Chickens, mountain warfare and Shamal

Happy Earth Day people. There are plenty of trees that need huggin'. Those John Denver CDs won't play themselves, so let's get started.

I haven't celebrated Earth Day in, oh, seventeen years or so, but today I thought I would write out the three most memorable experiences I've had with Mother Nature. Enjoy.

Singin' songs about Texas

When I was young, I lived in East Texas for a short time, close to a town called San Augustine. We lived on one hundred acres of open pastures, stocked ponds and long, corrugated metal barns that housed chickens, and then pigs. The farm was carved out of tens of thousands of ancient, pine-covered acres: the East Texas thicket. The gulf winds would cut through the trees and howl like a locomotive finding new track in the evening.

In the mornings, free range hens would lay eggs, and it was always fun to find them deposited carefully in an old wheelbarrow or on top of a tattered burlap sack. Suffice it to say, seeing all that natural beauty as a kid made me aware of the world around me.

Girly men

Once my family moved back to Houston, it was harder to maintain my reverence for nature. It wasn't until I completed a Mountain Warfare Training Package in Bridgeport, California, that I regained my sense of awe.

We formed up at the base of the mountain nicknamed "94-94", called that for its elevation. As we started our ascent, slipping on the the shifting talus field, the sun erupted through the towering evergreens.We followed a path up hills and over crags and settled at a stream where we staged our gear. Our first challenge was learning how to cross a rapid stream.

The snow-melt fed stream was thirty yards wide, six feet deep and forty degrees cold. We stripped down to our "PT" (physical training) shorts, and linking our arms around each other's shoulders to form a circle, entered the gurgling, foaming torrent.

Eight inches of moving water can move a car. Six feet of icy water can make thirty half-naked Marines squeal like piglets. We were told that if we moved through the water, rotating as a group, we would be able to fight the current and get across safely. What they failed to mention were the affects of sudden cold on the human body. We began to turn the squad.

Once the water passes your ankles, it's only a matter of time before your feet go numb. No pain, no problem- keep turning Marines. Once the water passes your knees, your muscles start to stiffen, but your central nervous system starts sending messages like a giggling teenage girl clutching a Sidekick. The water reached my area of primary concern and achieved the effect President Bush had hoped for with the Shock and Awe campaign. Paralyzing terror.

Even though we made it across, we were never under the illusion that we were all of a sudden grizzled mountain men. We weren't traversing a mountain path, the mountain would decide whether or not to let us pass.

Round three

My third most memorable "nature" moment was watching an incoming sand storm when I was in Iraq. It started as a warm and heavy mid-afternoon. The sky darkened into a reddish brown blur, like some child smeared Texas clay on the horizon. We saw rapid flashes of lightning and grew anxious. The thunder sounded too much like mortar fire. We were standing at the back hatch of the chow hall, watching the shamal roll in from Syria.

Sergeant Oba took five steps outside.

"How long until it gets here, sergeant?" I said from the doorway.

"Fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe?"

Sgt. Oba stood, staring at the rolling cloud, his five-foot-three inch Hawaiian frame clutching to existence in front of the growing plume.

Staff Sergeant Klontz, a giant Kentuckian yelled over my shoulder, "Alright knuckleheads, stop gawkin' at that cloud like you want to take her britches off and lets finish up in here."

Oba turned around, his thumbs still hooked in his pockets, took one step and fell face first into the sand. I saw him fall out of the corner of my eye and spinning, ran out to meet him.

Four feet out of the door, a piece of hail, the size of a lemon, smashed into my chest so hard that I thought I had been shot. Oba crawled to me as I reached down to grab him by the back of his shirt. As we struggled back to the building, the cloud flickered with lightening; each bright moment spraying us with more hail.

We made it through the door in a daze, laughing at how ridiculous it all was. Oba and I looked at each other- I'm sure he saw the horror in my face that I saw in his. We were dripping in thick, red rain and for a moment, we both thought it was blood.

The storm raged through the night, dumping countless gallons of falling mud on our camp. The temperature dropped to near freezing and all we could do was shield our faces and perpetually re-stake our tents as the winds harassed us. Everyone made it out fine, but it took a few days to know for sure that we weren't on Mars.

Not exactly the same, but a cool video of a sandstorm

Happy Earth Day, after all

Those stories aren't necessarily the most endearing encounters with our Earth, but they left me with a sense of awe and a respect for nature. Even if we forgo the Earth Day festivities, we can all take a moment to appreciate the space around us. Yes, I really listen to John Denver.