Let's Go Snowshoeing! (original story 2002)

It was one of those few-and-far-between Alaskan days; crisp, clear and blasting with sunshine when I decided to get out of the house for a snowshoe hike in the woods and do a little photography as well. Taking my camera gear, a backpack with film (before digital was popular) and two side arms, one a Berretta Matto .338, the other a .454 Casul in case I encountered any grizzlies along the way. Contrary to popular belief, grizzlies do not necessarily hibernate all winter long. If they haven’t built up a significant amount of fat, they will keep foraging for food until their fat stores are sufficient for their long sleep.

After weeks of the intense February deep-freeze, this was not a day to be ignored, so strapping my snowshoes across the top of the backpack and making sure that I had easy access to the weapons, I left the truck behind and trudged on down a winding snowmobile into the bright sunshine.

I had never been on snowshoes before and had no clue what was ahead of me. Walking along the snowmobile trail only a couple of hundred yards I spotted a lovely rolling meadow, it was a beautiful expanse of blinding white mounds and it was calling to me. This looked like a great place to start, I wouldn’t be disappearing into thick woods and I figured I could get out fairly easily if I had to. I took off my backpack and proceeded to strap on the snowshoes thinking this is easy enough. I can do this. I was exhilarated! This was going to be fun!
Snowshoes on, backpack refitted and I was off, stepping out from the trail onto snow that was at least three feet deep with the first two or three inches soft and powdery.

It took a few yards to adjust my body and balance to the Bozo feet but it certainly wasn’t difficult, although it did take a bit to get the rhythm. Now one thing that all of my friends and family know about me is that I have never have had any rhythm or grace! I would recommend practice before adventure; learn how to get yourself up and to take walking poles along. Did I do this? Nooooooo. I learned along the trail and herein lies the story…

One thing a person should know BEFORE they go out and play with snowshoes is how to get up if you fall while traversing DEEP snow. The area off the snowmobile trail turned out to be waist deep as I soon learned. I had stopped about a quarter of a mile out, sun shining on twinkling snow, no other intruder had marred the area. I walked in circles and I walked straight lines, inhaled that unbelievably fresh air, everything seemed so much more intense; the green of the Sitka spruce trees, the blue sky and white clouds, even the color of the sun was different, always a late afternoon hue at that time of year.

Just going nowhere soon lost it’s hold when I had this bright idea to kneel down for a few minutes and inspect my little area. As I leaned over to inspect the bindings the weight of the backpack propelled me face forward into the snow. I had been hand carrying the camera and my first thought as I was going down was "Don't land on the camera, don't let the camera fall in the snow!" As I went down I threw my left arm straight up over my head and with a certain amount of body contortion I managed to save the camera. Okay, I thought, no problem, piece of cake.
As I put my free hand down my whole right side promptly sank up to my shoulder. Then I was down, my right arm buried up to my neck, my body weighted down by all the gear and thick clothing while the snowshoes were pointed upwards at right angles. I took the camera strap and gripped it between my teeth, then attempted to roll over to my left side.

My left hand was down on the snow, which went up to my shoulder blade as fast as it did with the right arm! Slight frustration had begun to set in; I had no clue what I was in for during the next very long and strenuous ten minutes. With much groaning and whimpering, I pulled my arm free and rolled on my back, still holding the camera and the snowshoes still pointed in a cockeyed fashion towards the sky.

So I had two left feet attached to the Bozo shoes, I was encumbered with the heavy pack and still trying to keep the camera from making contact with the white stuff. I had learned NOT to put my hands down (hey, once was normal, the second time was reactionary). There seemed to be one area that was packing down fairly well, the spot right where my bottom was: I had made a complete 360 during my struggle. I thought if I could just move enough of my body out of the center spot, the snow would be packed down hard enough for me to put my hand down and possibly get myself out of that situation. Having squirmed a fair amount to make the attempt and with false security I tried to rise, only to break through the thin crust I had formed! Where the heck is help when you need it? Besides, nobody could help unless they were wearing snowshoes, too.

