'A lotta rocks, y'all.'

The title of this piece comes from a dude who, upon first getting out of his car in the Yosemite Valley Lodge parking lot, looked around and then said to his family still sat in the vehicle: It's a lot of rocks, y'all. 

I will not say that seeing stubbed out cigarettes butts on the ground at a bus stop in Yosemite Valley would typify my experience visiting the national park, but it's not far off. There are hoards of visitors to the valley in the summer, and, arguably, not enough oversite of said guests. I spent a portion of my visit picking up litter, unfortunately. That said, I was glad to see the grandeur of the park after 44 years. I have hazy memories of our family trip to Yosemite--I think we camped--but even if I had remembered the 1980 stay, today's park experience would probably not be comparable as the number of visitors to the park have nearly doubled over the ensuing years. In 1980, there were approx. 2.4 million visitors to the park--which is still loads, to be honest. But compare that to pre-pandemic nos. hovering around 4 million annually. The last visitor tally taken was in 2021, I think, and the number of park guests that year was around 3 million.

My buddy, S., flew over last week from England and is making her way from California to Las Nevada via automobile. S. bunked with me here in SF the first part of her stay, then we both traveled to Yosemite together before parting ways yesterday. She traveled on to Sin City via Death Valley while I took public transport back home. (I wouldn't recommend it, to be honest, as I spent nearly ten hours on trains and busses before throwing in the towel and having my hubs pick me up from a bus stop about three miles from home.) I've major travel fatigue today, let me tell you.

S. was completely enamored of the flora and fauna in Yosemite. I would hazard to guess that her home turf of Newbury is vastly different. While we do have similar flora in my neck of the woods--redwood, oak, pine--the scale and magnitude of Yosemite makes visiting the trees feel that much more grand. 

Over the summer, I worked a retail job in a tourist area here in town called Pier 39. It's, as the name might imply, along the water and from the pier one has a stellar view of the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz and the Marin Headlands when the skies are clear. Visitors from all over the world and the country visit Pier 39. I found that most days at work had me interacting with folk from German-speaking countries. The boss, interestingly, told me when I was hired and found out that I spoke German: We hardly get any German visitors. That told me that a) she doesn't know what German sounds like and b) she must not ever visit the Pier 39 shop. After a month on the job, I knew for sure that it was the latter and probably also the former. 

Anyway, back to Yosemite--German guide books must have a sort of prescribed route for visitors to California to take because the majority of those with whom I spoke had rented a vehicle and were traveling between SF and Los Angeles with stops in Yosemite, and in Las Vegas (this included seeing the Grand Canyon), and, time permitting, a trip to Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah as well in between.  It would seem that if the Germans are anything, they are nature lovers. 

I didn't take any litter pictures while in Yosemite because why bring any of us down, but I did take a snap that, for the most part, incapsulated my stay there. 

I'm still trying to figure out how these Germans got their VW camper vehicle over here from Hessen (I looked the plate up). Talk about dedication to the cause! 

I will leave you with a few more pictures of Yosemite--

El Capitan, there are five climbers on the rock face, if you can believe it!

Camp Curry, Half Dome in the background.

This big boy was eventually startled by some nitwits having a photo shoot/video shoot in the grass nearby.

Lovely day in the yard--

This is my view from the new dining table out back while I read Joanne's latest blog post. I can't tell you how thrilled I am to be sitting outside right now. There are workmen using power tools on a house a few doors down and I can hear a steady stream of screams coming from St. Gabe's, a Catholic elementary school, on the corner. BRRRRR!!! then EEEEEE!!! then some more BBBUUUURRR!!! And you know what? I really do love it. This yard makes me happy as a clam. 

The cats are darn happy, too, when they are able to be sprung from the Catio and let out into the wider yard, that is. I can't really keep an eye on both of them at once--they always eye the fence--so I have to have them out with me one at a time. Marcel was outside with me first and then poor Bartie was allowed out after his plaintive cries pierced my heart. 

Marcel under the jade plant.

Sad Bart with his stuffed mouse for comfort stuck in the Catio.

Big Boy Joy out in the backyard with me.

New garden, new life.

The grey has been greened!

We're not only enjoying our new backyard digs, but the front yard brings us joy as well. It's a different vibe--the area is small and fairly close to the sidewalk, so we see passersby up close and personal, as it were, but the south-facing front yard can be really warm and inviting to sit in when the sun is out. The plants at the front of the house are mostly a repeat of what has been planted in the back; it's an entirely native plant garden. We've some potted succulents and a few milkweed plants--both broad and narrow-leaf varieties that may find their way into the ground at some point--dotting a small seating area one can easily access via our front door. 

