Have you hiked the Grand Canyon?

An email from a friend who wants to hike the Canyon has momentarily distracted me from my yard sale preparations.

I lived in "Flag" (Flagstaff) for two years around 1960 in a house across the street from Arizona State College. (Now Northern Arizona University.) The college had a sightseeing caravan for newcomers to acquaint them with local attractions: the San Francisco Peaks, scenic backdrop of the town; Oak Creek Canyon, with walls of evergreens and a road that leads to the red rock formations at Sedona; and Wupatki Indian ruins. But the highlight was the Grand Canyon.
     The view is splendid, truly awesome. Its immensity is breathtaking, the stark beauty beyond description. I had an irresistible desire to know the Canyon.
     I took some courses at the college and became acquainted with Roma Butchart and her husband, Dr. Harvey Butchart, chairman of the math department. It was well known that Harvey spent a lot of time in the Canyon, but that meant little to me aside from its being his "hobby."
     Not until many years later did I learn that Harvey's "hobby" had made him the recognized authority on the Canyon. The Park Service asked him to write the book on the Canyon. His detailed journals were the basis. "Butchart methods" now aid novices as well as veteran hikers.
     When Roma heard that I would move to California at the end of the school year, she offered to hike the Canyon with me, but she had one stipulation: "We must go before the end of April." She had "done" the Canyon six times already. Those who know never go to the bottom from May to October. Why? Because the temperature at the river is the same as that of Phoenix!
     Saturday would be the day. We'd go down the steeper Kaibab Trail and up Bright Angel, a gentler grade with covered rest stops and water fountains. The plan had to be reversed, however, because wild horses were being brought up Kaibab that morning. We descended Bright Angel, trekked along the muddy, swift flowing river, crossed the bridge that spans the river and headed for the Phantom Ranch. Roma figured a swim in the pool at the ranch would be refreshing before our ascent. Another change of plans. The pool had been drained for maintenance. So, after a short rest, we crossed the bridge again and headed for the Kaibab Trail.
     When we reached the rim, it was dark but the moon lighted the trail. Were we tired? Twenty miles in a day? Of course we were, but fatigue was a small payment for my treasured memories. What a simple means of gaining this rare experience--just agree on a date and go.

Now to my friend's email that inspire this reminscence. About a year ago, I read that the Canyon has become an international attraction drawing an unbelievable number of visitors. The Park Service had plans to review the matter. Here is my friend's message:

 I haven't hiked the G C yet....and I want to....but it's complicated!....you must have a reservation, and you must make it a year in advance...just a pipe dream at the moment.

I didn't realize how privileged I'd been. The world has changed.

Have you ever moved?

I'm changing my lodgings. Exciting, right? Well, if you've ever moved you know excitement is only part of the deal. What also happens is facing the reality of your burden of stuff.
     True, I will have more room. But after a trip to my store room, I begin to wonder! As I start to take stock of all the stuff I've acquired, I'm shocked to realize how crammed my storage is with stuff. Where did all this come from?
     Where to begin? How will I judge what has value and what is a throw-away? There are things I've kept for ten or fifteen years but have never used. If I haven't used them for fifteen years, is there a  point in hanging on to them?
     Then there are the surprises--the "I didn't know I still had THAT" reaction. Boxes of supplies and instruction books for scrapbooking, for example. And here are the patterns and rolls of colorful jute I bought for the short-lived macramé craze. I can't see any future interest in either one of those crafts.
     Ah, yes. And here are the boxes that belong to Hazel who asked me to store them "just for NOW." She moved half way across the country. We keep in touch, but there is no hint of "please forward my stuff."
     And what's all this in the corner? Oh, yes, "generous" Linda knew I'd love to have several items she had to leave behind when she ran out of room in her rental truck. I admit I did want them at the time, but they sure slipped my mind. I never even got around to looking at them after stashing them in that corner.
     Ah, but a brilliant idea just came to me: Here is a great opportunity to pass on things to people for whom they'd be a perfect fit. The large linen table cloths I no longer need are just right for Regina, who often entertains. Here's a long-forgotten-but-still-valid gift certificate worth $15; fashionable Alice would enjoy using that. My fancy flower pots should go to Martha; my thumb is black, while Martha's provides a positive aura for plants to thrive.
     OK. That's a good start, I say as I pat myself on the back. That takes care of three items in my quest for perfect recipients. Now there are only--dozens more. This method is NOT the answer to getting rid of stuff. Uh-oh! I see the glimmer of a yard sale.   hmmmmm   That's a separate project in itself. But it gets rid of a lot more stuff all at once.
     So, I'll get the go-ahead for the sale. I'll print up some flyers announcing the event and search out willing folks to lend a hand. And I figure if the proceeds go to the charity that received the money we made on those Franciscan dolls, that will add interest and maybe inspire a few more eager buyers. Do you live near Claremont, CA? Get in touch through the comments below. I'll send you an email with the particulars.
     If you're wondering why I haven't posted anything about Chaucer lately, all of the above is my explanation. Wish me luck. I'll be back when I'm re-settled.
     In the meantime check out my website    celebratechaucer.com
You'll find a link to my YouTube presentation. There are naughty and nice papers I've written and connections for the Chaucer books to download. It's worth a look.