Finally I had remembered a relative conversation just days previously, to lay flat and crawl out so your weight is evenly dispersed. Still grasping the camera strap in my mouth I brought the camera up to my face as close as possible. Here’s the picture; a backpack holding a few thousand dollars' worth of gear and film, camera straps worn like a bridle and legs crossed like a giant X with huge, metal and plastic 'fins' sticking up. The soul of this moment? "Why don't you take one off and use it as a lever?" Hey, given enough time to calm down and think things out rationally, I would have figured that out. The simple difficulty laid in the attempt to bend into the right position to reach the straps on my feet, unbuckle them and yank that ice flipper off. Again I rolled over on my side, placed the aluminum shoe on the terra-unfirma in front of me, put both hands on the makeshift support and pulled myself erect. Relief flooded me, how stupid I felt for not thinking of that earlier!!!

I have come to the conclusion that in any given predicament, one will opt for the rescue attempt if there is another human being within a reasonable distance, despite the inability of that person to do so. So next time maybe I’ll practice on the living room floor before going out alone. Not a bad idea, ‘eh?

Take A Drive

 
 

It's amazing how just taking a drive through the surrounding country can revitalize your soul.
It's also great to just jump in the truck and point your nose to...well, wherever. No plans, no directions and no time table. Now that's relaxing! We didn't have to worry about how long it took to get to the destination and there was no rush to return as long as we were somewhere by o' dark thirty.

There is a little creek that runs through some BLM land about two miles from our house. Everytime I drive by it a little voice in my head says, "You've got to stop and just appreciate the beauty, take some pictures". Yesterday I did that. Even though the morning started out overcast and foggy I thought this would provide some great photos anyway. Most people would just change their mind but weather of any kind can produce some fantastic shots.
There was a slight wind blowing which caused a white dusting of frost to form on all the firs, ponderosas and willows lining the creek. The short winter we've had so far has formed a crust of ice on the shallow lakes and ponds. It may be a small area but I can still get moments of feeling alone with the wilderness.

So I clambered around the icy banks of this little creek, trying to get some good angles. It was just cool to be outside, breathing in the crisp fresh air and listening to the cracking ice as I walked on it. It only took a few minutes but I had finally listened to that little voice. The next time I'll stop when the sun is just short of setting for a different perspective.

Kevin and I took off and headed west into the hills on the other side of the main highway, driving through patchy, snowcovered dirt roads and the forest of jack pines. The truck tires crunched over frozen puddles and the fog burned off, leaving crystals of ice on the branches glistening like millions of tiny reflecting mirrors. Farther up the winding, one-lane road the trail turned into two lines of frigid trenches, forcing the truck to follow and slide at it's will rather than ours. Good thing we were headed downhill on that, it reminded me of being in a bumper car at the fair. We reached the crest of the low ridge and had a bright and clear view of the Matterhorn-like Mt. Thielson with Diamond Peak sitting just to the right. I took a few pictures but my little camera just doesn't give them the majestic credit they are due.

Once again we pointed our noses south through forests of ponderosa. The fog had just lifted from the woods leaving behind powdery white branches and needles. The deep reds of the ponderosa trunks starkly contrasted against the snow, it was ethereal, very calming, oh so quiet out there. You could hear yourself think. Turning my back to the occasional passing vehicle, I could shut out the world and simply feel and smell the peace out there.

Just a few miles south of the enchanted ponderosa woods the landscape totally changes from volcanic rock strewn veins bubbling up through the mixed forerst to a basalt like wall that lines Horse Ranch Canyon. Juniper trees define the cross over immediately and the veiw morphs into a wide plain of sandy, rocky soil dressed in sagebrush named Christmas Lake Valley. This is where Fort Rock is located, a gigantic volcanic bowl that rises up like Ayres' Rock does in Australia. The valley community consists of ranchers and farmers, homes dot the landscape intermittently, you could almost count the ones you can see on both hands. It doesn't snow much down there but the wind can blow and howl enough to put any hurricane to shame. Still, it is a different kind of beauty.

