Went to the mall yesterday -- first time since last January. Didn't go out into the actual mall -- headed directly into Penney's. Had a list -- hunted for little girls' and teen girls' department to look for bargains for my granddaughters. Found it -- thought I'd stumbled into Victoria's Secret by mistake. Can't begin to express my heartache. Cried for the little girls of the world.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Thanksgiving Blues
It's Thanksgiving and here I am stuck in Boise with 5 pies, 60 rolls, and 2 tons of sweet potatoes that should be half-way to Utah! Why am I in Boise?????? I could just cry!!!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
TRICK OR TREAT!
When I was a little kid around 5 to 7 years old (let’s say between the years of 1947 and 1949) Halloween was scary! It wasn’t the watered-down family-friendly event that today’s generation experiences. At least in my neighborhood, it wasn’t.
I was the youngest kid in my family and my older brothers and sisters all thoroughly delighted in scaring me to death! About a week before Halloween my brother would make small spiders out of thin black wire and dangle them everywhere he knew I would be walking. He had a bottle of luminescent paint that he put high up on the closet shelf -- he told me that a ghost had moved in there and to prove it, he would shove me in there and shut the door and hold it closed. The ghostly bottle glowed it’s eerie greenish glow and I would scream and cry -- delighting him to no end.
On Halloween night we dressed up as hobos (there wasn’t such a thing as store-bought costumes – and hobo clothes were what we usually wore during daylight hours anyway – so it was easy to put some soot from the stove on our noses, black out a tooth with a crayon, and tie a handkerchief onto a pruned tree limb to carry over our shoulder) and carrying a big pillow case to hold our anticipated goodies, we’d set off on our night of trick-or-treating. Candy was an uncommon treat. At Christmas we would make fudge and sometimes get some hard candies. If one of us were ever lucky to have a nickel, we’d get 5 pieces of penny candy at Ferg’s Gas Station and share it with whoever was with us. The hope of a pillowcase full of candy was worth putting your life on the line.
We lived on an apple farm in the midst of about 15 other apple farms, each farmhouse was at least a mile away from the next, and to get to each house we had to walk down long, long, long tree-lined lanes – their leafless branches reaching out to grab hapless, helpless victims. The roads and lanes were unlit and the dark orchards provided hiding places for myriads of black, evil monsters.
We had to walk by and cross a canal -- and that was the scariest part of the entire night. At the east end of Center Street in Provo all of the insane people in the state of Utah resided at the State Mental Hospital; and every year on Halloween night at least two or three dozen of the most grotesque, sadistic inmates escaped the institution and walked the banks of that canal. In hushed voices the older kids told us tales of kids they had known – and would never know again – who had walked this same path on past Halloween nights.
By the time we finally reached a house – usually lit with only one 40 watt bulb because electricity cost money – my entire body shook with fright and anticipation. We’d pound on the door and yell TRICK OR TREAT! The woman who came to door would feign shock at the site of so many ragamuffins and into each pillowcase deposit her offering.
We were all cold and worn to a frazzle by the time we got back home, anxious to see what goodies were in our bags. With great anticipation we dumped our bags onto the living room floor and out of each tumbled a dozen crisp red apples! We'd been tricked! Well, there was always next year . . . And next year we were dumb enough to do the same thing!
I was the youngest kid in my family and my older brothers and sisters all thoroughly delighted in scaring me to death! About a week before Halloween my brother would make small spiders out of thin black wire and dangle them everywhere he knew I would be walking. He had a bottle of luminescent paint that he put high up on the closet shelf -- he told me that a ghost had moved in there and to prove it, he would shove me in there and shut the door and hold it closed. The ghostly bottle glowed it’s eerie greenish glow and I would scream and cry -- delighting him to no end.
On Halloween night we dressed up as hobos (there wasn’t such a thing as store-bought costumes – and hobo clothes were what we usually wore during daylight hours anyway – so it was easy to put some soot from the stove on our noses, black out a tooth with a crayon, and tie a handkerchief onto a pruned tree limb to carry over our shoulder) and carrying a big pillow case to hold our anticipated goodies, we’d set off on our night of trick-or-treating. Candy was an uncommon treat. At Christmas we would make fudge and sometimes get some hard candies. If one of us were ever lucky to have a nickel, we’d get 5 pieces of penny candy at Ferg’s Gas Station and share it with whoever was with us. The hope of a pillowcase full of candy was worth putting your life on the line.
