Caution Prairie Dogs Have the Plague

Caution Prairie Dogs Have the Plague

This was the sign that I read as Dad and I sped southeast to his little red farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. He was waiting for me at the airport after I had endured two horrifying flights – the worst I have taken in nine years including the trip to Mongolia where the engine burned out over the Bering Sea. This time, I seriously thought I was going to die. So much so that I texted my studio manager the name of a business advisor to help her close the business if I died, and I called my boyfriend to say “hello” which basically meant goodbye. The weather was atrocious – dark purple green clouds with bolts of lightening. The wind was blowing so hard the airplane was rocking, and it was pouring rain. Only later did I find out that they reported funnel clouds at Denver Airport at the time we were taking off. My father was the one who told me this, he was very worried for me too.

Driving south, I was driving because Dad still has his injured arm and his car is a stick shift. But Dad is a good backseat driver. Good means bad and immediately he was driving me crazy. I have to say from the get-go, I was PMSing, extremely tired because I had only had 3 hours of sleep the night before, and partially annoyed to be back in South Dakota again after having just left. It doesn’t mean I don’t love my Dad, it just means that I was tired, hormonal and somewhere I didn’t particularly want to be. So all this combined with the fact that I thought I was going to die, it is needless to say, but I was on edge.

The first day here, Dad and I were at each other, which is very rare for us. We usually get along very well. We usually laugh and joke and have a jolly good time. Not on Tuesday. Fortunately Tuesday came and went. We both woke up on Wednesday realizing that we had to shake it off. We don’t talk about things like this in our house, well except for me, which is why I was such an outsider growing up. But not saying anything, Dad and I started a new as if Tuesday never happened. And the day took a different path. We decided to go arrowhead hunting at a secret location in the Badlands with his Lakota friend, Dick. He and Dick have been friends for more than 30 years.

The Eagle Rock singers were singing powwow tunes as we headed into the Badlands in the Subaru. We drove and drove and drove. Dick brought some fresh hazelnuts, which were amazing. I have never tasted fresh nuts like this before. After driving for two hours we came to a barbwire fenced gravel road. We removed the post, drove through and drove another 40 minutes on a muddy dirt road, waaay back into the Badlands. As we drove, Dick kept pulling out various arrowheads he has found along the way to show me what to look for. Dad kept freaking out because I would look at the arrowhead instead of driving.


It was hot. Suddenly, Dick said here, and I stopped. We were in the middle of nowhere. We got out and grabbed our stuff. We were armed – they with the guns, me with the camera and backpack. Then, we started walking, and walking and walking. At one point, Dad peeled away from us and disappeared down into a canyon. I kept Dick within eyesight. He started to head up these ridges and towards a point that was the highest in the area. He explained that the Lakota would sit up there and chip their arrows and hand axes, and prepare skins etc because they could see who was coming from all directions. But because they were nomadic people, once they were finished with their tools they would throw them away or dig a hole and stash them there. As we walked, he started to show me what to look for, how to see the differences between arrowheads and chipped rock. Eventually we started to come across some hand scrapers and broken arrowheads. We continued walking. We eventually found some hand axes and another much larger axe. They were just all there mixed into the other rocks. After a rain is a good time to find them, Dick said, because it washes away all the dirt.

After about two hours we had to head back. We could no longer see Dad in his white cowboy hat and we were a long ways a way from the road. When we got back to the car, we all had a drink of water and showed each other what we found. Then the guys pulled out the guns so I could practice firing. I fired a Beretta and a 32. All of a sudden out of nowhere three large SUVs drove past. It was a bunch of guys with the School of Mines who were on cleanup of the bombing range. The area near where we were arrowhead hunting used to be a bombing range during WW2 and there is tons of live ammo buried out there. We hid the guns. Not sure why, but we were on the Rez and that is what you did, I guess. The big white guys in these trucks were rubber necking to check us out. All I could think of is how strange it must look in the middle of nowhere, in the land of USA-made trucks, stood 3 people beside a Subaru, me a scrawny dark-haired chick wearing a cowboy hat, Dad, an old silver-haired guy with a bigger cowboy hat, and an Indian guy with a ball cap on, just hanging out. Of course, I was firing guns. I loved the wacky adventure of it all. It felt like a bizarre spaghetti western.