I opted to stop at the local (and only) restaurant for lunch, which Kevin eagerly agreed to.
After ordering a BLT for Kevin and a chicken sandwich for me, we settled down to read the local self-published valley news pamphlet. It's amazing how much goes on 'way out there'. I counted ten churches advertised and a handful of fund-raising potlucks going on at any given time. The highschool was raising money so the band kids could make a trip to Disneyland, someone else had an ad for clothes for the needy, etc., etc. Then I mozied on over to the local want ads. Now here is where you will meet the real people. The real estate jumped from a $3,000.00 lot in town (the town is about as big as one lot) to a three bedroom, two bath stick built home on two acres for, get this, $69,000.00!! Moving down the column to MISC FOR SALE was this one, fit for Jay Leno's blooper ads:
"For Sale: two ton wench, needs some work". Now, most ranchers I know use a winch on their farm equipment but maybe there's something going on 'way out here' that I don't know about. Maybe their winter was a little more harsh than ours even though the snow was almost non-existant. Maybe this little restaurant had the best biscuits and gravy that wench ever had. Kevin and I sat at our little diner table and had a field day tossing that one about while we waited for our meal. We did keep it very low key, though, in case any of the locals took offense to our funnin' with them.

Lunch finished and with a few hours to spare until sunset, Kevin and I drove off down the main highway again, veering left onto another narrow and winding dirt road. I personally believe that winding roads are a lot less boring than a straight-through-get-there trail. And to make it more fun if you're piloting a haymower are the swimming pool sized 'potholes' interspersed about every one hundred feet. As we came upon one that could have been a pond, I asked Kevin, "Do...you...feel...luckeee?" This could have been some ranchers' idea of a "Let's see if the furriners go thru the middle, Clem I'll betcha a few chips they do and boy, when they hit that hole we'll make us a bundle hauling 'em out, har har har!!"

Surviving the icy mine fields, there was a sign that read "Guard Station 2 Miles" and another one that read "Derrick Cave 8 Miles". We both were wondering just what it was out there that would require a guard station. I was thinking it's where all the bad "guards" go for punishment. The only thing out there are minute volcanic mounds, juniper trees, sagebrush, jackrabbits and coyotes. Oh, and those Godzilla sized power lines that run from one end of the horizon to the other.

Surviving the off-road trail, we came upon an area with a cylindrical formation jutting up into the sky. At first we thought this may be where Derrick Cave was. I told Kevin, "You know I HAVE to go up there!". It was there, it had to be clumb. Of course, standing at the base of it doesn't look anything like it does when you reach the rim. It was kind of cool, though. Looking at the rock you could see millions of big and tiny holes, some looking like porous bone and other parts looking like melted chocolate. There were a few small caves but we discussed the fact that they certainly weren't worth climbing all the way up there for. Derrick Cave had to be somewhere else. As we learned later, we hadn't gone far enough but that was due to the fact that the rest of the road was just a sheer sheet of ice, uphill. So we'll save that discovery for another day.

I like Christmas Valley, I like the name, the wide open vastness and listening to the wind whistle through the 'bob-war' fences and windmills. I like the simplicity of information you get. If you are on some back road as we were and you think you may be lost, just look for the cross-shaped post with a sign that says, "OUT". I'm not quite sure why but there are signs all along the two-lane highway that say, "COWS"...and they're only two feet tall. Maybe with all that time during the long winter they teach their cows to read.

Ahhhh, Christmas!

 
 
 

It's been a long time coming that snow, but when it finally decided to show up, it came with a vengeance! I kept writing to friends and family, "Still no snow..." right up until a few days previous. Not only have the snow and ice storms been making news on the east coast but we have been getting ours here on the west as well. In the last four days we have gotten at least 15 inches and Kevin has been going out constantly to shovel off the front deck and drive down a path in our driveway. Yesterday we were getting about an inch an hour.

Most of our regular wildlife visitors are keeping close to their own hearths and the deer have migrated over to Christmas Valley east of us about a month ago. When the winds stop blowing and the snow stops drifting, the squirrels scamper down the fir trees and congregate near the bird feeder, digging and scratching for the seeds that fall from the nuthatches, chickadees and red headed finches. The morning doves make their hourly rounds when the squirrels are gone and every once in awhile they do something a little goofy.

