Happy Birthday Papa Earth!

"I believe in God, only I spell it Nature."

                                                         ~~Frank Lloyd Wright

It’s April 22, 2013 1550pm in the afternoon. I’m sitting in a comfy antique wooden chair in my friend’s home in Golden, CO. I’ve been here all afternoon, slaving away over the computer as I prep lesson plans for our upcoming guide training that starts on May 1st in Alaska. I should still be prepping lessons, but I needed a break, and after staring out the window for the last fifteen minutes, I was inspired to jot down a few thoughts. 

The little house I am currently sitting in resides not far from the historic downtown district of the town of Golden. Golden is just shy of 6,000ft in elevation and is located on the valley floor along the eastern edge of what is called the Front Range. To the northeast is Denver, to the south is Colorado Springs, and to the west are the Rocky Mountains that make up the Continental Divide. I’m surrounded by sagebrush and pinion-juniper woodlands. 

Just a few days ago I drove in from the western slope region of Colorado. Aspen is located in the heart of the Rocky Mountains and sits at 8,000ft in elevation. Aspen, founded on the glitter of silver, has a thriving montane ecosystem of Aspens (the town’s namesake), Douglas fir, and pines. 

This morning I woke up to what skiers like to call a blue bird day. Not a cloud in sight, just the gleam of the sun and the bright blue sky overhead. I walked down the street to run a few errands and by the time I walked out of the store, my blue bird day had turned into a glowering gray mass of threatening weather. The wind was howling and the clouds screamed precipitation. I walked into the grocery store to pick up a new tooth brush and walked out to spitting snow. 

Thanks Mother Nature. 

Now, as I sit here, thinking and attempting to write, it is snowing a nice fine dusting of white crystals that have been falling since mid morning. It’s April 22nd, but when you’re in the mountains anything’s possible during the shoulder seasons. 

I fly for Alaska in two days for my summer gig, kayak guiding. For the next four and a half months I will be surrounded by the ebb and flow of the Pacific Ocean, the gurgling of fresh water melting from ancient glaciers, smells of Sitka spruce, western hemlocks, alders, and sphagnum moss dangling from old growth forest. I will be at sea level, but the jagged mountains jutting up into the sky on either side of Resurrection Bay have fooled many innocent tourists into thinking otherwise. 

I have just described three different ecosystems: Foothills, montane, and coastal. And that is only a glimpse into the plethora existing within this globe we trod on. Everywhere we go in the world we are exposed to various types of environs based on regions that they occupy. We change elevation and thus so do our ecosystem. Some locations, it’s a subtle transformation from one to the next; others it’s so obvious that you’d have to be blind to not notice it. 

It’s one of the aspects that I love about the industry I work in. It’s seasonal employment so we migrate where the labor is, based on the time of year. With it comes exposure to various ecological communities. It broadens our knowledge and experience as an outdoor educator. I love being in the elements for a long enough period of time that I can visibly notice the subtle changes as the seasons alter from one to the next. 

It allows me the opportunity to feel “one” with Mother Nature. 

Today is Earth Day, a global celebration of Papa Earth. Online news articles say this year’s theme is “The Face of Climate Change.” Seems fitting, and perhaps about time? 

If it weren’t for this planet and the various bio-regions that comprise it, I would not be able to do what I do. I would be out a job. When I was younger, I never really thought about the impact I had on our planet. But the more I became exposed, the more I became aware of my ecological footprint. Granted, my footprint is less than most. I don’t own a house; my material consumption is minimal at best. My use of fossil fuels is reduced to a few months here and there when I make the move from one work location to the next. Otherwise, I am often simply self powered via foot or water craft. 

However, it could still be improved. A thing can always benefit from betterment. And this is what I find myself pondering, as I sit here staring out the window, watching the snow fall. We shouldn’t have to be reminded to think about how we can reduce our footprint on a specific day once a year. Every day should be Earth Day. Heck, every day is Earth Day. 

I have had the opportunity to work in two Polar Regions where fragile ecosystems function and thrive. There are a lot of people out there in the world that scoff at the idea of climate change. It’s all malarkey or a bunch of hogwash. I’m sorry to say, but that ain’t the case. 

I’ll be honest, I am not a scientist. Growing up, my dad always said there were two kinds of smart. Book smart and common sense smart. I’d say my genes were filled with more of the latter than the former. You spend enough time in the elements, an adequate amount of time being battered by Mother Nature, and you begin to see trends. You read historical accounts of these very regions and these trends didn’t exist a hundred years ago. 