We lived on an apple farm in the midst of about 15 other apple farms, each farmhouse was at least a mile away from the next, and to get to each house we had to walk down long, long, long tree-lined lanes – their leafless branches reaching out to grab hapless, helpless victims. The roads and lanes were unlit and the dark orchards provided hiding places for myriads of black, evil monsters.
We had to walk by and cross a canal -- and that was the scariest part of the entire night. At the east end of Center Street in Provo all of the insane people in the state of Utah resided at the State Mental Hospital; and every year on Halloween night at least two or three dozen of the most grotesque, sadistic inmates escaped the institution and walked the banks of that canal. In hushed voices the older kids told us tales of kids they had known – and would never know again – who had walked this same path on past Halloween nights.
By the time we finally reached a house – usually lit with only one 40 watt bulb because electricity cost money – my entire body shook with fright and anticipation. We’d pound on the door and yell TRICK OR TREAT! The woman who came to door would feign shock at the site of so many ragamuffins and into each pillowcase deposit her offering.
We were all cold and worn to a frazzle by the time we got back home, anxious to see what goodies were in our bags. With great anticipation we dumped our bags onto the living room floor and out of each tumbled a dozen crisp red apples! We'd been tricked! Well, there was always next year . . . And next year we were dumb enough to do the same thing!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Tent Camping on the Oregon Coast #11
GOING HOME
Wednesday – another gorgeous day. Why? Because it was time to go home!
We had reservations at Memaloose State Park. Remember? The camp with the train tracks on one side and the freeway on the other? But now we were used to gale force winds, pounding rain, and roaring ocean – what’s a little train and freeway noise?
We arrived at Memaloose under blue windless skies – a snap to set up camp in such perfect conditions. It didn’t take us long – we were pros.
I was setting out supper, when a lady emerged from a big RV and came across the road.
“We were watching you set up your tent from our window,” she said. “It went up so easily. You seemed to work well as a team. Our compliments.”
“Thanks. It’s a good tent,” I replied. And had to force my eyeballs not to roll – if she only knew . . . . The End!
Wednesday – another gorgeous day. Why? Because it was time to go home!
We had reservations at Memaloose State Park. Remember? The camp with the train tracks on one side and the freeway on the other? But now we were used to gale force winds, pounding rain, and roaring ocean – what’s a little train and freeway noise?
We arrived at Memaloose under blue windless skies – a snap to set up camp in such perfect conditions. It didn’t take us long – we were pros.
I was setting out supper, when a lady emerged from a big RV and came across the road.
“We were watching you set up your tent from our window,” she said. “It went up so easily. You seemed to work well as a team. Our compliments.”
“Thanks. It’s a good tent,” I replied. And had to force my eyeballs not to roll – if she only knew . . . . The End!
Tent Camping on the Oregon Coast #10
MUNSON FALLS
Tuesday was beautiful – there were actually spots of blue in the sky – our first and only day with no rain – a perfect day for finding fairies at Munson Falls.
Munson Creek tumbled over a high cliff into a beautiful fall,
then happily bubbled over moss covered rocks and fallen logs.
Ferns grew everywhere. Trees dripped with moss. Little hollows under wet tree roots could easily have been gathering places for the fairy people.
If I turned my head quick enough I thought I might be able to see a fairy sitting on a moss-covered rock by the stream, or hiding under a fern. It was an enchanted place – I could feel it. . . .
Tuesday was beautiful – there were actually spots of blue in the sky – our first and only day with no rain – a perfect day for finding fairies at Munson Falls.
Munson Creek tumbled over a high cliff into a beautiful fall,
then happily bubbled over moss covered rocks and fallen logs.
Ferns grew everywhere. Trees dripped with moss. Little hollows under wet tree roots could easily have been gathering places for the fairy people.
If I turned my head quick enough I thought I might be able to see a fairy sitting on a moss-covered rock by the stream, or hiding under a fern. It was an enchanted place – I could feel it. . . .
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Tent Camping on the Oregon Coast #9
CAPE MEARES & TILLAMOOK AIR MUSEUM
On Monday morning, the rain had let up to a mist, so we spread a cloth on the picnic table and had a feast.
We had stopped at Fred Meyer in Tillamook the day before and had bought stuff we shouldn’t’ve. But after a week of instant oatmeal, it sure was yummy! Then we drove up to the point that separates the ocean from the entrance to Tillamook Bay
and walked down the trail to the Cape Meares Lighthouse. 
The “Friends of the Lighthouse” had a gift shop inside, and I squashed pennies, bought a pin for my hiking stick, and paid $1.00 for a stamp in my book.