The milkweeds came from the nursery replete with Monarch eggs (much to our surprise). There were four caterpillars that all reached maturity on those plants and three of them, we know for sure, emerged from their chrysalises, then spent a short bit of time in the garden pumping up their wings before flying away. It was such a treat to observe the process of their growth cycles. 

Here are a few snaps from the Monarch experience-

Two on one milkweed plant.

 

 The butterfly will soon emerge.

Nearly ready to fly southward.

When it was time, two of the Monarch caterpillars made their way from the milkweed to a buckwheat plant at the edge of the front garden wherein they made their chrysalises. One of the caterpillars made due with a bit of driftwood for his chrysalis and the fourth, well, we couldn't find him once he left the safety of his milkweed plant. We hope he was successful in making his transition! 

Just in time for...

Near the end of May, at the beginning of the landscaping work to spruce up the back and front yards, the head dude, Josue, said rather enthusiastically: -just in time for Summer! He meant, of course, that the work that began in May would likely conclude about mid-July, then we'd be ready to enjoy the rest of our summer days out in the new backyard digs. When the end of July rolled around, he said: -just in time for Fall! And, of course, Josue meant that the work would conclude--after an illness, a missing bit of wood that needed to be newly ordered, and a vacation put the job on hold for a good few weeks--mid-August. 

Today is August 28th and the job would appear, knock wood, to be finished!

Here are a few before and after snaps for you to feast your eyes on:

This is the yard when we first moved in. 

We then added raised beds, planted around the perimeter, and laid down seeds for a lawn.

After a few years of having the lawn, we decided to let it die as it was, after all, quite costly to maintain. It just doesn't make sense to grow lush, green grass in this semi-arid climate. We opted instead to plant native flora in our raised beds and tend to the plants along the fencing we'd both inherited and had put in the ground ourselves. 

Ultimately, the yard, a rectangle with a concrete footpath around it, didn't really float our boat, so we thought about ways to re-mold it into a more user-friendly and pollinator-attractive habitat. Whatever we thought of absolutely included removal of the concrete path, and a mega-large slab of concrete at the back of the house that was likely used as a seating area by the previous homeowner. Looking for inspiration, we went online to see what local landscaping companies were doing. We found a landscape design firm here in SF that seemed to be invested in creating gardens that were more aligned with local climate and environment than not, so we approached them for assistance. The design included about 70% local plants and 30% non-native. All of the concrete was to be removed and some of it would be repurposed and used as a footpath. We would still have our old raised beds and potted plants from before the yard re-do. The finished result is a beauty. I'm so glad we took the plunge. 

We also had the landscape dudes enclose a small portion of the yard at the back of the house that would be for the cats to use. They have access to the 'catio' via my husband's office. It's a cosy space replete with cat mint and ferns and such, but there aren't yet enough elevated spaces for the cats to perch on, so they'd really rather be out in the 'big yard'. If we're feeling like we can keep an eye on them, then we bring them out to sit with us, but as soon as they start eyeing the fence, we put them inside. 

View from back of the house--

From my new bench at the back of the yard-- 

Partial plant list for those who are interested:

Yerba Buena

Sticky Monkey Flower

Yarrow

Coastal Sage

Coastal Sedge

California Lilac

Buckwheat

White Sage 

Coyote Mint

Unhinged

I'm talking about me, unfortunately. Within a span of about a week, I've lost my rag on people. Were the outbursts justified? You be the judge. 

At a rather well-visited produce market on Friday, a man assumed I had cut in front of him in order to get to the til two minutes faster than him. There were three shoppers in front of me and he was sort of in the middle of the aisle shopping, but not at the end of the line, so I stood behind those few folks. At some point, I sort of heard a disembodied voice say something like, 'Excuse me, ma'am..?' and didn't think much about it as I did not think it was directed at me. Then I felt someone push a shopping cart/trolley into my hand cart/basket repeatedly. I realised then it was the man I'd noticed shopping. He had been speaking to me and now he was aggressively pushing his cart into my person. I felt panicked, didn't know how to respond, so, in the great tradition of supreme avoidance, kept facing front and silently waited those few minutes until a was at the til. The line I was standing in branched off; one had two checkstands to choose from. I chose the one on the left. The aggro dude followed behind me in order to give me shit for the perceived slight. 

You know you saw me. 

Dude, whatever. 

The world doesn't revolve around you. 

And it doesn't revolve around you shopping in an aisle. 

He would not drop it, so I invited him to meet me in the parking lot for a fist-fight after we finished paying for our groceries. Just before I left the store, I stuck my backside out and asked him if he wanted to ram me with his shopping cart a few more times for good measure before I left. Dude responded by calling me 'old' as in wasn't I too old to be behaving the way I was. Ah, the retort of the simple! Readers, it wasn't pretty. My 6'3" husband wondered if the man's response to feeling put out would have been the same if he had been with me, or, indeed, had been shopping in my stead that day. 

