High on Water

It has long been a semi-secret dream of mine to climb the water tower near my church in El Dorado Springs.

Well, allegedly, recently some individual (who may or may not be an acquaintance of mine) may or may not have supposedly climbed (or not) said alleged water tower.

And here are some alleged pictures.





Let no one follow this foolish young (or old) man's (or woman's) alleged example. Especially not wearing flip-flops! But it was a mighty fine view of the sunset. Supposedly.

Tonka Tick Madness!

I've written here before of a great little overnight backpack not far from my home. It's a state park called Ha Ha Tonka, and there's a seven-mile loop trail that's got some great scenery and crazy rock formations. Well, my dad and I went and hiked said trail on Fathers' Day weekend. It was a great time with my dad, and I was really glad we did it. That said, it was also ritickulous! I've never seen so many ticks in my life! I had some DEET repellent cream that I was smearing on myself, but when we were hiking I would look down every few minutes and there would be upwards of 20 or 30 ticks on EACH pant leg. I'd brush them off, only to be retickulated a few steps further on. I think it's intickative of the move away from widespread DDT spraying in America. (Not that I'm convinced DDT was a good thing, mind you - it apparently almost wiped out some predatory birds. Don't tell me that's a bunch of bosh, either, because according to the best research I can come up with that issue is far from settled.)

Anyway, the ticks. I read somewhere that a pair of guinea fowl will clear two acres of ticks almost completely within one year. I'm considering buying some. The ticks were so bad on this trip that I don't have any enlightening photos to accompany this post - I was too busy brushing off ticks to take pics. (Oy - this post is really overdoing the lame wordplay.) I still have lots of itchy bites on my legs, too.

But I was glad my dad did that hike with me. It was fun despite the crazy ticks, and we had a good talk on lots of issues.

Right now my dad and mom are in Yosemite, so recently vacated by Dwain, and before that, by Pastor Joe and family. My mom and dad rode an Amtrak train to California and rented a car for the drive up to Yosemite. They like this Amtrak traveling stuff - I'm pretty jealous myself.

My Mature Little Sisters

Okay, this one is about my family. If you don't care, don't read it.

I'm the oldest of three siblings. I have two little sisters, and we're each separated by about two-and-a-half years. Lynette is the older of the sisters, and Karen is the younger.

Growing up, I always had to be better than both of them at everything. I of course would regularly beat them up just to prove I could. I would always outdo them in whatever they were doing, and laugh scornfully to rub it in. Unfortunately for me, though, I was the sibling with the, uh... laid back... approach to life. When you're on top of the heap, you tend to lose your edge, after all.

I had zero attention span. I was oh-so-fashionably ADD. After a while this had a telling effect on my quest for superiority in everything. Lynette learned to read well early, and taught Karen all she knew. Karen began reading Nancy Drew books... at age four. I did well in school for the most part (although my report cards all talk about my problems with "lack of focus" and "daydreaming"). My sisters did better. We all loved music and took piano lessons. We all enjoyed acting and drama. By high school, my sister Lynette was better than me at acting. By the time I started college, both sisters passed me up in their piano skills. I decided to switch my area of specialty to synthesizers, since I didn't have the chops to out-play either of them on the keys.

Karen eventually became the best pianist our side of I-70 (she recently charmed a piano store owner out of a really nice grand piano for much less than it was worth, just because she can play Debussy like Pujols can play baseball).

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Lynette eventually got a scholarship for theater and now teaches the subject at Shawnee Mission South High School, a job she accepted to the great consternation of many top-flight acting schools, Broadway producers, and film agents who were stalking her day and night and demanding she sign fat contracts. Watching her run a rehearsal is better than the special features on any DVD you can name - the lady knows her stuff.

I? I became a six-year college student who couldn't settle on a major and eventually got a bachelor's degree in youth ministry so I could hang out with hyper teenagers whose attention spans were compatible with my own.

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A couple of years ago Lynette married a strapping, hirsute fellow named Joel. He's a theater guy too, besides being a swell fishing, camping, and video gaming buddy.

