God Spoke to Me

On a quiet and peaceful morning the Desert Sun woke up over the blue horizon. It trumpeted it's arrival by painting the wispy hanging clouds with an awesome picture of Oranges, Reds and Yellows. Clouds that were held there by the will of God. Clouds held there by the will of God creating a moment in time that will all to soon end. And yet this moment will never end. It will never end because it has been etched in my mind, never to be forgotten. As I strolled across the desert floor I felt re-born in my soul. A peaceful surrender to nature and the world of the desert came over me. I felt I was alone with God. Not alone in a sad way but alone in my spirit to communicate with God. As I watched the Desert giving birth to God's creations, I felt the Sole of the Sky and the Sole of the Earth. When the Sun touched the Cacti, their sleeping flowers came alive and blossomed into a beautiful sea of Purples and Blues. Desert lizards came out to revitalize their bodies with the strength of the sun. Desert birds began to sing and I knew god had spoken to me. God spoke to me with His Birds. God spoke to me with His Lizards. God spoke to me with His Breeze. God spoke to me with His Clouds. God spoke to me with His Colors. God spoke to My Soul with His Soul.


Story telling is an art that never developed in our family. I do not recall anyone in our family telling me stories as I grew up. The closest thing to story telling was if someones mind was prompted by a picture or a drive by viewing. For example, when ever we were on one of our family trips from our home in central Utah to some relatives place in southern Utah, we would always pass by or stop at a rest stop just north of Beaver, Utah. The rest stop was unique in that it was surrounded by a fence made of cedar posts. The post were all standing vertical and butting up next to each other much as a grape stake fence would be today. My mother would always say "your dad hauled all those cedar posts over here by horse and wagon. But there never was a story about the trip, the wagon, the horse or horses, how far he hauled them and who cut them down. I really never heard the story. I have a lot of stories like that in my family history. Not really stories, just the titles. Your dad owned a coal mine...Your uncle Joe got hurt in a cave in... Titles, teasers, like movie trailers. But no one made the movie. Because no one told those stories and I did not ask, they are probably lost forever. So, I guess the story telling in our family has been left to me. When I was thirteen years of age, my Mom (Beth), my Dad (Cecil) and me were camped atop a small hill in the desert area south of Moab, Utah. We were with a group of rock hunters that were friends with my mom & dad. Our camp was among some small Cedar trees. We were on top of a hill because my dad had seen to many flash floods in that area and he did not want to wake up under water. He told me that he seen thunder and lightning 5 to 10 miles in the distance and in a few hours there could be a 4 or 5 foot stream of water coming down the gullies. No son he said, never camp in a wash or a gully, you're only asking for trouble. It was just getting dark and we were all bellied up around the camp fire. We had just finished a dinner consisting of steak broiled over the open fire with corn on the cob and potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil with lots of butter cooked under the hot coals of the fire. A few of my parents friends had joined us at our fire. Jimmy Duncan had his guitar and he played and we all sang the good old camp fire songs like "She'll be coming round the mountain" and "500 miles". It started to get cold so my dad put a shovel full of hot coals under every one's chair. That warmed everyone up and Jimmy started singing "Rock of Ages" and I joined in. I had a pretty good voice for a 13 year old boy so Jimmy stopped singing and I finished the song by myself. Just as I finished some coyotes started yelping and howling and everyone laughed and said the Coyotes wanted me to sing with them. Everybody laughed and Jimmy started playing again but the Coyotes howling reminded Stan Jones of a story about the old west and the Coyotes. Of course we all had to here it. Seems like there was an old Prospector by the name of Jasper Jones. Old Jasper Jones and his mule, "Charley" had gone out in the hills alone to prospect for gold. Charley was spooked by a rattler and threw Old Jasper off, breaking his his leg when he hit the ground. Charley, not caring a whole lot for rattle snakes took off for parts unknown and left poor old Jasper alone to fend for himself. Jasper was able to pull himself under an overhanging rock and get some protection from the sun. There laid old Jasper, no water and only a light Levi Jacket to keep him warm at night. Jasper knew he was in trouble and that his only chance for survival was if that lousy bird brained idiot of a mule high tailed it for home and someone came looking for him. That night Old Jasper laid curled up against the rock to keep as warm as he could. Around 10 when the moon came up, the Coyotes started howling. Because of the cold and Coyotes Jasper got very little sleep. The second day it was very hot, over a hundred degrees and Old Jasper began to dehydrate and hallucinate. That night the coyotes began to howl again and Old Jasper was sure that they were just behind his rock. He was also sure that he had seen there eyes reflecting in the moon light. And he knew that if he fell asleep that they would be on him like them dammed buzzards he had seen circling just before dark. He was very sure he was going to be some body's main meal before the next day was through. He shivered and hallucinated most of the night, He fell asleep about 4 AM. He jumped with a start, swinging his fists and screaming like a banshee. They were on him. The Coyotes had him. Hey, Hey,.......hold on. Your OK, here take some water. Careful now, not to fast., a weathered old face said. Who are you? Jasper said. Where are the Coyotes? They were after me. No, the old man said. They were calling me here to help you. Help me? Old Jasper said. Why? Who are you anyway? Why, I'm Coyote Pete, the withered old face said. I live here among the Coyotes. I help those in trouble out here. Coyote Pete loaded Old Jasper on his mule and took him to the closest town and left him where he would be found and then disappeared back into the mountains. So if your ever caught out on the desert with the Coyotes howling, remember, they are not after you. They are calling old Coyote Pete to come and help you. A coyote howled and we all laughed. Jimmy played a few more songs and then we turned in for the night.

