You know it is October when the bucks in our backyard argue over who gets to snuggle up with the does.
This and That is a good title for today’s post. When you have taken a break from blogging, like I have, things accumulate. I thought I would do a little catching up today.
You know it’s October when the local bucks start testing their mettle with each other over who gets to snuggle up with the local does. These two decided to put on a performance in our backyard. They didn’t do any damage to each other, at least when Peggy and I were watching, but it seemed like a great way to poke out an eye. This morning we watched a doe cross our deck followed by three bucks: a spike, a forked horn, and a three pointer. I wondered what the doe was thinking. Was it, “Wow, look at me and all the guys tagging along.” Or was it, “Damn, I wish those idiots would go somewhere else.” I suspect it was the latter. While mating season is a true passion for the bucks, it’s more like being worn down for the does. At least that’s my assumption after watching them frolic for ten years. Maybe if the bucks had to help take care of the babies…
The two bucks went at it with their antlers until the smaller one decided it was a mite too risky.
Several months ago my friend Linda from the blog, Lagniappe, mailed me a fascinating country cloth piece that she had picked up in Liberia, West Africa where we had both lived— me in the mid-60s and Linda in the early 70s. I put it out to admire for a while and then decided it would make a great quilt. Fortunately, Peggy is quite talented when it comes to putting quilts together. The results are quite gorgeous. Many thanks for your generous gift, Linda. And thank you Peggy. It will live on our bed in the trailer.
The African Quilt!How it will look as a bed quilt.
On our last trip to the Oregon Coast we stayed in a KOA at the base of the Alsea Bridge in the town of Waldport. Peggy and I took a number of photos of the bridge plus we walked across it, admiring the sand at low tide on our journey south and seals on our journey north. I’ve been meaning to do a post on it ever since Peggy and I went kayaking in the area.
The bridge as seen from below where we were camping near Waldport, Oregon.As Peggy and I walked across the Alsea Bridge going for lunch in Waldport, it was at low tide. The cormorant made a nice contrast to the sand and water.The tide was coming in when we walked back across the bridge. Several seals were on their own quest for lunch down in the water.
Early in September, Peggy and I went to my 60th High School Reunion in Placerville, Ca. Not surprisingly, there were a lot of old folks there.
Peggy snapped this picture of the people attending our 60th reunion. I’m standing in the third row with dark glasses on. My friend from the first grade on, Bob Bray, is standing front and center with his wife Linda. Another friend from the first grade, Clifford Drake, is standing just below me to my right.Here we are in the first grade 72 years ago in 1949. I’m in the middle of the back row with my hands in my pocket. Clifford and Bob are sitting in front of Mrs. Young. Bob is on the right. Clifford on the left.
On Friday, we said a sad goodbye to our small RV, Quivera. We had had numerous adventures in her including making our way across the US several times, going to Alaska twice, and Burning Man at least five times. We retraced my 10,000 mile Bike Trek around North America in her with Peggy driving the whole time so I could take photos and make notes. Last summer, we hightailed it across the nation at the height of the pandemic so Peggy could attend a 70th birthday party organized by our kids on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Three summers ago, Peggy used her as a backup vehicle for me as I did my 750 mile backpack trek down the PCT to celebrate my 75th. Quivera has found a great new home with Terry and her dog Benny in Ashland, Oregon, however. And has many more adventures ahead. As do we. Grin.
Terry and Benny prepared to hit the open road in Quivera.I’ll close today’s post with this photo of Benny, who had quickly claimed the passenger seat as his own.
Quivera, looking beautiful, was suspicious about about all of the effort we were putting into her— as she should have been. But she has found a great new home in Ashland, Oregon and will be well loved.
I’ve been a fan of Jimmy Buffet’s ever since I went to see him and his band, The Coral Reefer’s, at Harrah’s Lake Tahoe in the early 1980s. As I recall, we even had a ‘reefer’ (or three) in preparation for the concert. By we, I mean Tom Lovering, his Aussie buddy, Trevor, and me. It was a guy’s night out. Cheese Burger in Paradise and Son of a Son of a Sailor are still floating around in my mind. As is Margaritaville.
I’ve been thinking about another one of his songs from that era, Changes in Latitude, Changes in Attitude, over the past three months I’ve been taking a break from blogging. These lyrics in particular struck a chord:
Oh, yesterdays are over my shoulder, So I can’t look back for too long. There’s just too much to see waiting in front of me, and I know that I just can’t go wrong with these changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes…
I could hardly blame you for thinking, “At 78, there is a lot more over Curt’s shoulder than there is waiting in front of him.” But Peggy and I don’t view things that way. Life is an adventure to be lived— one day at a time— for as long as you can. So, when Peggy casually mentioned to me a few weeks ago that she was ready to wander again, I was right there with her. We did that in 1999/2000, taking a year off from work to travel extensively in North America for a year. And we did it again in 2008 when Peggy retired. That time it was for three years.
There is something incredibly freeing about life on the road, as many of you who read this blog know from your own travels. Each day brings something new to see, to experience and to learn. Everyday life and concerns fade into the background. While we have travelled using just about every mode of transportation possible over the years (minus the four-legged type), our North American road trips were accomplished in two different Pleasure Way vans, Xanadu and Quivera.