While Kevin and I were hunkered down in the living room watching the news yesterday afternoon, we kept hearing pecking noises, we just assumed it was one of the woodpeckers that visit us. Of course, the noise was persistant and so to make sure that one wasn't burrowing it's way into the house, we thought we better check it out.
I just happened to look up at the skylights in the living room and there I saw above me three to four pairs of little feet. That sound was not a woodpecker but the morning doves getting the melting snow off the skylights for a drink! Now I know how "pheasant under glass" feels.

And last but not least, when it was dark (hmmm, that was pretty early around 4:30) I went out to get a shot of one of the snowy trees that Kevin decorated with lights. Yes it is a bit fuzzy and I haven't figured out how to get a good still one but it's the idea, still kinda pretty anyway.

We are keeping our fingers crossed that come Christmas Eve the weather will be a bit better for our trip to Portland. Mom and Dad Schumacher (Big Shu's) are the lucky recipients of an invasion! Not only will Kevin and I be there but Bret, Sara, Evan and Eric will be arriving to celebrate the birth of our Lord. I am so excited, I haven't had a really nice family holiday in many years, and to share this with grandchildren and great grand-parents is a blessing and a treat that will always be a special memory indeed.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!

Snow!

 

Oh what a reaction one gets from people around here when one uses that little four letter word. Some behave as if you have truly said a bad word. Frankly, I love snow. I can't imagine why one would live here if one didn't like snow. There is always Southern California, New Mexico or Arizona.
I love the changing of the seasons, living with the 'real' harbingers of spring, the Ides Of March, and seeing 'termination dust' come in October. I don't recall any real seasonal changes where I grew up,it's all turned into a blur by this age. I see summer and then simple shades of gray. Growing up in the Bay Area east of San Francisco, the glazed crusts of the puddles underneath the playground swings at school meant it was winter. Walking a half mile to school in the fog, looking up at the seemingly revolving orange ball through the mist of it, that was winter, too.

I'm not sure if I love the snow because I feel I was deprived of a Currier and Ives Christmas every year or if I would love it no matter what. My very first white Christmas was in 1979, when I moved to Montana. I was pregnant with my first baby but that didn't stop me from being ecstatic when the first flakes began to fall. It was even more fun to experience that the following year with a one year old in a sled! And for the next fourteen years my little family made it an all day event to head for the hills to choose their own tree.
I'd fix up a pot of hot chili and hot chocolate fixings, load up the truck with all the boots, jackets and gloves I could shove in there, throw in the kids and the husband and off we would go, driving up the logging roads into the forest. In later years when we reached the real climbing zone, we'd tie up ropes to the bumper of the truck, attach them to sleds and toboggans, then tow grownups and kids all the way up to the 'hunting grounds', at least a good three to four mile ride. I had more fun listening to the kids yelping and squealing and watching the laughter on their faces. That was one of the best parts of the day. Nowadays one would probably get arrested for child abuse, but MY kids would tell you THAT was FUN.
At the end of the ride, or top of the hill, everybody would gather around the tailgate, ready for that piping hot chili and hot cocoa that we heated up on the ol' Coleman stove. Nothing tastes so good when you've had that much fun and you're cold, the air is so crisp and clean and your tree is resting on top of the vehicle. Now of course, the tree hunt probably took all of an hour, traipsing through the knee-deep snow passing off all the imperfect specimens. And then...THE ONE...there it was, about a hundred yards off and hiding behind some big papa tree. But we'd see it, "There it is, that's the one!!" someone would yell out gleefully and off we would all trudge to stand in judgement. Hardly ever did anyone argue since most everyone was pretty worn out, wet and ragged and too tired to disagree.
So on went the process of tying it down and hauling it back down to the valley, kids in tow STILL wanting to ride down on the sleds, tires and toboggans. They may have been wet and cold but they were getting in as much of it as they could.
Now those are great snow memories.
Then I moved to real snow country. If living in Alaska doesn't kill your love for snow, nothing will. The winter of 2002 I moved into a log cabin I was building. The floor was in and the walls were up and the roof consisted of a blue tarp strapped down. All winter. In Alaska. Until May. Now that's tough. There was plenty of firewood to feed the wood stove that was always hungry. Not only did you keep yourself warm standing by the fire inside but you warmed your insides hauling, sawing and chopping wood outside, often in sub-zero conditions.
Snow...
I love that four-letter word still. I have a sturdy roof over my head now and a pellet stove to keep me warm, along with a wonderfully cuddly husband who lovingly trudges out through three feet of snow to the garage, in the dead of winter, to bring back a 40 to 50 pound sack so he can spill the contents into the open mouth of that lovely Kozi pellet stove, just to keep me warm.

