The African Tree

 

There once stood this beautiful, isolated tree in our neighbourhood. It had a short, squat trunk, but near the top its limbs stretched sideways, as if it were gripping the air on either side with elasticized arms. We called it ‘the African Tree’, because it resembled an acacia and grew in the middle of a fluttering field of grass. I pictured a drowsy lion sprawled under its branches, slapping flies away from its tawny chest with a flick of its tail. I imagined buzzards peering through the leaves with greedy glares and giraffes tearing off tender shoots.

 Image by Cody Pope under CC Attibution-Share 3.0 Unported

I never knew what species of tree it was. I never captured it on film. It didn't cross my mind to pluck it from the air and keep a record of its existence. It was simply there every day, a vital part of our daily commute, a constant, a comfort. One day, as I wandered past, I saw a bald spot in the field and a pile of shredded wood on the ground. Tree-munchers, tree harvesters had chewed, chopped, obliterated our African Tree.

Now bland, block-like townhouses stand in its stead. Our little slice of Africa is gone. Although the site where it stood is crowded, it looks empty, hollow. A busy street to nowhere. I will always feel an ache when I gaze at that spot, a feeling of separation and loss. Solitary, resilient, and strangely misplaced, that tree belonged in a lonely Canadian field. A bold splash of colour to a dull day; a smile that shouldn’t exist; and a reminder that no matter how tangled and trapped we feel, we can always step out on a safari.

I Dream of Caves

It will probably come as no surprise to you, since I’ve written and will be releasing a novel called Sinkhole, that I love caves. It has long been a dream of mine to visit the massive signature caves in Kentucky appropriately dubbed Mammoth Caves.

This summer my dream came true. We planned a road trip to Kentucky, and as with all road trips there were fantastic, fascinating, freaky and downright dreary situations--well, maybe not dreary, just moderately annoying.

The first leg of our journey took us around Lake Ontario and Lake Erie to the foot of Erie in Cleveland. In Cleveland we holed up in a hotel with this view within the block.

Cleveland Indians Stadium—luckily, or unluckily in certain people’s opinions, the Indians weren't in residence and no game was playing at the time.

Creepy Cemetery—make sure you always situate yourself near one on a vacation.

Since it was Saturday night, and we were in the heart of Cleveland, what else would you do but traipse down the street in your tourist attire, walk the twelve blocks or so to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and look over your shoulder at every other mystery stalker at your back.

Well, we finally arrived at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and it, conveniently, closed just as we entered the doors. Time to trudge back twelve blocks, and it was rather hot outside.

The next day we headed for the caves in Kentucky. I opted to drive through the major cities on this day: Columbus and Cincinnati. I have no problem driving through cities (not in them, mind you), but Cincinnati took me by surprise. We crested a hill, peered over the side towards spectacular towering office buildings, immediately sped downward into a tunnel, veered sharply left and climbed onto a bridge that landed us squarely, or obtusely, in Kentucky.

This was the view while ripping through, I mean driving serenely through the city.

Finally we arrived in Kentucky. This is what Kentucky looks like:

Rolling hills with very few streams and rivers, but a number of these:

Sinkholes

I would explain the geology to you, because it fascinates me—limestone base rock with a sandstone cap rock, but my guess is it might become dry, so I’ll let you read about it here.

So within . . .

we were first introduced to the local wildlife:

Wild turkeys

Not Kentucky Fried, mind you, but probably taste delicious dipped in batter, or simply roasted. Yes, I guess I was getting hungry at the time.

Then we ran out of road. . .

Really should have paid attention to the signs.

Our hotel was phenomenal. I’m reminded of residence life in university. Yes, the quarters were that tight and the beds were that hard. And the staff was . . . well, not exactly friendly. The only hotel in town, indeed.

But who cares, because we were there for caving, not five-star luxury accommodations. But before we embarked on our first cave tour, I thought it wasn’t too much to ask for a little fresh/not fried food, possibly some fruit. What? No fruit? Yep, nothing but apple slices, morning, noon and night. (I know this isn’t a fruit story, but there is a point, I swear.)

The next day it was time for the Historic Tour from the only natural entrance in the longest cave system in the world. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.

Entrance

Creep hole

Sarcophagus

Pit

Remember the Dome Sinkhole above. This is what lies beneath.

Rotunda

Yes, there were a number of tight squeezes that were appropriately named.

Exit

On our way out the temperature differential was a tad drastic: 55° F to 110°F, enough to fog up your glasses.

After Tour Number One, we explored a few trails above ground in the balmy temperatures. At one point we came upon Sand Cave (actually I mapped out the route and made sure we grabbed a glance at this unspectacular cave since I did include a little story within the story about Floyd Collins and his demise in Sinkhole).

Where Floyd Collins met his untimely end.

While hiking, and sweating, in the lovely scenic national park, we were also discovered by curious wildlife.

Day Two included a trip to nearby Diamond Caverns, which don’t actually contain embedded diamonds, but something far more spectacular.

Cave creations

And a few people gawking at Cave Creations

The next day we opted for the strenuous cave tour: 4 miles underground, 4 1/2 hours, 1% of the Mammoth Cave system. One day I plan to return and explore the other 99%.

Tight Squeeze (not really, but awesome S formations)

That's a cave, man. Yes, contrary to the evidence of flash photography, it was dark.