***

This morning, I watched as some clueless dog owner let her dog use our front garden as a toilet. I rapped on the front window and got her attention. She looked at me as I gestured to her to not let her dog do what it was doing. She ignored me, and when the dog was done, she walked on. I then went outside, saw the excrement and saw red. I yelled after her to, again, not allow her dog to defecate and urinate on the plants. She looked back at me, said nothing, and kept walking. I used a few choice words before going back inside, but not before picking up the 'doggie dropping' and disposing it in the bin. Had I known where she lived, I would have taken the poo to her porch and left it. Am I nuts? Maybe? 

Lamentation

Well, that happened. And what good did it do? Kooks will find his survival some sort of divine right. 

While walking home today along a well-visited stretch of road called The Embarcadero, I spied a lone dude stood at a folding card table selling those fucking stupid MAGA "$10 Hat". I pointed, looked and laughed openly at him. I have to tell you I worry about who'll be laughing come November. 

USPS...adieu!

I may have waited a bit too long to finish the story of my brief sojourn with the USPS as the memories of my time delivering mail are already fading fast. What I will say is that job contentment is almost all down to whether or not your unit (the USPS uses military terminology) has a robust union presence and whether or not your supervisors began as letter carriers or were brought in directly as management with no practical experience out in the field, as it were. My unit, unfortunately, had neither a decent shop steward nor a management structure that benefited from anyone having had direct experience delivering the mail. 

During classroom postal training, a shop steward, S., from one of the San Francisco units, was brought in to speak with us about the benefits of being in the letter carrier union. He led with the gem that 'all supervisors are assholes' and proceeded to regale us with management horror stories from his early days delivering mail some 25 years ago. One was this: When S. was still in his probationary period, his unit supervisor had surreptitiously followed him out on the route only to surprise S. midday to tell him that he was horrible at his job and that he should quit the postal service. S. finished out the day before sharing what had happened with his then shop steward. The shop steward told the manager that he was engaging in harassment of an employee and the manager backed off. 

My experience with the shop steward, L., at the unit where I had been posted was less-than-desirable, unfortunately. One of the first things he told me--within earshot of management--was that the supervisors at our unit were 'good guys' and that I could go to them with any questions or concerns. Um, isn't that your fucking job? -why I pay union dues? Never mind that this was after I'd already been told by my OJI (on-the-job-instructor) that management and the shop steward had somehow colluded to fuck the OJI out of 80% of his beloved route that he'd had for over 20 years and that he'd quit the union in response. 

In addition to being a suck-up, L. thought that lending me a ratty old safari hat was somehow a huge help while I was out on the route. I already had a sunhat. I'd rather have had a route map, but no one seemed to have an updated one on hand. The mantra was simply: Follow the mail. I had just spent 7 years working mostly outside and knew how to protect myself from the sun. What I didn't know were how to 'follow the mail' and how to deliver parcels to the best of my ability. I wound up lugging the lent hat around a couple of days before politely giving it back to L. 

I know I posted about this incident before, but for the uninitiated, when first meeting my OJI, he presented me with a 121-question handout that I needed to learn as worked the job. My OJI told me to go to the break room (I knew where that was, right?) and initial down the list of questions on all the pages while he cased (read: sorted) the mail for the day. I had ten minutes. Using info. from the classroom training all new hires undergo, I could answer a few of the questions with confidence. I initialed those and left the other 100 plus questions blank telling the OJI that I wasn't able to complete the packet as I didn't yet know the answers. The next day I saw the OJI, he handed me the packet of questions again, but instead of going question by question, I was supposed to sign and date the final page stating that I had read and knew the answers to all the questions presented to me. (This paperwork, really, was about the USPS being able to cover its ass, if I were to fuck up royally while on the job. Like, she initialed she knew 'x,y,z...it's not on us!) Knowing that the OJI thought very little of the shop steward, I quietly went to L. and asked what I should do. The shop steward told me to go to management if I were having a problem with the OJI. I thanked him and I left it for another day. 

***

Some unit managers give their new hires four training days and some give three before new carriers are sent out alone on a route. I received three days...sort of. On the second training day, my OJI had a scheduled absence. On that day, I helped a kindly older carrier on his route and all went fairly well. We made good time and I then went out with him on his split (this is when a carrier helps out another carrier complete a portion of his or her route). Day three saw me back with my OJI. I had become a bit familiar with the OJI's route having done a portion of it on my first day of training. One our second day together (I write 'together' but he was elsewhere on the route and not available by phone, interestingly), the OJI had given me various streets (some linked on foot and some one had to drive to) to deliver mail and small parcels along. He'd taken the large parcels on that part of the route for me, so I only had to contend with what could fit in my satchel and what I could carry in my arms. As I trundled along the route I'd walked just 72 hours before, I realized that I had forgotten to grab two parcels from the truck. Knowing this, I made a mental note to deliver all the mail on that loop (a designated portion of street/s that the mail is bundled into and put either in one's arm or in one's satchel) before returning to the work vehicle for the parcels left behind. I'd driven off from the unit around 9a that morning and it was now nearing 11.30a. I'd determined that I would get out those last two pieces of mail before taking my designated ten minute break. Back at the work vehicle, I was bent over the driver's side seat with one hand holding the small parcels and one hand holding the scanner with my feet on the foot board, derriere to the sidewalk. I was doing a bit of preliminary scanning as the addresses for these deliveries were directly across from where my work truck was parked when suddenly I heard a bellowing voice behind me: WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!!!