Our goal this time will be to do a more thorough job of exploring North America than we have in the past— traveling relatively short distances to the next interesting/beautiful location, settling in for 1-3 weeks, and exploring the surrounding country. It will require a slightly different approach. We are buying a small trailer and have already bought a new pickup to pull it. The trailer will serve as our base. The pickup will serve as our exploration vehicle. It even comes with 4-wheel drive and off-road capacity! The trailer is designed for either living in campgrounds with hookups or boondocking (living off the grid) with solar power.
Peggy is standing in front of our new F 150 which we bought to pull the trailer. It’s big! And even designed to help back up the trailer.
As for our schedule, we have yet to decide how long we will be on the road each outing before we return to our home base. Neither have we decided where each trip will take us but we are thinking warmer when it is cold up north and cooler when it is hot down south. Both Canada and Mexico will be included in our plans depending on conditions. Our goal will also be to avoid some of the worst problems associated with global warming. Anyway, I’ll keep you posted as our plans develop. And, of course, you will be invited to travel with us as I blog along the way.
Our new Grand Design Imagine 17-MKE trailer is only 22′ long but it is beautifully laid out and equipped. A Murphy bed (on the end) will give us extra space during the day. This photo is from Grand Design’s website since our Imagine is still on order.
Are your ducks in a row? Peggy and I just returned from a trip to the small town of Waldport on the Oregon Coast. While there, we kayaked up Beaver Creek in Brian Booth State Park. It’s a beautiful area known for its wildlife. Mainly, we saw lots of ducks. Peggy, who was sitting in the front of our two person kayak, was the prime photographer. She captured these ducks behaving in a fashion that even Miss Manners would approve.Or maybe an even more important question: Are you ready for prime time? We came on this duck who wasn’t quite sure as she checked out her tail feathers. She quickly preened (oiled her feathers)as we approached.And then said, “Okay, I’m beautiful. Take my photo.”A nearby mallard duck said, “Ha”… (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)“I’m the prettiest duck on the river!” (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)This duck absolutely refused to allow us to take a close up. I understood. Say you were standing in the creek with your head under the water and your butt up in the air. Would you want your photo taken?Most of the ducks we approached were trying to hide their heads under their wings. We assumed that it had something to do with the state of the world. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Another example. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Normally we paddle our 12 foot inflatable Innova kayak with a rudder attached. This time, we were up the creek without a rudder. We were rudderless. While Beaver Creek looks perfectly calm, there was a current accompanied by an occasional gust of wind. Big Green enjoyed the freedom while we paddled like mad to keep her going where we wanted. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)There were those perfect moments, however, where we could simply relax and enjoy the gorgeous scenery, which was in abundance.Including impressive wood sculptures, such as this. Peggy insisted that we kayak around it.She thought climbing off the kayak and on to the sculpture would be a great photo op. Something to send the grandkids. Then, she thought better of it. There was a significant chance that she would fall in the water, which I would have considered an amusing photo. Peggy? Not so much.Peggy, who is quite tactile, decided feeling the wood was enough.Circling the driftwood provided several different views, including this garden growing on one side.I decided it would be interesting to depict the driftwood in black and white. It looks a bit ominous.Not as ominous as this old dead tree hanging out over the water, however. I thought it might reach out and grab us and we wisely gave it a wide berth.The riparian habitat next to the river made a fun contrast to the the surrounding forest.Peggy even found some early fall-colored leaves.As we paddled back toward our starting point, mist from the ocean added a magical element to our journey. Peggy and I will be back.
This is one my occasional blogs I am posting as I have taken a break from blogging over the summer. Next up, I will do a post on the impressive Alsea Bridge across Alsea Bay in Waldport. Let me just say here, Oregon takes its bridges seriously. After that I’ll touch on what Peggy and I have decided over the summer. It will include our being on the road much more exploring North America. Change is in the wind.
Tom Lovering on his ski boat in the Sacramento Delta. In addition to the ski boat,Tom also owns a fishing boat, a sail boat and miscellaneous kayaks and rafts. His love of water matches my love of the mountains and wilderness.
Tom wanders in and out of these posts frequently. I first met him in 1974 when I walked into Alpine West, his outdoor gear and clothing store in Sacramento. I was planning my first 100 mile Sierra Backpack Trek as a fundraiser for the American Lung Association and was seeking a sponsor. After telling me that the trip was crazy and that people would come off the hike hating me and the ALA, he immediately offered to promote the event through his store. That’s Tom. We’ve been friends ever since and have had numerous adventures together that have included backpacking, boating and Burning Man, among others. He was with me when I found Bone on a backpacking trip in 1978. In the photo below, Tom has Bone woven into his hair on an 18 day raft trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon he led in 2010 that included Peggy, me, and other friends.
Tom shares a hairy moment with Bone. Some drinking may have been involved… Kudos to his hair stylist.
Here, Tom good-naturedly poses with sideshow art that was featured one year when Burning Man had a circus theme.
Three years ago, he and his friend Lita were deglazing a pot that they had used for cooking blackberry jam. Tom threw in a dollop of vodka to make the job easier. Naturally he couldn’t waste the vodka. Much to his delight, the sugar-enhanced blackberries combined with a generous helping of vodka went well together. A new drink was born: Blackberry Surprise! Over the next couple of years, he and Lita made pilgrimages to the Fort Bragg area on California’s Pacific Coast each summer to pick blackberries to mix with vodka as he refined his recipe.