Mom and Sara's Trip to Auntie and Uncle's House

Several months ago I had planned on heading down to California in September for a visit with my older brother Pat and sister-in-law Cathie. At first I was planning on making the trip alone until I had asked Sara if she would like to come along with Evan and Eric. She seemed in shock that I would ask such a question and I could almost hear her say, "Travel with BABIES??". I don't exactly remember her reply but I do recall telling her that I had traveled cross-country alone from Montana to California several times with her and her brother when they were toddlers and older.
She said she would have to think about this and talk it over with Bret and she'd get back to me. Weeks went by and regardless of whether or not she came along for the ride, I was heading down for my visit.

Well, on September 24th, 2008 I headed for Sara's in Corvallis, Oregon. The Road Trip was in motion, not only would I be visiting Pat and Cathie but my trip companions would be Sara, Evan and Eric. Bret had planned to come along but was waylaid by his college work program and couldn't join us on our adventure so as their Nissan truck was loaded up I left my car there for Bret to use if he needed to. Another little story there...

I left my house at 4:15 a.m. and arrived at Sara's at 7:45 a.m., we loaded up her new Nissan truck, belted the boys in their car seats, hugged Bret and said our goodbyes and headed south.
Now, if you think about it, traveling 500 miles by car with a two year old and a one year old would just about unravel any normal adult, but I wasn't going to think about it, I was just going to do it and take one mile at a time...
We really didn't have a time itinerary and our plan was to simply stop when we had to, depending on the needs of Evan and Eric. I will say that they were excellant travel companions and really very easily entertained. Sara was the designated driver and Grandma was babysitter, binky finder, map reader and toy picker-upper. The drive down took us about ten hours since we stopped at a few places to stretch our legs and see the sights, there were many view points along the way so we took those opportunities to refill sippee cups and change diapers. All in all, Evan and Eric were troopers and did very well, a few cries here and there but as long as Grandma kept picking up dropped toys and binkys and paid them some attention they did very very well, much better than we had hoped for or expected.

We arrived at Pat and Cathies' a little disheveled and road weary but still holding up pretty well. As we pulled up into my brothers' driveway he came out to meet his great-nephews for the first time. Sara and her babies and Pat and I are all that is left of my family so we hold each other dearly in our hearts, tears came into my eyes as I saw him approach for the first time. Sara and I hopped out of the truck and proceeded to unload our baggage and then the babies and head inside to greet Auntie Cathie.
Usually the boys are in bed by six p.m. but after the days' driving and their routine all out of whack, we all stayed up until about ten p.m., the boys were full of energy but there was no whining or crankiness from either of them.
By 5:30 the next morning we were all up and ready for another day. Sara took one of the boys while I took the other and we sped through diaper changes, got them dressed and out to the dining room table for a breakfast of bagels and cream cheese and fresh strawberries.
While she was busy with the feeding I headed for the shower first, then she took her turn at it when I was finished and I took over the boys. They aren't handfuls by any means but I had forgotten how busy you are at every moment, it seemed as if her shower took forever! It has been 25 years since I have had to have all my radar up and working at full power so by the end of the day, I was ready for bed. It was a wonderful visit, we didn't have to rush anywhere, just enjoy our time together. It truly was the best time to take Evan and Eric since they are not at the stage where we would have to put up with, "Are we there yet??, He looked at me! He's touching me!"..

The weather was great, sunny and warm, and Pat suggested a little drive to the river and a little beach not far from the house.
Kids are so funny and so unpredictable, all part of the fun of having them around. While I held Eric, Sara walked to the river's edge with Evan and without an ounce of fear (I say this because Evan is usually so cautious of heights, loud noises, or "big" things) he walks right to the lapping water and gets his shoes wet. Okay, so off come the shoes and he's laughing and giggling while his toes get wet. Within seconds it was time to remove his shorts, then his little tee shirt came off and finally mommy removed the diaper. There he was in all his blinding-white glory splashing and chasing the water, throwing pebbles in and laughing even more.
After a good half hour Evan was dressed and we headed back home for lunch and naps.
After the boys woke from their naps, we took Evan out in the backyard and removed his clothes and diaper so he could run through the sprinklers, but he wasn't having any of that. Sara suggested just turning on the hose and letting him have a go at that, which turned out to be a great idea and Evan loved it.