Last year Karen married a strapping, hirsute ninja named Brandon. He's a preacher, ninja, and a fine backpacking companion.

Both of my sisters are better than me at most things.

Both of my sisters' husbands could snap me like a twig.

But I can still program a synthesized sound from the waveform up, or take a sample of a cow mooing and turn it into Beethoven's Fifth. Let's see them do THAT. Oh, and whereas both of my sisters had to condescend and marry somewhat below their station, I married Cindy. If you think a thermonuclear detonation creates heat, you should see this lady walk into a room.

Okay, enough of this mushy talk about my sisters. I've got to be able to keep my supper down, after all. Speaking of supper, y'all should try my fajitas...

Comfortable Discomforts

So earlier this month, I added Great Smoky Mountains National Park to my list. To the best of my recollection that makes ten national parks, not including various national forests, national monuments, national historic sites, etc. I'd really like to see all of them before I die. I know there are amazing natural wonders outside the boundaries of national parks, but you're pretty much guaranteed to see some cool stuff when you go to one. The Department of the Interior at least got that part right.


My favorite park is, and probably always will be, Yosemite. But Great Smoky Mountains National Park was great too (Hee!). The reason I went was that my friend Travis Sayler and I organized a four-day backpacking trip for several of our young COGH minister colleagues.

There ended up being five of us once all the riffraff chickened out after hearing the daily mileage figures. Meh - lightweights. ...And I have to admit we chickened out too after the first day. We cut a significant chunk of the mileage off our original plan. The trails in GSMNP are for serious. Our highest altitude of the trip was just a bit over 6,000 feet, which isn't much, considering. So I must admit I underestimated the difficulty. After all, I've hiked "fourteeners" in Colorado and done okay. I even did Half Dome in Yosemite, one of the toughest (but most rewarding) day hikes you'll ever meet. But even though Great Smokies never gets very high, there just aren't many level places on those trails. That, and I seriously over-packed. Hey, I'm an eagle scout. "Be prepared," right? I was prepared for a tsunami or a blizzard. But I was hauling close to fifty pounds on my back. No problem, right? Well, as I said, there are no level places on those trails. One day we gained over 3,000 feet in about three or four miles, then lost 1,500 feet of that again in the next mile or so. Ascents like that are tough. Descents are, too. They take a different kind of toll on the body, but descents aren't as easy as you'd think when you're hauling a heavy load, especially on narrow, rough, steep trails with dangerous washed-out places and not a lot to stop you if you start falling down the mountainside.

But even though I'm whining, I must confess I loved it. One day I was hauling up a tough grade on a trail appropriately named the "Sweat Heifer." I was feeling the weight in my pack pretty intensely. A mosquito landed on my leg and began his snack. I started to smack him, but then said, "Drink all you want, buddy - that's a drop of blood I don't have to haul up this hill." I had my teeth gritted, my lungs on fire, my legs burning, sweating more than the trail's namesake, my stronger (and more lightly packed) companions out of sight far ahead of me, and I just started giggling. Delirium? Probably. But also, I was surrounded by relentless beauty. I was... not at my desk. I was pushing through the pain and I knew I wouldn't quit. I was having frank discussions with God on all manner of topics. There was almost a comfortable feeling that came over me when I looked at the distant views, the mossy rocks on the trail, the freshly green hillsides around me.

The nights were the best. Two of the four nights, we stayed in Appalachian Trail shelters. Shelters on the AT are unique backpacking experiences. They're made of rock, logs, and tin roofs. There are several wooden racks that everyone sleeps in. It's completely random whether you'll have the shelter to yourself or share it with twenty strangers.

One night, we five young ministers shared the Peck's Corner shelter with two or three atheists,
a hippie universalist, a Native American who was reading Screwtape Letters, and a Scottish agnostic. That evening we all sat around while some burned incense, tobacco, or marijuana (I only burned part of my supper - for reals), discussing the world and God and matters of faith. The full moon rose just after sunset and we discussed evolution vs. creation. We talked shop on various methods of packing, the best trail foods, and how to save weight. (Did you know that through-hikers on the AT sometimes cut the handles off their toothbrushes to save those few fractions of an ounce?) We talked politics. And we went to bed with no one angry and no one being argumentative. (Contact highs? Perhaps. ...Just kidding. The marijuana use was covert and at a respectable distance from the shelter.)