Once you’ve stared a glacier in the face and watched massive chunks of ice fall, the sound of rolling thunder echoing thru your head, as the ice hits the water; you begin to wonder about the effect of climate change. I’ve had the opportunity to paddle in water where a thick wall of thousands of year old ice once sat a mere forty years ago. A mere forty years ago! If the Earth isn’t warming due to increased greenhouse gas emissions, then can someone tell me where that ice went? 

I’ve driven on the permanent ice shelf covering a section of Ross Island of Antarctica. The year before I arrived to work for the National Science Foundation, a massive chunk of the ice shelf broke off into the water due to extreme warm temperatures. I say extreme, because for Antarctica it was an extreme change. The subtlest of alterations in the ph level of the water, or the surface temperature, in an environment like Antarctica can have drastic affects on the ecosystem there. This break-off resulted in having to establish a new section of ice road to be able to service the airport the research station based on the ice shelf each season. 

The ice that covered a portion of McMurdo Sound on the southern edge of the island becomes open water later in the summer season. During the 2011-2012 austral season this ice was only about six to nine feet thick when I was there. I had nothing to compare it to, but apparently this was thin compared to seasons past. It was due to the warm temperatures that had also allowed for the large chunk of the ice shelf to break off the season before. 

It was climate change glaring us in the face is what it was\is. 

I think as a whole we’ve come a long way in just a short time to spread the awareness of climate change. Plastic bags are being banned from grocery stores. Recycled plastic is used more and more. User friendly recycling programs are becoming the norm in many communities. Young adults are studying climate change in school. And so on and so on. But we can always do more. 

Today is Earth Day. Celebrate. Hug a tree. Smile up at the sky. Say thank you, Papa Earth. Thank you. 

Then sit down and see what you can do to reduce your ecological footprint. I dare you. You’ll be surprised at what simple changes you can make. It starts with you, us. 

**Below is a piece of writing I did a few years back that I stumbled across today. 

A Personal Reflection of the Earth 

Fran Haynes—4/22/2006 

It's Earth Day—Saturday, a day off, yet it’s another day of work, in celebration of our planet. Don't I work every day for this round globe we trod on? Why so different, on this day of all days? Isn't that why I spend nearly all my waking moments outside—because it's for this oval basket ball rotating on its titled axis. Or is it for myself, my own personal gain? 

This is the first time I've worked somewhere where people have taken the time to recognize the Earth and why we are here doing what we do. I've been working in the outdoor field for four years, alongside dedicated outdoor professionals, but Earth Day has never been a day for celebration until now. So, am I really doing all this for myself or for Papa Earth? This is my job, and now my life; I get paid to sleep outside, to ride bikes, to paddle rivers, and to take scenic pictures of all that I see. What do I love more? The bike that gets me down the road? The expensive boat that flows with the current of the river? Or do I love more the soil my bike’s tires touch, and the water that carries me down these rivers I enjoy so much? Any more, I think it's this ground I walk upon, all the rest are merely mechanisms to help myself in my enjoyment. 

I'm sitting outside against the base of a large pine writing this, the sun shining on my face. The moment could almost be perfect, almost. As all things go, nothing is ever perfect. A large, fist sized pine cone falls from the sky; it lands two feet away. Any closer it would have hit me on the head. I eye the cone where it lies. Now, do I love the pine cone because it didn't hit me on the head? I shrug; I think I would have still enjoyed it either way. If struck, it would have brought forth a curse or two, but how ironic to be walloped by a pine cone on Earth Day, of all days. 

All I can say: I'm working for you buddy, and that is how you express your gratitude? 

An Earth Day Celebration in which the above excerpt was written: AmeriCorps 2006

Working for Papa Earth and Mother Nature to make them look beautiful. Circa: 2006

'Tis the Season...To Be Seasonal

“Except. What is normal at any given time? We change just as the seasons change, and each spring brings new growth. So nothing is ever quite the same.” ~~Sherwood Smith 

If I could put a tag line to my life, I think “It’s that time again,” may be it. My father might argue and say it’s Willie Nelson’s “On the road again…” Or Hank Snow’s “I’ve been everywhere.” I can agree with “On the road again,” but I haven’t been everywhere and I don’t know if I’ll make it to everywhere, before my time on this planet comes to an end. 

Whatever way you want to look at it, it is that time again…to pack the bags and prepare for the next journey. One chapter has closed and another is opening. Welcome to a glimpse into my seasonal life.

I am currently in Aspen, CO. I’ve been here since mid January. I decided that it was time to learn how to ski and that is exactly what I’ve been doing for the last three months. 