We thought having Evan and Eric outdoors for awhile would surely help them to sleep when bedtime came but we discovered otherwise. They went to bed around 9:00 p.m., still in great spirits and no real cranky times or exceptional whining. All in all, they were doing great and had a great time as well as we did simply enjoying our time together.
Friday came and Sara and I decided we wouldn't push our luck with the good times so we left a day early just to take our time getting home. After breakfast we pointed the nose of the truck towards I-5 to turn towards the coast later on. We drove through the wine country on roads I had never been on before, Cathy suggested a little highway called 16. It was quite scenic; rolling hills, farmland, oak trees, and winding roads with an occasional river alongside. One of our thoughts was to try and go through the redwoods so we could stop at the Paul Bunyon statue and take pictures. I have a photo of my dad and me when I was 2, there is a photo of Sara when she was about two with her dad and we were going to attempt to get one of Evan with his mommy. Alas, we ended up driving past the darn thing sometime after dark, we never even saw it. But...by dark we were ALL ready for a motel with a shower, some beds, rest and something to eat.
Our final stop on Friday night was at a motel in Crescent City after driving through three towns previously where every place was either closed for the season or they were full. Who would have thought? I also noticed that at one place the price of gas was $4.15 while the other 'non-reservation' stations were averaging $3.51. Needless to say, we didn't get gas there. On Saturday morning we were up early, enjoying the benefits of the free continental breakfast with cereal, oatmeal, blueberry muffins and a few apples, then hitting the road again. Since our Paul Bunyon dissappointment we focused on the excitement of enjoying some sandy beach and listening to the surf.

We made it to Brookings, Or., one of my dad's favorite places. The weather was sunshiny and warm as we took Evan and Eric out of their carseats and put on some light jackets. Off to the beach we went. At first, I suppose the vastness of the ocean and the loud noise of the crashing waves had Evan hesitating a bit but after the initial meeting, he was thrilled to run up to the waves that had ebbed, throwing more pebbles and giggling with glee as they disappeared.




Back on the road and heading up towards the redwoods (Ol' Paul was on the Highway Of The Giants), kids all loaded in their carseats and STILL doing so well, to our amazement. We made a few stops at some roadside stands where there were all kinds of redwood statues, birdhouses, windchimes and redwood seedlings for sale. Sara suggested I get two redwood seedlings and plant them in honor of Evan and Eric. I thought it was a great idea but am putting them in pots so that Sara and Bret can have them in a few years when they have their own home. It's pretty likely they wouldn't survive our winters here.
One more stop we had to make was at one of the trees that you can drive through, there is the "Grandfather" tree and there is the Chandelier tree where we stopped and took some pictures. No, we didn't drive through this one since the mirrors on the truck stuck out a bit too far, this was a rather narrow drive-through.
So back on the road, everyone all hitched up and seatbelted and about four more hours of driving. The last stop was a lunchbreak for us, I was pretty done with McDonald's and Arbys and ANYTHING drive-through so having a sitdown meal without a seatbelt on was great. Then it was only two and a half hours after that when we drove up to Sara's front door. We just missed Bret by 30 minutes since he had to work at 4:00 p.m. I helped Sara unload a few things so she could take a quick trip down to visit Bret with Evan and Eric, he was soooo happy to see them! One of his comments over the phone after we left was, "It's so quiet here..."
Sara and I have wonderful memories of a unique and wonderful trip together, lots of pictures and two redwood trees to watch grow.

I didn't take any pictures of Cathie since she is still in a mild state of depression concerning her progress of recovery. Even though the doctors tell her she's doing remarkably well, we know that things don't go as fast as we would like. I thought she looked pretty good and she even had three inches of hair so she wasn't bald. She still has some swelling around her throat and her skin still looked very red but as far as everything else, I thought she was doing great, too, and I made sure to tell her that.