Back at the parking lot we found the trail to “The Octopus tree.”
It felt eerie with the tree’s big limbs reaching out and the mist hovering all around.
Then we found the trail to the biggest sitka spruce in Oregon. Dale felt that he hadn’t ought to try the trail, so he stayed in the car, and I set out alone. It was a beautiful trail among the huge spruce trees. Many of the old huge trees were fallen and their root balls laid on the earth as big as cabins. Although I was alone on the path, I didn’t have an uneasy feeling like I had had back at Fort Clatsup. I felt quite protected, actually – like I was among friends. The big tree was easy to spot, at one time it must have towered mightily over the forest. Lightening had taken off the top 1/4 of the tree – but still, it was King of the forest.
A sign nearby said that the tree was thought to be at least 800 years old, it towered to 144 feet, and its trunk was 15 feet in diameter. Granted there are much bigger trees in the Redwood Forest, but this tree was gentler, and I was alone with it in the quiet forest, and I had the opportunity to have a one on one conversation with it.
We spent the rest of the afternoon at the Tillamook Air Museum – something that Dale was eager to do. I couldn’t believe the hugeness of the hangar this museum was housed in! It was built during World War II to house the blimps that were used to guard the coast. The building held 8 blimps – each 252 feet long! Because all the steel, and aluminum was being used for war machinery and ships, the dome for this hangar was built with a zillion boards. Can you believe such a huge building that stored helium blimps would be made of wood? The hangar is 1,072 feet long, 192 feet high (15 stories) and 296 feet wide! I was studying the huge 120 foot, 30 ton doors when I noticed between the roof and the top of the door – 130 feet up – was a basketball hoop!
Dale was in heaven ogling all the wonderful old airplanes. I felt relieved that the only thing he bought was a hat! Me? I squashed pennies and got my book stamped.
On Monday morning, the rain had let up to a mist, so we spread a cloth on the picnic table and had a feast.
We had stopped at Fred Meyer in Tillamook the day before and had bought stuff we shouldn’t’ve. But after a week of instant oatmeal, it sure was yummy! Then we drove up to the point that separates the ocean from the entrance to Tillamook Bay
and walked down the trail to the Cape Meares Lighthouse. 
The “Friends of the Lighthouse” had a gift shop inside, and I squashed pennies, bought a pin for my hiking stick, and paid $1.00 for a stamp in my book. Back at the parking lot we found the trail to “The Octopus tree.”
It felt eerie with the tree’s big limbs reaching out and the mist hovering all around. Then we found the trail to the biggest sitka spruce in Oregon. Dale felt that he hadn’t ought to try the trail, so he stayed in the car, and I set out alone. It was a beautiful trail among the huge spruce trees. Many of the old huge trees were fallen and their root balls laid on the earth as big as cabins. Although I was alone on the path, I didn’t have an uneasy feeling like I had had back at Fort Clatsup. I felt quite protected, actually – like I was among friends. The big tree was easy to spot, at one time it must have towered mightily over the forest. Lightening had taken off the top 1/4 of the tree – but still, it was King of the forest.
A sign nearby said that the tree was thought to be at least 800 years old, it towered to 144 feet, and its trunk was 15 feet in diameter. Granted there are much bigger trees in the Redwood Forest, but this tree was gentler, and I was alone with it in the quiet forest, and I had the opportunity to have a one on one conversation with it. We spent the rest of the afternoon at the Tillamook Air Museum – something that Dale was eager to do. I couldn’t believe the hugeness of the hangar this museum was housed in! It was built during World War II to house the blimps that were used to guard the coast. The building held 8 blimps – each 252 feet long! Because all the steel, and aluminum was being used for war machinery and ships, the dome for this hangar was built with a zillion boards. Can you believe such a huge building that stored helium blimps would be made of wood? The hangar is 1,072 feet long, 192 feet high (15 stories) and 296 feet wide! I was studying the huge 120 foot, 30 ton doors when I noticed between the roof and the top of the door – 130 feet up – was a basketball hoop!
Dale was in heaven ogling all the wonderful old airplanes. I felt relieved that the only thing he bought was a hat! Me? I squashed pennies and got my book stamped.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Frozen Yogurt at CostCo
Today at Costco I was in line to get my usual frozen yogurt Costco treat. An old man was at the window in front of me (old man – he was probably my age . . .)
He handed his half-eaten cup of frozen yogurt to the deli-guy. “Could I get another yogurt?” he asked obviously perturbed.