I told him that lots of blackberries grow where we live and invited the two of them up to join Peggy and me in making Blackberry Surprise. To seal the deal, we sent him a photo of plump blackberries a week and a half ago.
The bait. Himalayan blackberries (Rubus armeniacus) are actually easy to find almost anywhere on the West Coast. Originally from Armenia, the plant has wonderfully large, sweet and juicy fruit. It is also incredibly invasive. Our canyon is filled with the plant and I do my best to keep it there. I will say it provides great cover for birds and wildlife.
Tom called immediately. “We’ll be up tomorrow,” he told me. I hadn’t expected the photo to elicit such a fast response.
“Um, Tom,” I replied, “we are having dinner out with our friends Don and Nan.”
“What time will you get home,” he asked. “Eight-ish” I replied. “Great, we’ll see you then.” I could hear Lita in the background suggesting you don’t call someone and show up the next day. Ha. Tom and Lita drove up the 320 miles from Sacramento in their Pleasureway van and were waiting at our house when we got back from dinner.
Tom immediately broke out a battery operated blender with the power of a professional Vitamix that he had invented and whipped us up a generous helping of Blackberry Surprise. We all went to bed happy.
Lita with Peggy in the back of the ski boat on the Sacramento River. The two bonded immediately. I suspect it may have had something to do with their discussion of their choice in men. When Tom and Lita first started dating, her grown daughters immediately jumped online to see what they could learn about him. The first photo they found was the one featured above with Bone in his hair that I had taken and posted on a blog. I would have loved to have heard their conversation. I imagine it went something like this: “OMG, Mother, what have you gotten yourself into!”
The rest of the story is best told in photos. Here, Tom and I are working our way though a patch that had particularly large berries. Many we found were on the smallish side due to the drought.Tom had bulled his way to the top using a ladder to break through the thorny challenge. Peggy, Lita and I worked our way around the edges. (The photos of us picking were taken by Peggy Mekemson and Lita Campbell on their smart phones.)
I reach through the berries for a particularly plump one. My shirt provided a degree of protection.
Peggy and I share a moment. Altogether, the four of us gathered some nine gallons of blackberries working over two mornings. Then the real work started.
Creating the Blackberry Surprise involved several steps. First up was gently boiling the blackberries to separate the fruit from the seeds. Next up, we strained the concoction. I then used our blender to further separate the left overs, using a portion of the vodka to add more liquid. We then strained that. Tom added sugar and once again heated the blackberries. We then added more vodka and bottled the final project. (Tom wanted to strain everything one final time but we restrained him instead, so to speak.)
The next morning we reenacted part of the process for a photo op. “Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble.” Tom chanted as he stirred away.
Tom demonstrates the importance of sampling the product frequently as it is made. “Ah, just the right amount of vodka,” he declared.
But then he warned of the danger of too much sampling…
A final photo of our booty. Altogether we made some 14 gallons of Blackberry Surprise. (All of the bottles minus the five gallon jug had been filled with vodka when Tom arrived.) I kept approximately a gallon of Tom’s elixir and sent the rest home with him.
Tom took this photo of Lita, Peggy and I as he and Lita prepared to leave for Sacramento with their Blackberry Surprise.
NOTE: This is one of the occasional blogs I am posting this summer as I take a break.
Two weeks ago we were kayaking through mangroves along the Gulf Coast of Florida. Last week we were kayaking on the edge of the Oregon Dunes National Recreation area next to the Pacific Ocean. Are we jet-setters or what? You are looking at Peggy’s hat in the foreground. Our grandson Cody is next. Our son Tony was leading on a paddle board. We were making our way through a mangrove tunnel.
Peggy’s wearing a cap this time as we make our way through Honeyman Lake near Florence, Oregon last week.
We had traveled to Florida to join a celebration and party for our son Tony who was retiring from his position as a Lieutenant Commander and helicopter pilot with the Coast Guard. Prior to his stint in the Coast Guard, he had been a helicopter pilot in the Marine Corps including three tours to Iraq. He has earned quite a few medals for bravery, being wounded, and saving lives along the way. The lower one is for being one of the best pistol shots in the Coast Guard. He was captain of the pistol team at Annapolis. Peggy was once recognized as being the best pistol shot among teenagers in America. I’ve been known to hit the broadside of a barn.
Tony arranged a kayak trip for visiting family members at Weedon Island Preserve near St. Petersburg.
Like Tony, his wife, Cammie, was operating a paddle board. Their youngest son, Cooper, was hitching a ride.
Here we are entering the mangrove tunnel that the Weedon Island Preserve is noted for. Our paddles proved to be too long, so we took them apart and operated with half a paddle.
Docked at lunch. Tony is tying a rope to the kayaks to make sure they don’t go wandering off.
One of the things I always love about Florida is the bird life. This is an ibis.
Another view. I think he was stalking something.
While mangrove tunnels and birds caught our attention in Florida, water lilies became our focus while kayaking on Honeyman Lake.
White and pink were the colors of the day.