The Yeoman: Why so informative?

The challenge of allegory is to identify a second meaning--using the same words. So what will we find in the Canon's Yeoman?

His disclosure is crammed with things: chemicals, utensils, vegetable and animal products. Scholars compare these "poetic" lines to and inventory. The vocabulary is equally unfamiliar whether in Middle or Modern English. Here's a sample:
           As boole armonyak, verdegrees, boras,
          And sondry vessels maad of erthe and glas,
          Oure urynals and oure descensories,
          Violes, crosletz, and sublymatories,
          Cucurbites and alambikes [also],
          . . . 
         Arsenyk, sal armonyak, and brymstoon;
         And herbes koude I telle [also many a one],
         As egremoyne, valerian, and lunarie.
This goes on for 38 lines! Alchemy is the accepted subject, but many alternate definitions deal with pigment, book-binding, water-proofing, etc.
     Much of the vocabulary serves at cross purposes. The patron saint called upon is "Seint Gile." If not personified, the two words--seint gile--mean holy fraud. "Coles" that feed a fire alternately communicate glue or sizing in book construction. Time, introduced as the French temps, plays a complicated role sometimes merging with tempren (to mix). Mulling over the lines heavy with stuff that produces ink, pigment, fixatives and more, I saw the image of a book.
     Seeing this servant as a book, it's no wonder he has so much information to give and such great willingness to inform!
          . . . I tell each proportion
          Of things which we worked upon.
          . . . 
          I will tell you as I was taught.
     He provides early memories of a book being constructed, details of things necessary for the manufacture of paper, vellum and inks. When the presentation suddenly changes from a first person narration to a second person report (regarding a procedure gone awry), this tells of notations being made in the book.
     Though a canon is a clergyman, the Yeoman clearly states that the canon he is describing in NOT the Canon that was his original companion. "Canon" also refers to scientific volumes of codified information, principles of calculation, or records of celestial events. Chaucer's Astrolabe includes a "canon" that teaches how to compute information about the zodiac, the moon, and the planets.
     The Yeoman's laboring at, and lamenting over, multiplication implies the effort of recording tables as one of his "services." When the Yeoman complains of a false canon, this means faulty information, which causes errors in judgment or calculations. The fourteenth century gained new methods of calculating as Arabic numerals (replacing Roman numerals) came into standard use. Besides greater ease of computing, tables were more readily constructed and interpreted.
     The Host's first personal question of the Yeoman asks,
          Why art thou so discolored of thy face?
The Yeoman responds,
          I am so used in the fire to blow
          That it hath changed my color.
What can this mean in regard to a  book? A pocket-sized book of Chaucer's day that held information on a particular subject (and would be handy to fan a fire!) was a common personal possession, easily carried from place to place. Because it was so transportable, it was called a vade mecum ("go with me"). This is precisely the role given the Yeoman; he traveled with the Canon.
     A vade mecum would be used a great deal, which would cause deterioration of its binding and fading of the print--as if one's eyes were bleary as the Yeoman complains.
          And of my work yet bleared is mine eye.
     The original red pigment of the cover, with wear, would lose its vibrancy and pale to grey--as the Yeoman indicates,
          And where my color was both fresh and red
          Now is it wan and of a leaden hue.
     To minimize wear on this much-used book, it was provided with a protective sheath.
          Now may I wear an hose upon mine head.
The "hose" worn by the Yeoman is the poet's playful way of indicating that protective sheath for a vade mecum.
     Chaucer creates two very different double images in the Tales. One is the pair of pilgrim brothers as Gemini. The other is the Canon and his Yeoman as two variations of the term "canon"!