On the way back, Dick fed us strawberries from the back seat, as Dad talked about how much he loved the Badlands and South Dakota. This is Dad’s country, Dad’s paradise. He loves it so much out here. I used to love it too when I was a kid. It is a great place to visit, if you are a kid. I do like seeing it through his eyes, and spending time with him let’s me do that. But for me, it isn’t paradise. It is somewhere that my Dad lives that I come to visit. But right now I love the three places that I can call home – Seattle, San Francisco, and New York, and I love the work that takes me there – maternity photography and family photography. It is also this work that gives me the time off so I can go and take care of Dad in South Dakota.

The 38 Special

I went for a walk today down a long dusty dirt road to the mailbox. I am in South Dakota taking care of my father who just had his shoulder replaced at the Mayo Clinic. That is an entire other conversation saved for later. But suffice to say that my father lives in what feels like a third world country.If it is raining or snowing, the road becomes impassable and if you are close enough, you leave the car and walk back home. Then you are stuck in his tiny house which to him is paradise. For me, a 40 year old artist who splits her time between Seattle, San Francisco and New York, I feel very cut off and the days can become extra long unless you take on a project like cleaning out his cupboards of expired can goods or fixing the boards on the horse paddock.



So as I left the house this morning, my father said to me, “Here take this because there are mountain lions,” and handed me a 38 Special. For those of you who aren’t routin’ tootin’ gun totin’ Republicans, this is a revolver that has a very short range. As you enter Dad's small five room house, there is a sticker that says "Protected by the 2nd Amendment" He has three gun racks, one by the front door, one in the living room, and one in his bedroom. He has 18 shotguns and rifles and who knows how many handguns. Plus he keeps a revolver under his mattress, "just in case." I have to say he isn't obsessed with guns, he just likes to hunt and does so regularly. He raised us shooting guns, and every summer we would go out to an open field and shoot things like cans or prairie dogs. So as he handed me the 38 Special in a holster. I balked and then said reluctantly OK. I looked down and realized I had was wearing shorts and had no belt. So he retrieved one of his and I put it on. Then I put on the gun. I asked him how long he had lived here and if he had seen any mountain lions. To which he replied, 30+ years and no, never seen one. HMM.



So here I was, – packin’ heat. When you are packin’ heat, it affects your wardrobe. My cute little sweat shirts and tees that fit tightly against my svelte body (ha), won’t work when you are trying to hide a gun. So I borrowed an oversized shirt that was my former stepmothers – my father and she divorced about 10 years ago – again the closet of her stuff that is still in the basement is saved for another conversation. Off I went.



My sister and I traipsed five miles talking and laughing and looking at all the animal tracks in the dirt road. We frightened two large rabbits and countless pheasant. We reached the mailbox retrieved the mail and turned around. We decided to take some photos with the gun, careful not to point the barrel at each other. The photos were fun and then I returned it to its holster strapped on my shorts. Once again, off we went, the gun and holster strapped to my shorts under the bright orange corduroy shirt. We passed a lush valley with the trees and a creek and started heading up the road. Then I spied something large and brown crossing the road. It moved slowly and was larger than a fox or coyote. There was no long neck and big ears like a deer. And then it was gone. I told my sister. She was slightly freaked and said get out the gun! I pulled it out, cocked the hammer and continued walking forward. There were no more sightings, and the mountain lion was gone. Maybe Father's do know best all I know is that I was carrying a 38 Special on my shorts.

The downward spiral of Macy Gray

I went to see Macy Gray last night at the Filmore with my friend Andi. I used to love Macy Gray. She has such a beautiful voice - it is so unique, probably from years of getting high and in other sorts of trouble.

Andi has been in a funk lately and it isn’t easy for her to do things that require normal conversation like dinners, coffees etc. I thought that a concert would be fun but also easy for her because she doesn’t have to talk. Once again Michael came through for us tickets and drinks and BOX seats. We got to sit in his box, no tall guys standing in front of me. No we were upstairs with all the important people. Ha!