Peggy caught these three pink water lilies in a row…
While two white water lilies lined up for me.
Honeyman Lake is located at the northern end of the Oregon Dunes National Recreational Area.
Another view of the dunes along the lake.
A final view of Honeyman Lake. I took this photo from where we had parked, Quivera, our small RV. We kayaked down to the opposite end of the lake taking a detour into a feeder creek that provided our up-close encounter with water lilies. Fog over the Pacific Ocean can be seen in the distance.
As noted before, I am taking a break from blogging this summer to catch up on other writing chores, but I am also posting an occasional blog when I find subjects I think you might find fun. –Curt
I looked out our door and this young fellow was staring through the glass panel at me.
They’re back.
For about three weeks all we saw around here on our property in the Applegate Valley of Southern Oregon were the two does that hang out here and their four fawns. We wondered about the absence of other deer. Maybe the does turn into ‘mama bears’ when their babies are so young and the other does, bucks, and youngsters find it wise to be elsewhere. That all changed this week. Four or five other does and a couple of bucks had come by to drink water and decided to hang around.
The young buck had certainly made himself at home. Our cement pad is relatively cool in the shade plus I had watered it down earlier. With temperatures climbing above 110° F, both wildlife and humans were suffering.I had noted something strange about the pad earlier in the day. It was covered with new scratch marks, some going fairly deep. I called Peggy out to take a look. Had something big been using our patio to sharpen its claws. That was our first thought. The small buck sleeping there provided the likely answer, however. Deer like to make a bed before lying down. They use their hoofs to scratch out a shallow hole in the ground. Apparently, the young buck, or one of his cohorts had been trying to scratch a more comfortable place to sleep on the cement. Good luck with that…His larger companion satisfied himself with a long, cool drink out of the birdbath, aka, local spring.Misty, otherwise known as Top Doe, could have told the buck that the small stones we use in the patio are much easier to rearrange. I’m forever raking the stones out flat it seems. I had just sprayed Misty with cool water and her look seemed to be saying ‘more.’ Note; She still has to regain her girlish figure from having her twins.Misty gives me her “You wouldn’t happen to have an apple, would you?” look. One of her fawns is in the backSome of the gang. I took this photo from my writing chair in our library.
But enough on the adults. I know that the real reason you are here is to see the babies. The following photos are of Misty’s kids. Her daughter’s fawns were born a couple of weeks after Misty’s and are still too small to hang out with the adults. We tend to see them later in the evening.
What’s cuter than a fawn using mom as an obstacle course?Answer: A baby snuggling up to mom. The tangle of legs in the background is pretty amusing as well.Dinner time! BTW, I don’t know if you have ever watched fawns feed. It’s cute, but hardly gentle. As I noted in my last post, there’s a reason why does encourage their kids to start feeding themselves ASAP!Like these flowers. Mmmm, mmmm good. Except…“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times, you do not eat fake flowers! They will make you sick. Plus ‘The Peggy’ will be out here and give you a lecture. Believe me, you don’t want a lecture from her.”“Okay, I’ll just eat these yucky old dry leaves.” Actually, all of the deer chow down on the Madrone leaves. The tree drops its leaves twice a year, including once in the summer. Eating the leaves is thirsty work, however….“Hey, look at me, I’m tall enough to drink out of the big deer spring!” “Big deal.” “I’ve had it with you. I am going to talk to the all-knowing rooster…”“Whoa, he told me if I walked up on the porch and looked in the window, I could see the Man. You need to get over and see this, Brother.”“This is scary. I’m going to tip toe…”“Do I dare look up?”“OMG!”“I’m out of here!”
And to finish off today’s post, a few more cute fawn photos…
And finally, Misty’s daughter brings her fawns by our living room window each evening. Eventually, they will grow into their ears.And that’s it for the fawn photos this season. Maybe…
Other notes: The fox came by recently, trotting across our deck. A pair of California quail have been hanging around. Three days ago we spotted them with their family of tiny babies, maybe an inch tall. Our lavender is in full bloom, attracting hundreds of honey bees and dozens of bumble bees. We had a population explosion of ground squirrels. I’ve caught 86 so far and transported them across the river to Squirrel Village. They can be quite verbal in what they think about the relocation program. I’ve never heard such fowl language. Not even Rooster can match them.
Peggy celebrated her birthday today. Her brother and his wife Frances drop by tomorrow and we are off to Florida on Thursday to join our son, Tony, in celebrating his retirement from serving as a helicopter pilot for the Coast Guard. As you likely know, I am taking a break from regularly posting this summer. –Curt
“Come quickly, Curt,” Peggy had urged, “There’s a fawn sleeping on our porch.” Sure enough, nestled between a chair, our outdoor shoe rack and Peggy’s walking pole was the cute little fellow above. We were inside and took the photo through our glass paneled door. This photo provides a perspective on where the fawn was located. Sunday evening, Father’s Day, two fawns were sleeping on the porch. It was quite a treat.
It’s that time of the year. Two weeks ago, Peggy and I made a trip to Sacramento to catch up with friends and relatives, some of whom we hadn’t seen for over a year due to Covid. We returned home to find that our two resident does (Misty and her daughter)had both dropped their babies. Two sets of twins were cavorting about our yard and kicking up their heels. It’s an annual event that Peggy and I look forward to eagerly.