The comet comes and goes

So far we've only seen froth and clothing trailing behind Chaucer's Canon. Now a "male" is mentioned (a man or a pouch) on the "horse's" hind-quarters. It's a tweyfoold (twofold) indicating two parts.  (A "male" is also associated with the Parson and his brother as Gemini.) The Canon and his Yeoman (servant) are actually a double image. We'll pursue that as we get to know the two of them better.
     Action  begins as "a man" is seen trying to overtake the pilgrims. The narrator describes his streaming clothes, his light array, and his speed. He enters shouting.
          "God save," quote he, "this jolly company!
          Fast have I spurred," quote he, "for your sake,
          Because I would overtake you
          To ride in this merry company."
After this resounding greeting, his servant, who has arrived without notice, explains:
          . . . "Sirs, during the morning
          Out of your hostelry I saw you ride
          And informed my lord and sovereign here
          Who is very eager to ride with you
          For his amusement; he loves conversation."
     For all the Canon's desire to join the pilgrims and converse, there is no conversation. We learn about his lifestyle through questions the Host asks the servant, who appears eager to volunteer information.
     The Host asks,
          "Can he tell a merry tale or two, 
          With which he may glad this company?"
The servant replies,
          "Who sir? my lord? yes, yes, without a lie,
          . . . 
          If you knew him as well as I do
          You would wonder how well and craftily
          He could work and in how many ways.
          He has taken on many great enterprises."
Astrologically, the lines confide the power and influence of a comet.    
     The servant concludes a stream of disclosures with,
          "He is a man of high discretion
          I assure you, he is a passing man."
While "passing" usually intends great approval, the ambiguous sense here is movement passing high above.
     The Host inquires again:
          "Is he a cleric, or not? tell what he is."
The question asks what he is, rather than who he is. The talkative servant obliges.
          "Nay, he is greater than a cleric, for sure,"
          Said this Yeoman, "and in words few,
          Host, of his craft somewhat I will show you.
          . . . 
          That all this ground on which we are riding,
          Until we come to Canterbury town,
          He could clean turn it upside down
          And pave it all with silver and gold."
In the covert reading, of course, there is no ground beneath their feet; they are travelers in the firmament. Then a comet's glowing tail would naturally spread for miles.
     The Host becomes critical. How can the Canon's personality be as described?
          "Why is thy lord so slovenly, I pray thee.
          And he has the power better clothes to buy,
          If his deeds accord with thy speech?"
The penetrating query makes the servant hesitate.
          "Why?" said his Yeoman, "why do you ask me?
          God help me so, for he shall never thrive!
          (But I will not admit what I said,
          And therefore keep it secret, I pray you.)
      The Host persists.
          "Where do you dwell, if it can be told?"
Unable to resist informing, the servant replies:
          "Outside the walls of a town," said he,
          "Lurking in secret places and dark, hidden lanes
          Where robbers and thieves by their nature 
          Keep their private fearful residence,
          Like they that dare not show their faces;
          So we fare, if I say the truth."
Here Chaucer sketches where comets abide when unseen--where evil astrological forces reside.
     The Canon draws near and listens.
           And thus he said to his Yeoman:
          "Hold thou thy peace, and speak no words more,
          For if you do, you shall pay dearly for it.
          You slander me here in this company,
          And reveal what thou shouldst hide."
The Host encourages the servant:
          ". . . tell on, what happened.
          Don't be concerned over his threats."
     A one-line response follows:
          "In faith," said he, "I do no more that 'lyte.'"
If "he" is the  servant, then he is minimizing his disclosures:
          "In faith, I do no more that a little."
But if "lyte" is a play on light, "he" the Canon is claiming innocence of wrongdoing:
          "In faith, I do no more than light."
The Canon/comet protests that he is only an object of illumination.
     Now the Canon takes leave as suddenly as he came.
          And when this Canon saw it would not be,
          But that his Yeoman would tell his private matters,
          He fled away for sorrow and shame.
The poet creates an excuse for the Canon's departure. In allegory, once the Canon is identified as a comet, he must "leave as suddenly as he came." That's his role.    
     But wait, the informative servant has been left behind!