A Great Summer

It has been a wonderful summer, one of my best in a long time. I
can look back at all the time I have had off, good long stretches to
play with Kevin or get things done around the yard, even take a trip
with my daughter and grandsons...

This year Kevin and I managed
to get quite a bit done on the yard, notwithstanding our--okay, MY,
battle with all the critters and varmints. It began with a few
squirrels who have a nasty habit of peppering the ground with broken
branches andpine cones as they prune their wooded high rises . If they
are the least bit bothered with your presence, they will pelt you with
their trimmings. The old adage, "Don't look up" works well in this
case, too. Along withlilliputian -sized potholes dotting the front
acre, we discovered they were also stripping the aspen saplings of
their leaves! In the last two years I have nurtured and nursed, trimmed
and weeded, barricaded and sprayed offensive natural ingredients on
those trees to keep the deer away and the trees and most of the bushes
have survived the larger animals. It will be a challenge to figure out
how to outsmart the squirrels with their bark-stripping and leaf
eating. Now I have a new adversary no bigger than a cell phone; it is a
7 stripe ground squirrel, alias; Timber Tiger, look-a-like to our
beloved Chip and Dale
friends.
Oh they are so cute and lovable
looking as they dart from hide-out to hide-out, bomb craters they have
lovingly and tenaciously dug out as refuge from hunters on high or
their larger tormentors, the gray squirrels. They WERE cute until my
bulbs began to disappear, they WERE cute until my rock garden looked
like the Smurfs used a rototiller on it, they WERE cute until my ground
cover garden showed up with tunnels.
I know, I hear the words, "They were there first and you moved into THEIR territory".
And
I have always been one to say those very words myself, until they
became MY problem. So my solution for next year will be to lay down
chicken wire, then we will all be happy.
There have been a few
freezing nights now, the leaves on the aspens are turning that
wonderful lemon yellow and wood smoke wafts through the air fromwood stoves. The aspens have grown enough to finally "shhhhh
" when there is a breeze, one of my favorite sounds and the bucks that
pass through every night have lost all their velvet. They've left
pieces of it on the smaller pine trees they've been battling. They are
just now in the early stages of pretend fighting and so every now and
then we can hear the click-click-click of their antlers as they test
their budding prowess in the arena of life.
This year we splurged
on ourselves and bought two kayaks so we could explore the 50+ lakes
and ponds in our area. Our first adventure took us to Devil's Lake,
only about 9 acres and 12 feet deep at the most, but a lake that is so
clear and refreshing from one end to the other with most of the color
being that alpine blue-green. We tested our kayaks for several hours,
stopping for lunch and to tether ourselves to a large boulder in the
water. Shortly after that we headed for the loading area, ready to head
home after such a wonderful lazy day. Kevin noticed that my kayak
seemed a bit heavier than his and that quite a bit of water was
dripping out from the dry storage area in the rear. When he popped off
the seal to look inside he discovered about ten gallons of water that
had seeped in during our time on the lake. I know now that when Kevin
gets silent, something is in the works. Twenty minutes later we were in
the parking lot atREI, unloading both kayaks when Kevin says, "Well, do you want to stay in the truck or come in with me?" Hmmm
, I think most women will understand why I chose to stay out in the
truck. Needless to say, about an hour and a half later there were two
new and better quality kayaks in the trailer as we headed home. The
very next weekend we were able to take out the new ones back at Devil's
Lake and this time not only did they perform better and with more ease,
they didn't seem to absorb any water.

Happy Fathers' Day

Father's Day

This day of honor brings an occasional tear and quiet reflection now.
My dad is gone, physically, but spiritually and emotionally my dad is with me in my heart. As with my mother who passed away 33 years ago, he is in my conscious thought every day. So dad, this is for you...