Given both that I thought I was alone and I was bent over in a rather exposed position, my body had an immediate stress response to being yelled at. -tightness and heat felt in the sternum and my heart began beating like a drum. I turned my head 'round and there stood the afternoon manager, K. K. had already proven himself to be a barky S.O.B.--berating carriers while they cased the mail about taking too long on their lunch breaks--, but I had somewhat naively hoped that I might be able to stay out of his crosshairs, at least initially. K., with scrunched up eyes and tight mouth, belted out again the 'what do you think you're doing' line and all I could do was bleat: I'm delivering parcels? WHY IS YOUR WINDOW DOWN?! WHERE IS YOUR SATCHEL?! Mind you, I'm technically still in the work vehicle, so the window is down because of that. The satchel, well, the satchel was empty as I'd just finished my loop and thought that running over two small parcels across the street might not merit taking it. Although, I could have been taking the satchel. How was K. to know as I was still in my work vehicle? 

What did make sense in all the yelling was that, really, one must scan the parcel directly in the vicinity of the house to which it is being delivered. My having started scanning in the vehicle was a no-no. In case of theft, the USPS can, again, cover their ass, by stating that the carrier did his or her due diligence. The scanner would show proof of correct delivery. Speaking of the scanner, the old ball and chain, the reason shouty K. knew exactly where I was along the route is because each scanner assigned to an individual carrier is kitted out with a GPS tracker. Management knows where carriers are at all times. I knew this and I knew that I would likely be followed on my route considering what shop steward S. shared with us during classroom training, but what I didn't know was that it would take place so soon after starting work. 

Even though I was freaked out, I had the presence of mind to tell K. that he'd startled me. -told him I was having a stress response. He looked confused. 'But I always follow carriers on their routes. It's part of my job.' I didn't say, but wish I had had the presence of mind to say was: Is it also part of your job to sneak up behind unsuspecting employees and yell at them? I can't remember what all else he said, but it was a load of criticism. As the old adage goes: You catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar. And I just envisioned his never-ending penchant for yelling and thought, fuck this shit. I told K. that I didn't think that the job was for me, but because I had integrity and respected the mail, that I would finish out the day and then be done. Then I asked him if I could take my ten minute break. He seemed fine with it, so while I sat in my work truck I watched him walk to his personal vehicle parked just down the way from me, get in and sit (also for ten minutes). Once back on the route, K. followed (this time not sneakily) behind me as I delivered the mail. He shadowed me for about an hour. I couldn't figure out why as I told him I was quitting. His trailing me made me feel panicked; I picked up the pace as if I were going to outrun him. I recall him telling me that he couldn't do what mail carriers do--he was a transfer into management from H.R. after his position was dissolved--and did I think I could be a mail carrier because I was, as he so indelicately put it, 'skinny'. So, I guess I was trying to tucker him out. It was nearing 12.45p, so I told him that I wanted to take lunch. Before I could, however, he provided me with unsolicited positive feedback: I was adept at holding and delivering mail, I was quick, blah-blah-blah. He talked for what felt like an eternity before I was able to excuse myself and go on lunch break. 

Done with my portion of the route, I headed back to the unit by 3p. K. is the morning manager, so I was looking forward to handing in my lanyard, scanner and satchel to the afternoon manager who was as sleepy-seeming as K. was shouty. I saw K's personal vehicle in the parking lot and thought, Shit! As I entered the unit, I greeted them both. K. wanted me to come to his desk. I told him I'd be right over--I just needed to leave a note for the OJI regarding one of his customers and drop the outgoing mail in its respective hamper. En route to the K's desk I began clocking out and was about to return my scanner to its cradle when K. told me not to clock out as I wasn't finished. I said, 'Oh, no, I am finished. I'm done.' K. didn't seem to get it, so, as I was taking off my lanyard and putting the satchel down on his desk, I told him that I quit. He said, 'Oh, I didn't understand you before...' Maybe he expected me to yell back at him after his shitty little ambush?  Maybe he expected me to not finish out the day? Who knows? And, at this point, who cares?