Aspen Ski Company is comprised of four mountains within the resort: Aspen Mountain, Aspen Highlands, Buttermilk, and Snowmass. The other day I was in Snowmass Village dropping off a co-worker at her apartment after going to a house warming party. As I was driving away, I passed a parking lot that called to me like an old friend. Now, why would a parking lot create nostalgia?

One thing I quickly discovered when I arrived in Aspen is that housing is a hot commodity. I arrived at about mid-season, so housing pretty much didn’t exist. I was lucky enough to have a friend’s floor to crash on my first week here. The plan was that this would give me enough time to get my feet under me and find a place to live. 

As we all know, plans don’t always go as we…well, plan. 

I arrived here pretty much in the red financially. Housing in Aspen does not come cheaply. The few places that were available were not in my budget. I didn’t know what I was going to do. It was coming time to make a move lest I over do my stay at my friend’s place. Aspen Ski Company provides housing at discounted costs for employees, but when I arrived there was nothing open. I was calling them every day. After seven days of harassment, I finally received an email stating that a room had become available come February 1st. Did I want it?

I sure did. 

But…I had ten days to wait before I could move in. My free week on my friend’s floor was nearing its end. What was I going to do? 

Over the last few years of romping across the country side, I have gotten quite adept at living out of my car. I had all my winter gear. I had a stove and fuel. I knew the backseat of my car provided just enough room for someone of my height to sleep in. I’d slept worse places. I didn’t think twice about it. I would park my car somewhere and live out of it until I could move in to the apartment on the 1st. Done deal.

This parking lot was near Snowmass Village. For ten days, I slept in my car in below zero degree weather. Thanks to a season in Antarctica, I didn’t think twice about the consequences of weather like that. It never crossed my mind. I had a zero degree sleeping bag and a plethora of down jackets and fleece pants. I was as cozy as a pea in a pod. 

But I wasn’t quite sure if what I was doing was actually legal. Aspen is an affluent community. I was parked in the overflow parking lot of the Snowmass Golf Course. I didn’t know how they’d take to having a vagrant sleeping there. 

Enter Operation Stealth. 

Mornings I changed in the backseat of my car, the engine running to warm my boots up. I would sneak out before the sun was up to catch the bus into Aspen to go to work. After work, I visited the library, reading or writing since it was nice and warm. I’d leave when the library closed and catch the bus back to my car, sneaking in to go to bed under the cover of darkness. 

As far as I know, no one suspected a thing. I might have surprised a few snow plow operators a time or two when I hopped out of the back seat of my car in the mornings, tooth brush in my mouth, in puffy pants, down jacket, winter hat, and down slippers. But nothing was ever said. I simply brushed my teeth, hopped back into the back seat of my car, changed my clothes, crawled out and walked off. 

February 1st, I left that parking lot and moved into my apartment. I traded the coziness of my backseat for a “bedroom” in the living room sectioned off by a curtain from prying eyes. I was spending $475 a month to live in a space where I really had no privacy. Curtains are not sound proof and when you have a 21 year old roommate who likes to entertain into the wee hours of the morning, I began thinking that parking my car for the season and living out of it might have been a better alternative. I certainly would have saved a lot more money. 

Either way, as I drove by that parking lot the other day I found myself smiling. I had a connection. It had been home for ten days. I found myself thinking about all the other spots scattered across the country where I had parked my car and slept in over the years. Rest stops along major Interstates. The back corners of Wal-Mart parking lots, remote dirt roads along the Alaskan Canadian Highway.

It hasn’t exactly been the most conventional or easiest lifestyle, but it definitely has been fun. I was inspired to map out the last few years to get some statistics.

The last nine years looks something like this:

Spring 2004—Age 23—Left college and moved to Virginia to complete internship and work at Wilderness Adventures at Eagle Landing as full time staff teaching outdoor education (My first job in the industry) 

Summer 2005—Graduated college but I didn’t attend my graduation. I remained in Virginia running outdoor trips 

Fall 2005—Left Virginia for my first major road trip across the U.S. to Utah to try to work in the Wilderness Therapy industry—realized it wasn’t my cup of tea and after a week was on my way back to Virginia—this road trip was just the beginning of many journeys with my car Minnie Mouse 

Spring 2006—Left Virginia and flew to Oregon to complete a 11 month AmeriCorps term of service running a backcountry trail crew on the Pacific Crest Trail 

Fall 2006—Returned to New York for a couple of months 

January 2007—Flew to Arizona to run backcountry trail crews for the Southwest Conservation Corps 