Oh to be Good

Lost in the sea of blog Never to be found Shall I go under after three or do I quit at two

A Name is Born

Someone once asked if I had my choice, "What animal I would like to be?" Most people that know me are sure that I am already a bear. Not just any old bear, but an Alaskan Grizzly bear. Big-Nasty and Mean. Mean and Nasty enough to control my turf. My turf is a 900 square mile area in the heart of Alaska. The only other living thing I allow on my turf is my cute little old female Grizzly Bear. My turf consists of beautiful mountains filled with pine trees and berry bushes. Thousands and thousands of berry bushes for me to eat at my leisure. Thousands and thousands of pine trees for me to scratch my back when ever I feel like it. I stroll through the pines and eat berries when I want to. I take naps in the warm afternoon sun when I want to. I have my own river stocked with trout and salmon. I swim in the pools of the river and eat my meals of fish when I want to. If any other creature enters my turf, I smell them down and chase them away with my mighty voice. I stand up tall and roar the roar of the mightiest Grizzly of them all. My roar echos through the canyons letting the world know, I am mad. Beware "Old Grizz" is mad. Do not let him catch you. This is his forest, his trees, his berries, his fish. Only he can sleep in the afternoon sun. Not even his mate, the "Cute Grizzly" will bother him now. Every one run and hide. And then My sweet little daughter will say "Mom, would you get dad a cup of coffee so he won't be such a bear"

Hey Noah - Answer this one!

I need to begin this article with two disclaimers. First, my question is in no way meant to be demeaning to anyone's religion or religious beliefs. Second, this article was written by my new alter ego, "Old Grizz Batty" and in no way reflects on GS Batty-Baity or SG Beatty. In fact they were asleep when "Old Grizz" wrote this article. If I could ask someone from my past a question that has always bothered me, it would be my Grandpa Noah. I'm talking about my grandpa Noah from the Ark days. That's right, the Noah that built the Ark and saved all the animals. I have always had one question that has bugged me. No, it's not the size of the Ark. I do not question nor care what a cubit is. I believe Noah made the Ark and did not sub out the project to a Jewish boat builder. No, It's not the logistics of the trip. I believe God and Noah could have easily figured out how to feed all those animals for forty days and forty nights. No, I do not have an issue of how all the animals got there. I believe God can Poof anything, anywhere, anytime he wants to. Yes there is a question of waste. How did they get rid of the stuff that came out the back end? How many people on that Ark? Who got stuck with picking up the poop? I have three dogs and can barely clean up after them every day. But, that isn't my question. What I would really like to ask Noah about is the selection if the animals. One specie in particular. No, it's not about the rats or the mosquitoes. Yes, they are pesky, ugly, nasty critters, but I believe they have an important place in God's plan. They are the punishers, the plague carriers, the purveyors of petulance. I know that when you are pushing the envelope of sin hood, the Rats and the Mosquitoes are sent to wake you up. Whenever, one of those creature show up, I know I am getting close to making God mad and it doesn't take me long to get back on the right track. NO, no , no, the Snakes and the Desert crawly thing are cool. No big deal to me. And the rest of Gods nasty creatures are good with me. Well maybe the Komodo Dragon? I do have to wonder about that one. The critters that bug me are bugs. Specifically, the teeny-weeny, drive you nuts little beasts that the Indians called "No-See-Ems". The Gnats, those treacherous little devils that swarm into your eyes, ears, mouth and nose when your camping in your own particular garden of Eden, are really what bug me. Now, I am not trying to be blasphemous. I know your are not supposed to Question God. However, I really have a question for God and Noah is my last known relative that talked to God. I would like to ask Noah to ask God why he created the invisible little monsters in the first place. Also, why, after actually seeing the havoc they caused in the Garden did he let them on the boat? Didn't he realize that two "No-See-Ems" can have a court-ship, a wedding, a honeymoon and 50 billion Grand-No-See-Ems in less than a day. The Ark must have been an awful hell hole. No pun intended. What really bugs me (pun intended) is the fact that these non-edenylic little thugs are lurking behind every Edenic or Idyllic picture that has ever been photographed or painted. If you could dive into the picture, you would immediately be covered by the black little devils and you would come leaping back into the real world, never to enjoy the serenity of a lifeless picture again. OK, Noah. Here's the question, "Would you ask God what is the purpose of these little tormentors, anyway?" Old Grizz Batty


On a lonely road
stands a lonely tree
all gnarly and dead.
Gone are the leaves
Gone is the shade
that it made for my head
It lived it's life
on the side of a road
only to die
alone in the sun
and there it stood
as a monument of death
if ever a tear has been shed
by anyone that had passed it by
someone that could remember
how it cooled them from the sun in the sky
but no, the old did not care
and the young
with no life in their souls
chose to shame the old tree
with dirty old shoes
that cling to it's branches
like an ugly old leach
leaving their stench
to hang in the air
and leave the old tree
in utter despair

Tortured Heart

hair soft and sweet blown by a wispy breeze stole my tortured heart