Well Macy came on and, well, it was at once disappointing. I knew that she used to play at the Ramada Inn, and honestly it didn’t feel like we were too far away from those days. She came strutting out wearing some kind of suit and tie, with her hair plastered down like a helmet. She looked like a cross between K D Lang and Whitney Houston. There were too many people in her band and you couldn’t even hear her voice. She had two back-up singers who looked as thought they were cast offs from the Dream Girls Movie (Michael made this brilliant and hilarious observation). She kept flailing her arms and running about the stage like a crack addict who has just done a speedball. “we’re gonna party” she kept saying in between outfit changes after the suit, that looked like she had just run to China town and had them sew her some loosely fitting taffeta prom dresses – one in black and one in red. It wasn’t fun, really. I tried dancing to two of her old songs, but realistically I felt like I was at a trashy wedding or some boring corporate event with a bunch of horny drunk salesmen. Boo Macy. You lost your grove gal.

The Bus

Last night I took the bus. There I was totally decked out, smelling of my favorite perfume, and wearing my favorite jewelry, sitting on the bus. I have to admit I stuck out a little bit. It was after the usual commuting hours, and you didn't see any suits or shiny shoes. In fact it was a rather drab dull crowd, so I must have looked rather sparkling and radiant.

I was talking to a friend of mine on the phone and she laughed, "You're on the bus?" “Yup,” I said, as I was sitting next to a guy whose shoes were too large and whose bag held too many clothes for him to be coming from the gym. "Why" she continued to gasp. Mind you, this is a friend of mine who drives a Jaguar and hasn't ever considered the bus as a form of adequate transportation, which it usually isn't if A) you are running late or B) you don't have change.

For me there is only one reason to ride the bus in San Francisco. Parking. As it turned out, that morning I found ROCKSTAR parking in front of my apartment. I mean, right in front. In San Francisco and other major cities, this is a gift not to be taken lightly. I mean do you know how easy it is to have your car right in front of your house? If you live in the suburbs you can’t really appreciate it. But for us city slickers, think about it. You can load and unload things so easily, leave your car door open without fear that someone is going to steal everything when you turn your back. There is no double parking and risking being rear-ended as high-speed cars race to make the green light. You don't have to struggle walking up the hill, or spend countless hours driving around looking for any spot (usually three blocks away from your house) at 11 PM when the only people who give up spots at that time of night are newly EX boyfriends or someone rushing to the hospital. I treasured this parking spot and wanted to savor my good fortune, so I rode the bus - twice.

It pained me this morning to start my car. As I slowly crept out of my spot, I spied a blinker. The blinker was on the car that wanted my spot. The woman looked overjoyed, almost relieved. She even waved me a thank you as she pulled into the parking space. It is evening now, I noticed that her car is still there, still in front of my house 12 hours later. Maybe she too discovered her good fortune. Maybe she took the bus.

You need to go to the park

Living in the city with pets can be a time consuming challenge, unless you live by a park. My dog, Sal, gets to go to the park twice a day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon.The park we go to overlooks the Civic Center and downtown. Day or night there are fantastic views and everything seems to be farther away up there. I like to go there and sit down and write in my journal what I hope to do for the day, or what I have done.

When we first moved here, I thought that I would never be able to find the time. I mean who has 20 minutes in the morning to take the dog out? But I feel differently now. Overtime, the walk in the park that Sal always reminds us we need to do about 7 AM and 6 PM has become an integral part of our morning. Slowly walking up the hill as Sal runs with his tennis balls in the cool air is something I always feel like I don't have time for but then realize I don't have time NOT to do it. I scold myself because really, who CAN'T find 20 minutes a day to go for a walk in the park.

I have been thinking about priorities lately, about finding balance in my life. When you run your own business, you take on the roll of everything at some point during the day. I am lucky because I have advisors that help me, but I still end up handling quite a bit and that combined with travel leaves me juggling.