“Is something the matter with this one?” the deli guy asked, taking the cup and eyeballing it.
“It’s got a big hole in it,” the old man said.
“In the cup?” the deli guy asked?
“No, in the yogurt.” the old man said.
“Sure,” the deli guy said, looking a little puzzled.
Upon receiving his new yogurt, the old man said, “And this one has no holes in it? It is really full?”
“I filled it myself,” the deli-guy said, patiently and respectfully. “There are no holes.”
“How do you know?” the old man asked.
“Because we weigh them. See that scale right by the dispenser?” the deli-guy said.
“Oh,” the old man said, not quite convinced.
Then it was my turn. I gave him my order, ending with: “. . .and one yogurt swirl with no holes, please.”
The deli-guy looked at me incredulously! Then he broke into a big smile and got my yogurt.
He handed his half-eaten cup of frozen yogurt to the deli-guy. “Could I get another yogurt?” he asked obviously perturbed.
“Is something the matter with this one?” the deli guy asked, taking the cup and eyeballing it.
“It’s got a big hole in it,” the old man said.
“In the cup?” the deli guy asked?
“No, in the yogurt.” the old man said.
“Sure,” the deli guy said, looking a little puzzled.
Upon receiving his new yogurt, the old man said, “And this one has no holes in it? It is really full?”
“I filled it myself,” the deli-guy said, patiently and respectfully. “There are no holes.”
“How do you know?” the old man asked.
“Because we weigh them. See that scale right by the dispenser?” the deli-guy said.
“Oh,” the old man said, not quite convinced.
Then it was my turn. I gave him my order, ending with: “. . .and one yogurt swirl with no holes, please.”
The deli-guy looked at me incredulously! Then he broke into a big smile and got my yogurt.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Tent camping on the Oregon Coast #8
KITES!
Sandlake & Pacific City
(this is a picture of Cape Lookout, our campground is down in the pines by the beach.)
In the morning the rain had slowed to a drizzle and we were able to survey our camp area.
Many small limbs were on the ground and water had puddled in every camp site but ours. Other than a 3 foot long 1.5 inch diameter branch that hit our tent in the night, we were unscathed. Our cell phone didn’t like all the humidity and quit working all-together.
Our adventures of the day took us inland about two miles and up into the mountains. Fog still lingered, the trees and undergrowth were so dense it was like driving through a semi-dark, humid tunnel.
Coming out of the thick forest and fog, we noticed the trees were growing out of sand dunes.
We stopped at a view area and overlooked Sand Lake – a huge sand pit surrounded by a forest of pines. “I recognize this!” Dale said. “A lady at Micron came up here every year with her family with their 4-wheelers, and she showed me her pictures.”
Camp sites were scattered amongst the trees around the sand lake and folks were having a great time running up and down the dunes with their sand buggies
. The first thing Dale noticed when we approached Pacific City was the gigantic rainbow-colored windsock trailing in the sky.
He couldn’t get parked fast enough! He was out of the car and down on the beach before I could even get unbuckled! It wasn’t 5 minutes before he had made contact with Doug, the kite guy, and was flying a para-foil.. I found a log to sit on and watched him through my binoculars. He and Doug talked and laughed like they were the best of friends for more than an hour.
Finally he let the kite down and while Doug wound up the string, Dale turned toward me and held up 2 fingers. Then his thumb and fore-finger formed an “O” twice. Well, I knew when we stopped that he was not going to leave the beach without a kite, but I really didn’t expect him to pay $200 for one, but then why didn’t I expect it? He’d paid that much for his Hawaiian Competition kite in Hawaii. Again he flashed his two fingers, and two “O’s” at me. And I watched as he reached in his pocket, removed his wallet, and money and kite exchanged hands.
Then I walked over to the two men. They were both having the time of their lives, talking about kite adventures.
Trudging across the beach back to the car, Dale was so excited. “That is the funnest kite, and it doesn’t pull on my chest too hard,” he said. “And it only cost me $20, and he threw in the string.” “Twenty dollars!” I exclaimed! “I thought you said $200!”
So we came home with a kite. Now we’re sitting in Boise waiting for a breeze . . . .
Sandlake & Pacific City
(this is a picture of Cape Lookout, our campground is down in the pines by the beach.)In the morning the rain had slowed to a drizzle and we were able to survey our camp area.