Fawns sleeping on our porch was a totally new experience for us, however. Mama deer usually insist that their babies sleep hidden away down in the canyon. The fact that they are camouflaged by their spots and more or less odorless keeps them safe from predators. I think the coolness of the cement and nearby water was more than they could resist on a 100° F day. I am going to water down the area late this afternoon to make it even cooler this evening.
The twins of Misty’s daughter came by Monday afternoon looking for water and a break from the heat under our large Madrone tree next to our porch.We keep a bird bath filled with water year round for birds, deer, tree squirrels, and other wildlife. It serves as a local watering hole. During our hot, dry summers, we add a five gallon bucket with water. The fawns like the bucket since it is easy for them to reach.Mmmm, mmmm, good. Nothing like a cool drink on a hot day. Note the water dripping off the fawn’s chin.Mom, Misty’s daughter, stares in the window at me with a disgusted look because the bird bath is close to empty.While one fawn was drinking, the other rested in the shade of the Madrone tree.This is an example of where fawns normally sleep. Note how they blend into the dry grass.One of them heard me and poked its head up with what seemed like an “Are you looking at me!” challenge.
Naturally, we take lots of photos when the babies are around. Here are a few more.
This is Misty and her twins. She basically hangs out around our property and has been for the ten years we have been living here. Each year she brings her kids by to introduce them.Both moms showed up with their twins at the same time last week. Here are three of them. They weren’t quite sure what to do with each other.Like all youngsters, fawns are curious about their surroundings. Mom is insisting that the youngsters begin the process of finding out what tastes good. One hint is what mom’s breath smells like. She encourages them to search for food by limiting their milk supply.This kid ignored the iris leaves and focused on the grass. If deer liked iris, those leaves would have long since disappeared. I thought this fawn looked quite elegant.Here’s a fawn that is pretty much all legs. My short legs are jealous. Here’s something that the long legs are good for: Scratching an itch.I’ll conclude today with this series…
“Mom says you are going in the wrong direction.”“Really?”“She says we have to cross this deck.” “I don’t think so.” (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)“Follow me.” “Maybe, but my tail is up for a reason!” (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.) And no, I hadn’t told them that this is the same deck that a cougar came bounding across a few weeks earlier in pursuit of a deer in the middle of the night. Note the ears. Back says I’m concerned. Forward suggests both curiosity and caution. “Okay, but my tail is still up in the air!” (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)A close up that I took. Both black tail deer (which these are) and white tail deer, raise their tails and run when startled. Tail up means ‘Get the heck out of here!’
I’m out of here, too. Hope you’ve enjoyed the fawns. This is one of the occasional blogs I will be posting this summer during my break.
As I mentioned in my last regular post of the summer, I will post a blog on occasion when something catches my attention. The UFO report due out in a week or two definitely fits the definition.
My interest in UFOs has kept my eyes focused on the skies ever since I saw one in 1968. It has also taken Peggy and me to interesting places— like Area 51, shown above in a remote section of Nevada desert. Naturally, I couldn’t resist taking a photo of the sign. Nobody rushed out to arrest us. Wait, is a Man in Black armed with a neuralyzer knocking on my door?
It’s almost impossible to believe.
I’m not talking about UFOs, which I find easy to believe. I’m talking about Republicans and Democrats agreeing on something. At this point in our history, it seems like the possibility of UFOs zipping through the skies of the world is much higher than the possibility of Republican and Democrats working together in the public interest. (Hopefully, I’m wrong.)
And now, both Democrats and Republicans are speaking out about the need to crank up our intelligence on Unidentified Flying Objects (UFOs), or Unidentified Aerial Phenomena (UAPs), to use the modern term. Obama, Trump, and Biden all agree. As do Adam Schiff and Marco Rubio. A report is scheduled to be released this month that will detail what we know, or at least what the government is willing to share with us.
Leaks have suggested that the report will admit that not all UAPs can be explained away with the usual claims that they are the result of some type of natural phenomena or an over-active imagination. The fact that many of the sightings have come from military pilots makes such claims particularly difficult to maintain. These folks hardly fit the definition of delusional eccentrics. One pilot noted that sightings have been reported almost daily for the past two years— often around military installations. No wonder the government is excited.
So far, America’s political leadership seems focused on the possibility that another government may have developed a technology far superior to anything the US has— at least publicly. It’s more palatable than admitting to the existence of extra-terrestrials from outer space (or Earth). And also easier to obtain funds for. The first hypothesis is merely scary. The second is mind-boggling and will forever change our perspective on who we are.
I doubt the viability of the ‘other government’ scenario. For one, can you imagine how difficult it would be to keep such a secret? Then there is the temptation to exploit such technology to gain political advantage. It’s hard to imagine any modern nation failing to do so. And finally, we are talking about a technology that would have been available for over 80 years given modern day sightings. And probably much longer.
The 2000-6,000 year old pictographs at Sego Canyon in Utah are among the strangest I have ever seen. Admittedly, such visions may be drug induced as part of a shamanistic ritual, but I have often thought of their other-worldly, alien appearance. And could the object to the right be a flying saucer?I love this cartoon from the Roswell, New Mexico UFO museum.