Spring of 2007—Completed a NOLS Instructor Course in New Mexico—was a major turning point in my career as an outdoor educator 

Summer of 2007—Worked in Southern California, Idaho, and Wyoming teaching outdoor education and backpacking courses 

Fall 2007—Flew back to New York to be closer to family and worked at a camp in the Adirondacks as full time outdoor educator staff 

**From 2006 to fall of 2007 I lived out of my backpack with no car**

Winter 2007—Realized my heart and soul had been left out west while I was on the east coast—resulted in an impetuous long distance road trip back to Arizona to run backcountry trail crews once again 

Spring 2008—Worked in Arizona running backcountry trail crews 

Summer 2008—Worked in Idaho, Montana, Wyoming instructing backpacking courses 

Fall 2008—Drove back to Arizona instructing backpacking courses and another season of backcountry trail crews 

Winter and Spring 2009—Arizona running backcountry trail crews

**From Winter 2007 to Spring 2009 lived out of my car all over the west coast as I drove from seasonal job to seasonal job**

Spring and Summer 2009—Flew to Alaska to work as a sea kayak guide for Kayak Adventures Worldwide 

Fall 2009—Flew to Arizona and drove up to Alaska and settled in Anchorage—becoming an official resident of Alaska (I was determined to “settle” in an area for a while—lasted three and a half months in the city) 

January 2010—Drove to Haines, AK and took a ferry to Juneau, relocating there 

Spring\Summer\Fall 2010—Worked as a Field Coordinator for SAGA in Juneau—had the opportunity to explore the majority of Alaska Southeast 

December 2010—Left Alaska on a three day ferry to Bellingham, WA—drove cross country to Minnesota in pursuit of love 

Winter 2011—Three months in Ely, Minnesota experiencing for the first time what unemployment was like (Not a highlight of my career) 

Spring 2011—Fled Minnesota and drove back to Alaska via the Alaskan Canadian Highway (ALCAN)—Second time driving the ALCAN 

Summer 2011—Second season as a sea kayak guide in Seward, AK 

Fall 2011 and Winter 2012—Spent a season working as logistical support staff in Antarctica for the United States Antarctic Program (A once in a life time opportunity and a major life changing experience) 

Spring 2012—Explored New Zealand’s South Island with just a backpack 

Summer 2012—Third season as a sea kayak guide in Seward, AK 

Fall and early winter 2012—Three months teaching outdoor education in Hong Kong while living out of a backpack (My car was driven down the ALCAN for the third time by a friend and parked in Hood River, OR to wait for me) 

December 2012 to January 2013—A month traveling Singapore and Indonesia 

Winter 2013—Returned to the states—picked my car up in Hood River, OR and drove to Aspen, CO 

Winter and Spring 2013—Age 32—Aspen, CO to learn how to ski and experience the resort lifestyle 

And now for the big question: What’s next? 

NORTH TO ALASKA

I am packing to return to Alaska for my fourth season as a sea kayak guide. This season I return as Multi-day trip Manager. I’m nervous and excited about this opportunity. This April marks my fifth summer season there. This will be the longest I’ve spent anywhere since college. It’s the one sign of stability that exists in my life. 

To many, these years might look like a fear of commitment, fear of stability, recklessness or a lack of responsibility. And it probably is. I don’t really know what drives me to keep moving as I have. I haven’t ever really thought about it until now. Since 2004, the longest I have lived in one area for a consistent period of time is two years. Arizona and Alaska are the only locations that I have returned to consecutively. 

I was born and raised in New York. I’ve been a resident of Virginia and I’m currently a resident of Alaska, although I haven’t lived there full time since December, 2010. But it’s home to me. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to having a home of my own. Even when I’m not there, my heart is there. 

In some ways it feels like it was just yesterday that I packed that rusty, beat up Ford Tempo and hit the road for the first time. I had flown the nest for good. 

Nine years later, but it’s not all that different. Yeah, a different car, better gear, a bit more experience and knowledge, and fractionally more money in the bank. But one thing has not changed. 

The drive for adventure is as strong now as it was then. Over the past three months I have seen men and women in their 80’s and 90’s skiing as aggressively as they did when they were in the prime of their lives. I hope to be them some day. I hope to have the pulse of the mountain and the smell of the sea in my veins when I’m 100. I hope to have more locations where I have parked my car and slept like a vagrant on the street. 

I truly am homeless when it comes down to it, that’s the reality of this seasonal lifestyle. But I don’t feel homeless. I feel blessed to have had the opportunities I’ve had.