A Humble Emperor

November 27, 2019 

While Tang dynasty is considered the golden age in Chinese history, Song dynasty, nevertheless is my personal favorite.   It inherited the wealth from the Tang dynasty and continued to blossom.  Social life during the Song was vibrant.  Technology, science, philosophy, mathematics, and engineering flourished over the course of the Song.  Literature and arts were at their peak.  Many famous Chinese landscape and portrait paintings were created during that periods.  Poetry and calligraphy also profited from the rising popularity. But what intrigues me is a story of a special ruler.

He was not born to be King, but he was chosen by the aging emperor to be his heir mainly because his characters: honesty, kindness, and prudence.  He had a humble background.  Growing up in a peasant family, he understood the importance of foods.  Common people did not care who ruled the country, so long as they could live in a peaceful environment, have a healthy and happy family and never needed to worry about putting foods on table, that was enough.  Wars, poverty, nature disasters were their biggest fear.  This ruler recognized that. 

He enjoyed working on a field.  As a young boy, he often worked on his family rice paddy. During the harvest season, the air of his family’s farm was permeated with the sweet fragrance of ripen grains.  After he became the emperor of Song, he lived inside the concrete walls of his Palace.  He missed the aromas of a farm, the heaven that once provided him with so much reassurance and satisfactory.  He ordered a construction of little rice paddy inside his living quarter. 

When he was not occupied by political affairs or busy with his many wives and concubines, he retreated to his quarter and worked on the “farm”.  He rolled up his “dragon” emperor robe, took off his golden shoes and stepped on the muddy rice field bared foot.    When the grains were ripened, he picked a bundle, crushed the grains on his hand, cupped the little kernels under his nose.   Then his eyes closed, his face began to relax, a smile appeared and he turned to the sky and said: “I have the world!”.

A Narrow Box Canyon

June 22, 2018

We are exhausted after the hike.  Later afternoon, we reach the Colorado River and find a little sandy beach with room just big enough to set our camp.  A creek comes down through a side canyon provides us with cooking and drinking water.  A handsome cottonwood tree gives shelter for the group.  I find a private corner away from the group, set my tent and head to the water.  The temperature of the Colorado River is notoriously cold.  Even with a 100 degrees air temperature, the water never reached above 60 degrees.  I do my wash quickly and hang them on tree branches.  Even at home, I favor hanging my clothes outdoors rather than drying them in dryer.  It is so natural, so environmentally appropriate.  My tent nests underneath the cottonwood tree and is well protected by its branches.  With my laundries spreading around my tent, it looks really cozy and homey.  Coming to the wilderness always gives me the feeling of returning home.

Our leader collects some driftwood to build a campfire.  We cook our dinner and soon darkness is upon us.  Overhead, a patch of stars begins to appear on a velvet sky, the rustling sound of the cottonwood leaf is very soothing.  The early autumn breeze has softened the canyon heat, but we still feel the warmth, our sleeping bag will not be needed tonight.  Some members of our group already talk about camping in the open and sleep under the stars.  We eat our supper around the campfire.  After the pots and pans are put away, we each retrieve to our tent, read, write, sleep or dream. 

Next morning, we explore the side canyon.  That beautiful creek flows out from it has crystal clear water.  I cup a mouthful to taste, refreshingly cool and sweet, better than any beer!  My eyes follow the creek to the canyon’s narrow opening; a young box elder invites us in.   About two hundred yards from the entrance, we discover the ruins of two and three rooms.  In one room, we find an old grinding stone, as smooth as a baby’s bottom.  It is ever a source of wonder to me why these ancient people sought such inaccessible places for their homes, why chose to imprison themselves within these canyon walls. Along the creek, there are springs gushing out from the walls from both sides.  Sometimes a red bud tree grows over the creek.  We come to a dry fall of more than 50 feet.  We find a trail going up to the fall.  Still going up, the canyon narrows ever more, being about 15- feet wide, yet the walls rise on both sides many hundreds of feet, perhaps thousands, I can hardly tell.

The canyon deepens; the air is chill and moist.  We reach to the point we can go no farther.  It is a box canyon.  A huge dry fall stands upon us.  Its vertical wall must be a few hundred feet tall.  At the bottom of the fall is a still pool with dark emerald water.  Around the pool are beautiful maidenhair fern and other delicate foliage.  Few monkey flowers just begin to bloom.  Its crimson buds are as red as a princess’s lips.  All these vegetation gives the box canyon a great beauty.  This little side canyon is truly a delight to walk on.  However, we have little time to spend in admiration.  Time to head back camp.

It is our last day camping by the Colorado.  I watch the river rolls by in silent majesty; the quiet of the camp is sweet, our time spending here is a delight!  I watch the night sky long after midnight thinking of my next desert trip, thinking of many future Grand Canyon excursions with SC, how fortunate I am to have the strength and the mean to pursuit my canyon dreams.