I thank you for the fruit trees you planted all over our front and backyards so that by the time I was 7 or 8, I could fully appreciate the springtime that brought out the scents of orange and lemon blossoms, the apricot tree that I would sit under when the fruit was ripe and eat the fallen ones until I was sick. There were other trees; a purple plum that mom would make jam from, nectarines that filled a bowl of whole milk and sprinkled with sugar , I thank you for planting that one, tiny, struggling Concord grape vine, you know, the one where you never reaped a grape in it's entire age. You can thank me for that one, dad, I found that vine somewhere around the age of springtime and scavenged every single ripe grape that survived insects and fowl. There was also a hybrid tree that produced a fruit called a loquat, something the size of an apricot with a shiny, peach colored skin, a huge double seed in the center and juice that squirted out when you bit into it. Oh that was another one that you used to think didn't produce much, but it sure did, dad.
There are so many stories and so many wonderful memories, along with a little guilt for giving you those troublesome teenage years. How I know now that I didn't even have a clue about life and thought you were the one who didn't know anything. I remember somewhere around mid-teen years when you told me, "Your body is growing faster than your head". "Whatever, dad, what a crazy thing to say, you are so weird". Of course, when I had a teenage daughter that very thought--in your voice, no less--rushed through my mind as well and I received the very same look from mine that I gave to you.
It wasn't until I was old enough for it to not matter anymore when mom told me about the lemon tree. She said you planted it in front of my bedroom window when I was around two so that when I was a teenager it would be a natural barricade. It certainly was a wonderful deterrant; when I would open my window in the spring the aroma would fill my room and by the time I was 12, the lemon tree was roof high and wide enough to shade both bedroom windows! The branches were thick and many twisted into a tough barricade and for some reason, I seem to remember thorns on that tree. I laugh now, dad.
I have childhood friends who tell me how they thought you were so funny, I can appreciate it now, but at 13 I was horrified and mortally embarrassed by some of the things you did. Many of us can remember a show called "The Munsters" with one family character named Uncle Fester. Now, I recall seeing old snapshots of you with curly blonde hair but sometime after the end of WW2 and your return home, you developed alopecia and lost all of your hair, even your eyelashes. To me, you always looked normal because I never saw anything else. I never fully loved your sense of humor until later on in life. I did find it difficult to appreciate it when my friends would knock on the front door and you answered wearing a black turtleneck and a lightbulb stuck in your mouth (something Uncle Fester did on the show...).
Oh you had your quirks and I remember a scenario where you were so fed up with the accumulation of doggy poop in the yard that you wrapped a few collections up in boxes and fancy present wrap. You had caught a few of the neighbors' dogs visiting and depositing in the yard so you graciously returned their pet's gifts, lovingly wrapped and left on the neighbor's front porches.
But dad, you also had your love and your little wisdoms. You stood by me when I needed it the most and didn't give up on me, you protected me when I was young and stupid, when my thinking processes weren't complete. Once, when I was getting ready for a formal dance, you coached me on the placement of the silverware on the table; the salad fork was first and the dinner fork was on the outside and you only cut a few pieces of meat at a time and not the whole steak, Janie. Who knew you knew about that??
I have regrets that I never called you often enough after I left home, but I did write. You were a wonderful correspondant with your family and friends so I learned from you what a treasure it was to recieve a letter in the mailbox.
I know you had regrets rearing your children wishing you had done some things different, but dad, I had the best daddy I could ever have had. Sunday was our day and I remember many outings for breakfast, you would have your "longjohn" and a cup of coffee and I would have my hot cocoa and glazed donut. Maybe we would go for chili dogs and a Coke or stop by the local airport to watch the planes come in, it didn't matter because it was our time. Then there were a few camping trips to the beach or to spend the weekend with grandma and grandpa Heighes up in Grassvalley--I loved it there in the country, I had lots of room to roam and explore, build forts and just imagine...
I am thankful for the last years you were alive, our closeness and bonding and being able to share the joys and pains of parenthood. This was our comraderie. I am thankful that we both had a preparation time for your passing, I am thankful I was able to tell you how much I loved you and how sorry I was for all the pain and trouble I caused. I am thankful that I got to say goodbye.
The night after you passed away, there was an awesome sight in the dark Alaskan sky as the aurora borealis created a wispy circle in the sky instead of the usual flourescent green wave. I just felt you encircling me. The next morning as I looked to the sky again, I watched a flock of Canada geese pointed south and I said, "Goodbye daddy, I love you! I'll miss you! They'll help take you Home..."