Our present day governmental efforts to get a handle on what’s out there, date back 14 years when Harry Reid, (D. Nevada and then Senate Majority Leader), persuaded two colleagues, Ted Stevens, (R. Alaska) and Daniel Inouye (D. Hawaii) to join him in sponsoring a bill that would dedicate $22 million to assessing whether UFOs posed a threat. Reid said it took him about ten minutes to persuade the two to go along with him. Stevens, who claimed to have seen a UFO when he was a pilot during WWII, signed on at once.
Assuming the existence of aliens for a moment, three questions come to mind: Who and/or what are they, where do they come from, and what are their intentions regarding humanity? Our initial vision of bi-pedal greenish creatures with big eyes is based on original claims of the Roswell crash of 1946 which may— or may not— have happened. (If you want to watch a hilarious but R-rated view of the crash, check out the movie, Paul.)
The where raises an interesting question. If they are frequent visitors from another galaxy, then their technology has taken a quantum, faster than light leap. Or maybe they use worm holes in space. Or come from a parallel universe. All are popular subjects of science fiction and modern speculative physics. Or maybe they operate from a base on earth. I could see a mother ship dropping them off eons ago and urging them to observe evolving species, particularly the one that liked to go around bashing each other’s brains with large clubs.
The intentions question may turn out to be the most important. As far as we know, the aliens have taken a hands off approach, monitoring but not interfering in our evolutionary and technological development. Why? Is there some kind of Star Trek ethic of not interfering with primitive societies. Or are they making a determination about our behavior. Are we intelligent beings who should be welcomed into the galactic community at some point in the future? Or are we a nasty virus that poses a threat to the Universe and needs to be destroyed? Apparently, the jury is still out. Do they see us on the edge of self-destruction and foresee a need to step in and alter our path? Their focus on military installations suggests a concern on what damage we might cause in outer space or what damage we might do to each other. Or what if they are scouts, preparing for a future invasion. Lots of questions and no real answers. Yet.
As for my sighting of a UFO in the fall of 1968, I was in Sacramento at the time. I had just returned from my stint as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa and a Peace Corps recruiter in the South. I had moved to Sacramento to open a Peace Corps Public Affairs office for Northern California and Northern Nevada. One evening, I stepped outside my apartment on La Riviera Drive next to the American River when a round, saucer shaped object caught my attention. It disappeared into a cloud. Before I could think of the implications, the object came out of the cloud going in another direction, accelerated and quickly disappeared from view. The UFO was not something fuzzy I saw in the distance on a dark night when I had been indulging in a hallucinogenic drug. It was still light out and my view was crystal clear. There was no doubt in my mind as to what I had seen. And I have never doubted the existence of UFOs since.
Are aliens and UFO/UAPs for real? I found this charming character in a diorama at the Roswell UFO Museum.
I’ve always been a fan of pigs. Whenever I go to a County or State Fair, I make a beeline for the livestock barns, mainly to see the pigs and the goats. I found this handsome pair hamming it up at a small county fair in Cedarville, California when I was on my way to Burning Man one year. Normally I take photos of their faces and snouts, but I couldn’t resist the kinky little tails.
Like the gunslingers of the Old West, our reputations far exceeded the reality of our actions. Take Tony Pavy’s pig for example. Tony had a large pond with bullfrogs, a hundred or so acres of scrubland, and a wooded hillside that housed a number of gray squirrels. He also had an attitude similar to Jimmy Pagonni’s: Children were not to be heard or seen, especially on his property. As with Pagonni, we didn’t allow Pavy to keep us from our appointed rounds. We would slip in at night to harvest his bullfrogs and during the day to bring down a squirrel. Tony had a very effective way of getting rid of us. In a very loud voice he would yell, “Mama, get my gun!” and we would streak out of there.
A couple of friends and I were hunting for the squirrels on his hillside when the unfortunate incident with the pig took place. But before I tell the story, I need to digress and provide some background information.
Growing up in Diamond in the 50s meant having a gun and shooting things. At least it did if you were a boy. We graduated from BB guns and 22s to deer rifles and shotguns. Obtaining your first rifle was an experience similar in importance to obtaining your driver’s license, except you could get one a lot earlier. Before we were allowed to hunt, however, certain rules were pounded into our heads. We had to take a course sponsored by the National Rifle Association. These were the years when the NRA’s primary concern was about hunting and hunter safety. They also sponsored marksmanship competitions for improving skills. Ten years after I got my license Peggy won the NRA’s National Pistol competition for youth.
I didn’t become one of America’s premier marksmen, but I did learn it is important to know what you were shooting. This might seem obvious, but flatlanders out of Sacramento often had trouble making the distinction between a cow and a deer. Of a much more serious nature, every year or so one would mistake another hunter for a deer. Wear red hats and bright clothes, we were taught. There were other things we weren’t supposed to shoot as well. People’s houses for example. Robins were also high on the list. They ate their weight daily in bugs. It was okay to shoot ‘vermin’ such as ground squirrels, jackrabbits, coyotes and the scrub jays that pecked away at pears. In fact there was a bounty on jays, $.25 per head.
My usual preference was for watching wildlife, not killing it. I made an exception for gray squirrels. The thrill of the hunt combined with my appetite for a delicious squirrel and dumpling stew my mother whipped up overcame any reservations I had. All of which brings me back to the pig.
