Aug. 12, 2004 - 21:12 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Gremlins ?

Middle age is a funny thing, at least to me it was. When I was about 12 Dad and Mom took me from our home in Denver to Carlsbad Caverns in Southern New Mexico.

I went from seeing that type of country on the screen in a movie house to seeing and smelling the real thing. Sagebrush, the sight and smell of it filled my very soul. The long vistas where all one could see is the same dry land clear to the end of the world. Evening coming on and the Sagebrush turning its own color, There was a Zane Grey story called I think, "Riders Of The Purple Sage" that somewhat describes it, but it seems to me to be more muted than brilliant.

My love of mesas started there too. The country between Carlsbad and Denver was endless to me. I am sure that we stopped overnight at least once, perhaps twice, but to me it seemed like a journey of years.

Oh, the Carlsbad Caverns were marvelous, wonders of nature, the Rangers who took us through were kind and informative. My mind whirled from seeing so many great things so close together. Colors and shapes unimagined by me before dazzled my eyes and soul.

Then we were stopped by an area where there was room for all of us to sit and told to stay where we were seated and not attempt to move around. After the Rangers made sure we had stablized and parents had us kids by the scruff of our necks, all artificial light was doused. How black was black was pressing on us. After a short time of absolute coal black, one light was turned on way back from the direction we came and the Rangers started singing "Rock Of Ages," as they sang the lights began to come back on and a spot was on a huge stalagmite. Thinking about the centuries it took for that huge thing to form, it was its own Rock Of Ages for us to think about.

We had lunch many feet below the surface which was a novelty to me. After lunch those of the crowd who needed to have transportation back to the surface were split off and sent up on an elevator. The rest of us made the full hike, through more beauties of the underworld to the very end.

We stayed to see the bats come out in the evening, a huge column, swirling to the heights and finally bats flying off in different directions from the top. The Rangers told us that the bats had to make a round trip of 150 miles a night to get water (in those days). So on the dry, rocky surface we made our way to where we were parked and headed for El Paso and Juarez.

As a child I was awed by the immensity of the Caverns, the beauty, the fairy tale shapes of the things formed by dripping water. Everything was magna-large to me and stayed that way . . . . . . until Heather and I took our youngest daughter to Carlsbad Caverns when she was in her teens.

It was the same caverns, the same scenery on the way down there, essentially and on the way back too. Luckily I was able to once again see the Caverns through her awed eyes and once again experience one of natures wonders. We returned home and got settled in and I began to think about the expedition. Everything seemed so much smaller, closed in, crowded on that last trip. It was just like going back to my old neighborhood when I was in my teens and living in another part of town, having my full growth. The neighborhood had shrunk remarkably compared to the way I saw it as a kid. The saying is, "You can't go home again," is true so many ways that it was hard to bring myself to realize how many implications that saying really has.

Coming back to today's world it makes me wonder who shrunk the world between the time I was very young and when I had grown up ? Gremlins ? . . . . . . . . . .

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