So how do we find balance? I am getting closer to the answer. I just started studying the yoga sutras and the teacher of the class asked a good question. What is important to you? There was a silence as we all thought about it. He asked is it family? Friends? Partner? Yoga? Meditation? Peace? Art? Then he asked the question that resonated with me for a long time....How much time a day do you spend doing things that are important to you? How much time a day do I spend doing things that are important to me? Not enough, definitely not enough. So my day-to-day challenge is to integrate more and more of the things that are important to me and cull out the things that just make my life hectic. Walking in the park with and Salvador is definitely important. I can't wait to do it again this evening.

Do yoga and watch it change your life

When I was first learning yoga seriously five years ago, these were the words the teacher said. It was at the Y in Seattle, and I had wandered into the class desperate to find something to calm my nerves. I didn't have much hope for the yoga classes at the Y honestly. It wasn't a very spiritual room and there were no candles or incense. No nice wood floors and warmly colored walls. The only sound that resembled bells or chimes was the weights clanging together in the room next door as the muscle folks increased their bulk and strength. But I was feeling stressed out and fearful because I had recently given up my full-time, high paying job with MSNBC.com to go out on my own to photograph full time as a freelancer. Everyone thought I was crazy and many shook their heads waiting for me to fall flat on my face. I too was waiting for that to happen and would sit there filling with fear waiting for the phone to ring. Eventually that drove me nuts and so I decided because the Y was literally 1 block away, I needed to do something to help me find peace. I had tried running, swimming, biking, aerobics, and even yoga. I wandered into a class one morning and as I struggled through the poses thinking this isn't exercise? I am not burning off any fear or anxiety. Then she said the words "do yoga and watch it change your life." I remember thinking, "yeah right, am I missing something here?" I was skeptical and kept thinking that she was just one of "those" people. Throughout the next few weeks, something happened. I kept coming back. More because I didn't have anything to do at that time in the morning and needed to get out of my house. But as I continued to go and learn the poses, she continued to talk. She told me that my body changes every day and one day I will be able to do a pose and one day I won’t. She said that whatever is happening in my life is mimicked in my yoga practice.

She was right. I had days where I could do triangle pose and days that I couldn't. I had days where I fell asleep in corpse pose, and days when my mind was so gripped with fear that I couldn't let go of the thought that I was going to fail at my new business venture. But the thing that I learned in yoga was that everything is temporary. Some days are good days, and others are not so easy. I also learned about confidence and strength. When my body is strong, it echoes in my mind and emotions as well. I feel like I am strong and can take what the day brings. Over the past five years I have continued to do yoga. And recently I did a handstand on my own for the first time. For advanced yogis, this is nothing to brag about but for me it meant that I broke through a long-held fear. I have never been able to do a handstand, even as a child, I was afraid of falling. It was only a month ago when a yoga teacher in San Francisco said to me, just play with it. Just go to the wall. The word play seemed to unlock something and I went home and played. I did it! I did the handstand on my own. I was terrified honestly, but gradually I became more comfortable.

It sounds silly but my life is comprised of a series of uphill climbs and plateaus. The uphill climbs I love because I am learning, growing and experiencing new things. The plateaus I dread because they can last for a while and sometimes I just sit down and stop trying, or I have some kind of erroneous belief that I won't or can't ever do something. EVER. That is pretty limiting. Yoga has helped me move through this thinking. I realize that if I am hitting a wall in my yoga practice, I am probably hitting a wall in my professional, creative or personal world. But by the same token, I realize that if I am breaking through a fear and advancing my yoga practice, as I have done lately with handstands and headstands, then I am probably moving to a deeper more advanced place in my professional, creative, and personal world.

Do yoga and watch it change your life. It changed mine.

Jennifer Loomis Photography

Several years ago I was doing my master's project in northern Japan and I started to blog. But this was BEFORE there was such a thing. I was writing my Field Notes about the documentary project on Japanese elderly. These notes contained funny anecdotes from my life as a westerner in Japan and were emailed back home to my professors, family and friends. They became a very important part of my day, and I would look forward to the end of the day when I could process all that I encountered doing my project. People began to ask for more and gradually many people were included on the list. It has been seven years since I did that. Those notes will be posted here shortly for you all to read. But recently I was encouraged to start writing again. So we shall see how I do this time.