Gray squirrels have about the same appreciation for being shot that you or I might. To avoid this unhappy circumstance, they take off leaping through the trees. The one we had marked for dinner was jumping from limb to limb in a live oak tree on the hill above Pavy’s with all three of us shooting at it when we heard a bellow from the barnyard.
“Mama, get my gun! They shot my pig! They shot my pig! Hurry, Mama!”
I don’t know how fast Mama moved but we flew. By the time Ernie Carlson, the County Sheriff, caught up with us we were far away from Pavy’s and about as innocent as newborn piglets.
“Excuse me, boys,” the Sheriff remarked when he pulled over in his car and rolled down his window, “I don’t suppose you know anything about Tony Pavy’s pig being shot.”
“No, sir,” we replied respectfully in unison. We had rehearsed. Besides, we were technically correct. We hadn’t shot Pavy’s pig; we hadn’t even shot the squirrel. It was a ricocheting bullet that did in the pig.
Ernie looked at us dubiously.
“Pavy described three kids that fit your description,” the Sheriff said as he continued to build pressure, hoping that one of us would break. Boy, had we heard that one before.
“We’ve been out in back of Ot Jones pond,” I argued indignantly. And we had been. So what if we had arrived there out of breath.
“Well, you kids behave yourselves,” the Sheriff said with an ominous I know you’re lying tone. We breathed a joint sigh of relief as he rolled up his window and drove off. Once more we had avoided a fate we probably deserved. I suspect now that Ernie was not one hundred percent dedicated to finding the alleged pig murderers. Tony was not universally loved in the community for several reasons, of which regularly threatening to shoot kids was only one.
For example, my father did some electrical work for him once for free. As he was leaving, Tony asked, “Would you like one of my geese for dinner?”
“Sure,” Pop had replied, assuming Pavy was offering it as thanks for his four hours of work.
“Good,” Tony had replied, “that will be five dollars.” Pop was more than a little irritated. He had a hearty laugh years later when I told him about our adventure with the pig. I wisely avoided telling him at the time, however. His perspective on our miscreant behavior softened substantially with distance and age.
Those Lazy Hazy Days of Summer
“Roll out those lazy, hazy days of summer,” Nat King Cole sang in 1963. It was the adult version of what the kids of earlier years uttered when they escaped from school for the summer, “No more pencils, no more books, No more teachers, dirty looks.” Actually I liked school and my teachers, and I loved books, but the appeal of having a whole summer ahead with minimal responsibility and maximum play was close to magical. Since I have been writing about my childhood, it’s hard not to feel a bit nostalgic for those days. As Thomas Wolfe wrote, “You can’t go home again,” however, and he’s right. The idyllic view of our childhood that many of us have doesn’t quite match the reality. It’s human nature to forget the bad and remember the happy, which is a good thing.
But none of this means that we can’t on occasion escape from whatever keeps our feet tethered to the ground and our nose to the grindstone, allowing ourselves to play more and pursue other things we find of interest. I am something of a master at this, having engineered escapes all of my adult life every few years from three months to three years. These escapes have enabled me the wander through the South Pacific, go on a six-month bicycle trip, take two, three month breaks for backpacking, spend three years wandering North America in a small RV, etc. Fortunately, my good buddy of the last 30 years has been more than willing to join me in these escapes.
Anyway, it’s time for another 3–4 month break. This one won’t be major. I only plan to cut back on some of my regular activities to free up time for other activities.
One of these is blogging, which I have now been doing for 11 years. I don’t plan on quitting the blogosphere, only cutting back and writing when I am inspired to do so, like when Big Foot or baby deer show up on our door step, for example. I’ll also be touching base with my blogging friends from time to time over the summer. I should be back to a regular schedule this fall. I realize that it is disconcerting when blogging friends up and disappear, so I wanted to let you know what’s up. Have a great summer, and here’s to being able to travel again. –Curt
Our property backs up to the Rogue River Siskiyou National Forest which in turn shares a boundary with the Klamath National Forest. Together, they include well over a million acres of wilderness! We love it. As do the deer, bears, cougars, foxes, coyotes, etc. We even had a wolf pass through a couple of years ago. This sign marks the boundary between our property and the National Forest. It also marks the beginning of our trail. Surveyors came through a few months ago to check out the National Forest boundary. They moved signs and marked trees in red paint. Peggy thought that maybe they were having a little too much fun.
I wonder why.
For quite some time, we have been making a detour into the forest as part of our daily mailbox walk. It adds an extra mile to our exercise. Plus it is just plain fun. The problem is that the hike only works for late fall, winter and early spring. Otherwise, we are dealing with poison oak, ticks, and little burrs. No one wants poison oak, the ticks may carry Lyme disease, and the burrs are just plain nasty. We come home with dozens in our socks and they are very difficult to remove. Inevitably we miss a few and they end up in our laundry. For some reason, they are attracted to our underwear, mainly Peggy’s. But you can bet I feel the pain…
This spring, I decided to create a trail through the forest that would allow us year round access. It would be poison oak and burr free. Plus we would be much less likely to get ticks. They tend to hang out in bushes and brush off on innocent animals, people and maybe Big Foot, who, legend has it, likes to hang out in our neck of the woods.