Many small limbs were on the ground and water had puddled in every camp site but ours. Other than a 3 foot long 1.5 inch diameter branch that hit our tent in the night, we were unscathed. Our cell phone didn’t like all the humidity and quit working all-together. Our adventures of the day took us inland about two miles and up into the mountains. Fog still lingered, the trees and undergrowth were so dense it was like driving through a semi-dark, humid tunnel.
Coming out of the thick forest and fog, we noticed the trees were growing out of sand dunes.
We stopped at a view area and overlooked Sand Lake – a huge sand pit surrounded by a forest of pines. “I recognize this!” Dale said. “A lady at Micron came up here every year with her family with their 4-wheelers, and she showed me her pictures.”Camp sites were scattered amongst the trees around the sand lake and folks were having a great time running up and down the dunes with their sand buggies
. The first thing Dale noticed when we approached Pacific City was the gigantic rainbow-colored windsock trailing in the sky.
He couldn’t get parked fast enough! He was out of the car and down on the beach before I could even get unbuckled! It wasn’t 5 minutes before he had made contact with Doug, the kite guy, and was flying a para-foil.. I found a log to sit on and watched him through my binoculars. He and Doug talked and laughed like they were the best of friends for more than an hour.
Finally he let the kite down and while Doug wound up the string, Dale turned toward me and held up 2 fingers. Then his thumb and fore-finger formed an “O” twice. Well, I knew when we stopped that he was not going to leave the beach without a kite, but I really didn’t expect him to pay $200 for one, but then why didn’t I expect it? He’d paid that much for his Hawaiian Competition kite in Hawaii. Again he flashed his two fingers, and two “O’s” at me. And I watched as he reached in his pocket, removed his wallet, and money and kite exchanged hands. Then I walked over to the two men. They were both having the time of their lives, talking about kite adventures.
Trudging across the beach back to the car, Dale was so excited. “That is the funnest kite, and it doesn’t pull on my chest too hard,” he said. “And it only cost me $20, and he threw in the string.” “Twenty dollars!” I exclaimed! “I thought you said $200!”
So we came home with a kite. Now we’re sitting in Boise waiting for a breeze . . . .
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Tent Camping on the Oregon Coast #7
CAPE LOOKOUT
(The above picture at Cape Lookout was taken 3 days after our Stormy Stormy Night -- Our only day on the coast without rain - ignore the mosquito, please.)
We arrived at Cape Lookout around 5:30 with the raining coming down solid. The young man at the check-in shack assured us that we did not want the campsite we had reserved. He invited us to look at the sites in Loop D and when we had selected the one we really wanted to come back.
After seeing our reserved one, we agreed. It was out in the open, no trees, the only thing separating it from the ocean was a 6 foot sand berm.
We toured Loop D which was back in the trees and pines. Most of the units which would accommodate our large tent were already flooded, but I saw one which looked very good. Back we went to the shack, got our reservations switched and returned to set up camp.
After backing in, Dale got out and found that the tent area was totally flooded. With some vexation at me, he located a better looking unit, then drove back to the guard shack.
“I couldn’t understand why you chose that unit,” the check-in man said. “That’s always the first one to flood.”
“Well, you could have told us sooner,” Dale replied.
“I’ve learned not to recommend camp sites to anybody,” he stated.
“Well, is there a site, that you know is perfect, that you are keeping underwraps until we discover it on our own?” Dale asked, very nicely, I might add.
“No, this one is a very good one,” he said and handed the paperwork through the window.
It was 6:30 and with the storm now raging -- quite dark. The wind was howling and the rain slanting sidewise. We sat in the car deciding what to do. How do you set up a 9X14 foot tent that has a mesh roof in the rain? The tent is a Coleman WeatherMaster, and is supposed to be great in all kinds of weather – which up til now had proven to be correct. But there were no instructions on how to set the thing up in a raging gale without getting the interior sopping wet.
So the plan was: Since we had just laid the damp tent on top of the stuff in the trunk, we wouldn’t have to unpack it. We would grab the poles, stakes and hammer and put them nearby. Then we would take the rainfly and tent both at once - each taking an end. Spreading it out as quickly as possibly on the ground, trying to keep the rainfly in proper position on top of the mesh. While Dale hammered in the stakes, I would snap the poles together and feed them through the correct pockets. By that time Dale would be ready to insert the side poles into the top poles and we would push it up, then quickly attach the hooks on the fly to the poles before it whipped away in the wind.
With the plan in place, we jumped out of the car and got to the task. All went smoothly until I couldn’t find the right pockets for the right poles. With the pancho blocking my vision and rain fogging my glasses, I couldn’t see a thing! Unknowingly I inserted the top vertical pole into the side vertical pocket! I became aware that Dale was yelling at me! He never yells at me!