One of the atheists even told us he was glad there were Christians out there like us - Christians who didn't view people like him as the enemy. And for all you Christians reading this, they aren't! So much of the time we use battlefield rhetoric in some potentially dangerous ways. There's a "culture war" or the Left is "making war on Christians" or any number of others. When we talk like that about people, those people tend to get a bit nervous, and understandably so. We have to remember our battle is NOT against flesh and blood. Write that down - it will be on the final.

So that night I slept on an upper rack above a Native American who turned out to be a world-champion snorer. The Scottish fellow was no slouch, either. Again, though, I loved it. I fell asleep grinning, an odd comfortable feeling coming over me.


Oh, I love my REI Half Dome two-man backpacking tent. It's light, easy to set up, well-ventilated, dry as a bone in torrential downpour, and they thought of everything. Two of the nights on the trip I shared this tent with my friend Kevin Askew. If you're looking for a great two-man tent, get this one. (REI, if you want to talk paid endorsements, I'm listening!)

Since I'm talking gear, I also recommend Merrell boots and Smartwool socks. I had no idea what a difference merino wool socks made for your feet. And no, they don't make your feet hot and itchy. Buy Smartwool and enter a brave new world of foot comfort! The Merrells are highly recommended as well. Brandon Speak (my brother-in-law) and I were the only two on the trip who had them, and we were the only two who had little or no blistering on our feet. Randy J. Bland, another friend who did the trip, had his feet in shredded, bloody agony after the first two days. I loaned him a pair of Smartwools, and he said the next day was relatively pain-free. Also, Smartwools don't stink nearly as bad as cotton or synthetics. Again, Merrell and Smartwool, if you're looking to pay someone for endorsements, I promise to do a nice writeup in my blog.

Out On A Limb

This is a great video that features the Skit Guys, my favorite acting duo of the moment. It won the Southwest Airlines "Wanna Get Away?" commercial contest.

Church Signs Continue to Shock, Awe

The latest entry in the "World's Worst Church Sign" Contest has it all: vagueness, failed attempts at clever irony, insider churchy language, and simple awfulness.

This one has a story attached, even. The sign read, "When eagles are silent, parrots will squawk." I saw it, thought it over, and chuckled a bit. I told Cindy about it, and she, always trying to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, said she thought the intent was good. We decided it meant that if the noble, good, and true folks don't speak up, then the gaudy, noisy, and rude will rule the day. But... wow. Then Cindy happened to mention the sign to a coworker in a conversation about noisy birds outside classroom windows or some such. The coworker acted a little offended that Cindy would mention it in such an offhand fashion, saying she thought it was an important reminder that we need to be silent and listen for God to speak in our lives. When Cindy told me this, my reaction was a hearty guffaw. So God is the squawking parrot? I love this town.

A Tree-Hugging Granola-Faced Pansy Boy

So I grew up going to a Christian school (a very good school, too) in Midwestern Suburbia. Our state representative, state senator, US representative, US senators, governor, and the rest were typically Republican. My teachers in school taught a very conservative political outlook on life, fueled by doses of Rush Limbaugh and Michael Reagan.

I'm still fairly conservative politically. I find the abortion issue tough to sidestep, and I still weigh that issue very heavily in my consideration of candidates to vote for. I'm still registered as a Republican voter. But there's an insidious streak of liberalism in me, and for this I place the blame squarely on my dad.

Readers who know my dad will doubtless be shocked by this wild accusation. Dwight Purtle teaching liberal politics to his son??? Lemme 'splain you how come.

It started with the family vacations. Unlike most Baby Boomer uber-capitalists, my parents didn't buy us enormous piles of plastic junk for Christmas every year. We got stuff, and it was good stuff. But some of my friends got a lot more stuff. One year when I was about ten and my sisters were about eight and six or so, I noticed the disparity between my friend's stack of Christmas loot and my own. I broached the subject with my dad, and he looked thoughtful for a bit. Then he told me that my friend Steve's* parents spent half the year every year paying off Christmas. They were apparently proud of it. He told me that wasn't the way we did things.