I wouldn’t be starting the trail from scratch. Mainly I would be reclaiming and expanding on old miners’ trails and deer paths. My goal, as always, was to have minimum impact, which was pretty much guaranteed since my tools were a rake, mattock, and lopper. I call the lopper, Cindy. You may need to be of a certain age to get that. I tell Peggy that Cindy and I are going up on the mountain to have a little fun. She doesn’t worry; she just snorts. “Wear your gloves, honey.”
I was worried on my first day of trail making. It was two days after the cougar ran across our deck and the morning after our neighbor Bryan had his scary night-time encounter. There was a significant chance that it was still hanging around where I was working. The deer herd was out and came down to watch me work, however. They high-tail it when they are on the menu. Maybe they figured as long as I was there, the cougar wouldn’t be. I hoped they were right in their assumptions. If not, I would wish them good luck as I did my own high-tailing-it act. (Suggestion: Never take off running when you see a cougar. It confirms you are food and fun to chase. Stand tall, look the cougar in the eye, speak to it firmly, “Bad Kitty,” and slowly back away. I’m serious.)
In addition to being a pleasant stroll through the forest, the trail incorporates a bit of history. Miners came searching for gold during the 1920s and 30s. There are old sites for at least seven cabins, a cave, a wood stove, remnants of an old auto, and test holes that they dug following a quartz vein in hopes of striking it rich. They would dig down, find the quartz, shove a dynamite stick in, blow it up, and then check out the results. The test holes come down off the mountain and run right across our property. It could be we are sitting on a fortune. Ha.
Peggy and I have found seven flat spaces like this that were likely the sites of miners’ cabins. When they left, they must have taken the lumber and tin roof with them. We did find one section of tin roof and lots of old #10 cans.
This cave, dug by the miners is right off the trail.
A look inside the cave. We didn’t find any gold, but there were bats. Peggy and I call it the Bear Cave. It’s partly to entertain our grandkids but once, during the winter, Peggy and I found bear tracks leading toward it through the snow. I wanted to check it out. My buddy, not so much.
This is one of the test holes the miners dug that extend down onto our property. This one was surrounded by pieces of quartz that Peggy harvested for our yard.
This was one of the rocks that Peggy chose. The biggest. I swear it weighed at least 100 pounds. My back survived but my feet hurt the next day from being driven into the ground. I earned extra husband credits but no gold.
Wildlife has adopted the trail for their own use. We’ve found cougar, coyote and fox scat along it as well as deer. And I even found deer sleeping on it. Then there was the young buck who seemed to be having some problem…
I was hiking up the trail when a young buck started behaving strangely in front of me. This isn’t the most graceful pose. I am always amazed at how streamlined, almost fragile the legs look.
Uh-oh. Have you ever had one of those itches that is just impossible to scratch— at least in public?
Whoops.
In addition to miners’ history and wildlife, attractive trees and flowers are found along the trail as it winds its way through the forest.
Low bridge, everybody down! This madrone crosses over our trail, low enough to bump your head on. Especially if you are wearing a hat that blocks its view and are looking down for poison oak to remove.
The culprit that caused me to bump my head: Poison oak. Its three leaf arrangement is the give away.
I rather like the limb, so it will continue to bump the heads of unwary trail users. Hopefully not mine again.
The madrone trees have bloomed along the trail, making them easy to spot in the surrounding forests
The madrones (Arbutus menziesii) are finishing up now, but they were still in full bloom when I took this photo. I might add that they have a sweet, attractive smell that greets us when we step out our door.
The trail wanders under an Oregon big leaf maple.
Among towering pines…
And past numerous white oaks with their wonderful gnarly limbs.
The trail also passes by buck brush, which was blooming this spring and also has a distinctive sweet smell.
I photograph manzanita as much for its dead limbs as I do its live ones. This trunk reminded me of the alligators found along the Gulf Coast!
The flowers start blooming in March. They are rarely in profusion except for shooting stars (Dodecatheon meadia)which are one of the first flowers to bloom. About the time one flower ends its season, another pops up.
Last week, I showed you some of the gorgeous irises that Peggy grows. Wild irises, possibly not so glamorous but still pretty, grow along the trail. This is yellow leaf iris (Iris chrysophylla).
Blue dicks (Dichelostemma capitatum), a lovely flower that had our book club gigging over its name, have come out in the last month.
I thought that the latest addition to our flower family was pretty face Brodiaea, but now I think it may be a rare Triteleia crocea, a closely related species that only grows in our area.
I’ll wrap this blog up today with my favorite flower, Calochortus elegans. Its common name is elegant cat’s ear. If you have ever owned a kitty, I’m sure you can see why.
My blogging friend Crystal Trulove from Conscious Engagement and her buddy Pedro are visiting today and went out for a walk on the trail. Here are photos of them along the trail and in the Bear Cave taken by Peggy.
MONDAY’S POST: I’ve promised to tell you who shot Pavy’s pig, and I will. But I also want to discuss our summer blogging schedule, which will be slim at best. Peggy and I are taking a break to pursue some other interests. We intend to be back with a regular schedule in the fall. And I will continue to check in on you occasionally over the summer. The friendships we have formed are valuable.
Wandering through Time and Place 