim
Sorry if you didn’t make it this year but come and join us for this annual event.
My world has been very busy at the North Rim. Amongst my daily schedule of working in the visitor center a couple hours, presenting one to three programs, and roving in between to answer visitor questions I am the lead for our Artist-in-Residence program. Click here to learn about this program offering artists a chance to live and work at National Parks.
Six artists, in almost any genre, are chosen each year to stay at the North Rim Grand Canyon National Park for three weeks to immerse themselves, allow their creativity to flow, interact with visitors and present outreach programs in the park and upon returning home.
A couple weeks ago I joined the visiting Artist-in-Residence (AIR), poet Thea Gavin, on a nature walk with other visitors. We stopped at a quiet overlook and sat 5 minutes with eyes closed followed by another 5 minutes eyes open. Then we wrote what came to mind following Thea’s suggestions of starting with “It is _____ again…” and ending with “The _______ tells me….” Here’s what I ended up writing.
It is June again at the canyon.
The wind sometimes caresses
or makes me feel unsteady.
During a lull, soft bird song drifts past,
increasing to tree rustle, grasses wave, shadow dance.
Yet even when strong wind blows the song of the canyon my way
I prefer it to the noisy family that needs to
“Move on because of the beauty.”
The wind tells me to look inside at
my own turbulence and
find the calm.
–Gaelyn Olmsted 6/24/11
(The place we sat had a noisy family come by briefly.)
I need to do this more often. We all do.