Lunchtime

Lunch in the Snowball Room. Note the snowball formations above our heads.

Frozen Niagara

Frozen Niagara Ceiling

The next day we headed back to Cincinnati, where this time I vowed I’d actually stop and get a real view of the city . . .

And check out the local wildlife . . .

Ignoring the fact that we were entirely landlocked.

Sometimes you should be careful what’s behind you, though.

Our last day of road trip activity took us back to Cleveland, where we were determined to visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Of course we did find the local wildlife here rather fascinating. . .

And we came upon this steamer ship that I just couldn’t resist, although it was 110°F in the shade, or in the hold. Wilting, but still an absolute joy to discover, two football fields in length.

In the good old U S of A.

And yes, we made it into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame where . . . they wouldn’t let us take pictures, except for this one.

After walking around downtown Cleveland in the worst heat wave of the decade, I realized I preferred to see the Hall of Fame from this vantage point.

Air conditioned Hotel Room

It was a long trip, so we were lucky we caught a few of these along the road:

Mmm. Coffee. Or preferably, at the time, Iced Cappuccino.

A fabulous trip, all things considered. We arrived home after seven days without fruit and I went a little overboard.

Ontario Fruit, nothing like it, along with a few of those Mexican bananas. Did you see the wild blueberries? Did you see the Kahlua and Baileys? Well, you know, we did cross the border.

And about those tacky T-shirts and souvenir cups that you shake your head at?

Couldn’t resist.

But the best is yet to come, because I can relive the adventure when I read and watch all of these . . .

 Did you really think I’d leave without books (and DVDs)?

Comiccon is Trending

You understand that in order to write sci-fi, even “serious” sci-fi, you must first be a Trekkie, and perhaps a Star Wars fan too. No, I've never been to Comiccon before. Comics aren’t my thing, but when Shatner comes to town and you have an opportunity, well...you must...see...The Shatner.

The morning began this way.

My husband and I bounced out of bed. My son dragged his sleep-drugged hormone-infested 15-year-old body from beneath the covers an hour later. My daughter was still comatose. So I sent her a text:

Time to get up.

And again two minutes later.

Time to get up.

And two minutes later.

Are you up yet?

Yah.

The Shatner awaits.

So she got up, 20 minutes later.

Then we were off. We drove into the fairly ginormous lot of the CE building, found a parking spot—a good sign—and joined this line.

This is what 12,000 people in a line-up looks like. But we didn’t realize it snaked around the building, zigzagged and looped back again. As we turned the corner and discovered how long the line really was, a look of astonishment and disgust flashed onto our faces. Then, after we zigzagged and looped back, the next group of people turned the corner, with looks of astonishment and disgust. This time we laughed, 'cause we were in the home stretch, baby.

The home stretch took an hour longer, but we weren't bored. It gave us a chance to gawk at all the spectacular and sometimes lame costumes.

Finally we entered the zoo door.

Got it, got it, want it. Actually don’t have any at all.

We stopped by the Star Wars booth. They were too busy fighting the dark side and intergalactic wars to bother with us.

But they were cute.

Eventually I became caught up in the purpose of the event: celebrity-worship. Not every day you get to see Elvira.

Or Q.

Or the Delorian. You can worship a car too.

I apologize for the crappy photos, but you must understand how hard it was to even get close to a car with 12,000 people batting you out of the way (or at least jostling). And the resolution on this camera was bloody awful.

Back to celebrities: Even Starsky and Hutch made an appearance. Not. But their car did. It looked appropriately battered, so I think it was the real deal.

But no Shatner.

After browsing and gawking for a good hour or two, we headed over to the panels.

Marina Sirtis was giving a speech and I thought, what the hay, let's see if she can provide us with some insight into the inner workings of the Enterprise, and Wesley Crusher (not that we cared) (about Wesley Crusher). Little did we know . . .

. . . she'd be the highlight of our visit. Deanna Troi is the wimpiest, dullest character in the Star Trek series. But on that little stage she shone, and did her best to disparage The Shatner. How dare... you disparage...The Shatner. Undoubtedly she'd been a comedian in another life, or on another planet. We heard stories of her delight at finally getting to "drive the ship" in Generations, until she actually read the script and discovered she crashes the ship, not once, but twice, and in another instance how she endured The Wrath of the Director and Crew when she refused to sit on burning embers in the captain's chair after an explosion and forced them to spend six hours reconstructing the set; this lady had us in stitches.

Did we actually get to see The Shatner, though? No. While Marina blessed us with her stand-up routine, Shatner breezed in, signed 300-400 autographs at $75 a pop, and breezed out again. He also gave a speech, but I wasn’t tackling that line which extended nearly as far as the original five kilometres we slogged through to get in. Honestly, Marina upstaged the man entirely, so we didn’t miss a thing.

And we got to see him . . .

It's the Star Trek bear. Don't you recognize him from Episode ?

But we did worry we wouldn't be allowed to leave, because, you know . . .

Besides being a total blast, Comiccon triggered some nostalgia. My husband and I remembered our Star Trek years, and how our daughter adored the Star Trek theme song. I’ll show you how much . . .

And there you have it. They do start young, don’t they? Can't resist the call of the Enterprise. To boldly go where no one . . .

Live long and prosper, my fellow Trekkies.