Chaucer saw Halley's Comet?

Chaucer did see Halley's Comet. It wasn't called Halley's then, but astronomers, calculating backward, noted details of appearances of a comet (Latin, cometa, long-haired star) at 70-75 year intervals since at least 240 BC. Many chronicles tell of multiple tails, or a tail that stretched 60 degrees across the sky, or a star whose light was greater than the brilliance of the moon. It is claimed that there is no mention of the 1378 apparition. But Chaucer may have left one.
     What do we know about comets? They appear, stay a while among the stars, then vanish. They have long tails and can be visible to the naked eye. In the Middle Ages they were believed to be portentous, usually disastrous. A chronicler in 1066 rants, "You've came, have you? . . .  you source of tears to many mothers, you evil. I hate you."
     Chaucer could have read about these intruders into the orderliness of the heavens. He surely saw one firsthand in 1378. The poet's Canon, sudden intruder on the Canterbury journey, has all the characteristics of a comet among the celestial pilgrims.
     The narrator draws attention to the meeting about to take place.
          Before we had ridden fully five miles, 
          At Boghtoun under Blee we began to be overtaken
          By a man clothed in black clothes,
          And underneath he had a white surplice.
          His hackney, that was all dappled grey,
          So sweat that it was a wonder to see.
The narrator is captivated by the amount of sweat produced by the advancing figure.
          About the breastplate the foam stood very high,
          He was all flecked with foam and looked like a magpie.
Froth is heaped on the harness and spatters the rest of the horse's body, looking like white splotches on an otherwise black bird.
          But it was a joy to see him sweat!
          His forehead dripped like part of a distillery
Perspiration creates an aura surrounding the rider--a very workable depiction of a comet.
     Besides the sweat, the Canon's "garments" become part of this trailing image.
          In my heart I began to wonder
          What he was, until I understood
          How his cloak was sewed to his hood;
          For which, when I had thought a while,
          I judged him to be some sort of canon.
A canon is a type of clergyman. (We'll have reason to expand on that later.) Wonderment ceases when it's understood how the cloak and hood were joined. That doesn't help understand "what he was," but it fits the comet game.
     A hat is added for good measure.
          His hat hung by a cord down his back.
The connection is tenuous. The narrator describes how it's possible for cloak, hood and hat to stay together in spite of the pace at which the Canon travels.
     Speed of a comet, compared to the movement of the rest of the heavens, is the topic when,
          It seemed he had pricked (spurred), for three miles.
He's prodding his mount to close the gap between the pilgrims and himself. Chaucer's "it seemed" indicates "but not really." The distance is an imaginative approximation.
          For he had ridden at more than a trot or pace;
          He had spurred (sped), as if he were a madman.
     The Canon/comet will be in their presence for a little over 100 lines. Then, as expected, he "fled away" and was gone forever.
     So far, we've seen the insubstantial train of the comet and its speed. Visibility is also part of its spectacle. Here, using word-play with "lite," which means both light and little, the game continues.
          It seemed he carried "lite" array  (little clothing).
          All light for the summer rode this worthy man.
He carried little clothing is the usual reading. But, as our comet, the words tell of his luminous quality as well, his lighted participation among the arranged figures in the night sky.
     It's curious that the Canon is prepared for summer if the pilgrims had set out one April morning. The words "lite array" for the "somer," that is, "Light for all of the summer," provide a reasonable time span for a comet's visibility.
     When the Host comments on the tattered condition of the clergyman's clothing the term lite is used once again. And, for the last time, lite accompanies the circumstances of his departure.
     When the narrator first notes the Canon's approach, a brief mention is made of a male (in Middle English, either a male human being or a bag, pouch) on the hind-quarters of the "horse." We'll take that up next time.

Chaucer books to download!

It's been a long time in the works, but it's finally complete. My three Chaucer books are available to download--just to read or to keep. The link is on my homepage:     http://celebratechaucer.com/
Just follow the New Download prompts and enjoy.

These are Franciscans

. . . and so am I.  Making dolls (or quilts) is something I do when I'm not writing about Chaucer. Thought you'd like to see the latest batch.
     Their clothing is made from remnants of the fabric of an actual Conventual Franciscan friar's habit made by a friend of mine. They are about 16 inches tall and will be auctioned for charity.