Then he asked me where Steve had gone for vacation that summer. I told him I thought they went to Branson for the weekend. "And where did we go?"

We'd gone to California. Two full weeks away. Granddad's house and Sequoia and Yosemite National Parks in the Sierra Nevadas. We did this at least every other year. I loved that trip, even though it usually meant a road trip of three days out and three days back in an 80-something Oldsmobile sedan with my two sisters and me in the back seat fighting most of the time. Sequoia National Park is home of the world's largest living thing: the "General Sherman" tree, a Giant Sequoia redwood. There are also lots of great mountain hiking trails and scenery.

Yosemite National Park was, and still is, simply my favorite place. I've mentioned it before in this blog. Granite monoliths almost a mile high, some of the tallest waterfalls in the world, and relentless beauty everywhere.

On these trips, my dad taught us wilderness ethics. Littering was a crime deserving severe punishment. We were to leave campsites "better than we found them," picking up not only our trash, but the trash the previous people had left as well. "Don't feed crackers and food to the squirrels," he said. "Our food isn't good for them." We were not to get too close to wildlife, even though other people would surround a deer or bear with their cameras clicking excitedly. We were not allowed to pick wildflowers. "Leave them so everyone else can see them too." We stayed on the trail: we didn't want to damage the plants or erode the soil. We kept our voices low, and saw more wildlife than many of the other hikers. We went to ranger talks in the evenings and paid attention when they told us how to "leave no trace" when we hiked and camped. We listened as they told us how people had damaged many of the pristine wilderness areas, and how we could help restore those areas by following certain guidelines. We decried the debacle of Hetch Hetchy Reservoir.

Another major contributing factor to my liberalism for which I blame my dad is National Public Radio. The NPR member station in Kansas City is KCUR, and I've probably listened to more programming on that station than any other in my lifetime, with the possible exception of a Christian station in Kansas City called KLJC. My dad would also tune in the nearest NPR station wherever we were on the road. Besides promoting all kinds of obscure underground jazz, world music, and new age artists, NPR has a decidedly leftward-leaning slant on the news, especially on environmental issues.

And then we started to recycle. We started taking in aluminum cans long before it was fashionable. We got a "recycle bin" at home just like the rest of the neighborhood, but we actually did it conscientiously. We would cut the labels off tin cans and pop bottles, cut the little plastic rings off the tops by where the lids screwed on, and we recycled everything we could recycle - by the book. We turned off lights and tried to conserve water (this was mostly because it made good fiscal sense, it's true, but we did it). We lowered the thermostat in the winter and raised it in the summer. We got energy-efficient windows and light bulbs.

And finally, we took National Geographic magazine for my entire life. I still read it cover to cover every month. Do you know they have some of the finest photographers in the world on staff?

So let me make my confession. I am what some of my teachers at the Christian school might have termed a "tree-hugging, granola-faced pansy boy." When it comes to environmental issues and the whole "greenhouse gas," "carbon footprint," and even the dreaded "global warming" thing, I'm as left as the side of the road the Brits drive on. I like nature to stay natural. I like trees. I like people who pick up their trash. I like fair-trade shade-grown coffee and organic farming. I like clothing companies who don't exploit the environment or employ child labor in other countries. I support local farming. I like fuel-efficient, low-emissions cars. When my wife gets a cup of coffee to go, she saves the cup and reuses it at least once. I'm learning to follow her example.

Let me make clear that I'm still skeptical about various environmental organizations. I read a news story about an Earth Day celebration in Dallas a few years ago that left a lot of litter all over the place. I think a lot of environmentalist wackos are precisely that: wackos. And I still believe God created this whole world, despite reading and hearing all the evolutionism in National Geographic and on NPR. And it's precisely because I believe that God created this world that I think it's worth taking care of. He gave us that job, remember? We're to have dominion over it, but we're not to wreck it with our trash.

Now go pick up some litter. And recycle that soda can.



*Not his real name. Mysterious, eh?