“The red one! The red one!” he shouted.
I looked at the pole I was holding. It WAS the red one. “It IS the red one!” I yelled back.
“The red pocket!” he yelled.
“What do you mean, red pocket!” I yelled back.
“The pocket marked with red!” he hollered back.
“You’re being snotty!” I hollered back at him, and at the same time I found the top pocket, marked in red. I had never noticed that before. Sheepishly I pulled the pole out of the side pocket and inserted in into the red pocket. By now we were both soaked.
Then we heard another voice coming at us out of the storm. An interested and concerned RV neighbor had come out into the rain and was leaning toward us hollering.
“Shouldn’t you put a tarp under that?”
“It’ll be okay,” Dale hollered back. After all -- it was the Coleman WeatherMaster.
Totally convinced that we were rank amateurs the man hollered, “Do you need any help?”
“We’ll be okay,” Dale hollered back.
The now-soaked Samaritan ran back to his RV, and continued watching us struggle from the window.
Actually, the plan worked quite well, and aside from that one error on my part, the tent went up quickly in about 15 minutes from start to finish, and absolutely not one drop of water got inside!!
Because we had stopped at a restaurant in Seaside earlier in the afternoon and had eaten “real” food, we just made up our beds and settled down for the night. But I laid awake most of the night listening to the winds howl, and branches crack and fall around me – listening to the roaring of the ocean which I knew for sure was going to leap over the sand berm and swallow me up – and worrying about the bride at Acola State Park and her wedding reception.
(The above picture at Cape Lookout was taken 3 days after our Stormy Stormy Night -- Our only day on the coast without rain - ignore the mosquito, please.)We arrived at Cape Lookout around 5:30 with the raining coming down solid. The young man at the check-in shack assured us that we did not want the campsite we had reserved. He invited us to look at the sites in Loop D and when we had selected the one we really wanted to come back.
After seeing our reserved one, we agreed. It was out in the open, no trees, the only thing separating it from the ocean was a 6 foot sand berm.
We toured Loop D which was back in the trees and pines. Most of the units which would accommodate our large tent were already flooded, but I saw one which looked very good. Back we went to the shack, got our reservations switched and returned to set up camp.
After backing in, Dale got out and found that the tent area was totally flooded. With some vexation at me, he located a better looking unit, then drove back to the guard shack.
“I couldn’t understand why you chose that unit,” the check-in man said. “That’s always the first one to flood.”
“Well, you could have told us sooner,” Dale replied.
“I’ve learned not to recommend camp sites to anybody,” he stated.
“Well, is there a site, that you know is perfect, that you are keeping underwraps until we discover it on our own?” Dale asked, very nicely, I might add.
“No, this one is a very good one,” he said and handed the paperwork through the window.
It was 6:30 and with the storm now raging -- quite dark. The wind was howling and the rain slanting sidewise. We sat in the car deciding what to do. How do you set up a 9X14 foot tent that has a mesh roof in the rain? The tent is a Coleman WeatherMaster, and is supposed to be great in all kinds of weather – which up til now had proven to be correct. But there were no instructions on how to set the thing up in a raging gale without getting the interior sopping wet.
So the plan was: Since we had just laid the damp tent on top of the stuff in the trunk, we wouldn’t have to unpack it. We would grab the poles, stakes and hammer and put them nearby. Then we would take the rainfly and tent both at once - each taking an end. Spreading it out as quickly as possibly on the ground, trying to keep the rainfly in proper position on top of the mesh. While Dale hammered in the stakes, I would snap the poles together and feed them through the correct pockets. By that time Dale would be ready to insert the side poles into the top poles and we would push it up, then quickly attach the hooks on the fly to the poles before it whipped away in the wind.
With the plan in place, we jumped out of the car and got to the task. All went smoothly until I couldn’t find the right pockets for the right poles. With the pancho blocking my vision and rain fogging my glasses, I couldn’t see a thing! Unknowingly I inserted the top vertical pole into the side vertical pocket! I became aware that Dale was yelling at me! He never yells at me!
“The red one! The red one!” he shouted.
I looked at the pole I was holding. It WAS the red one. “It IS the red one!” I yelled back.
“The red pocket!” he yelled.
“What do you mean, red pocket!” I yelled back.
“The pocket marked with red!” he hollered back.
“You’re being snotty!” I hollered back at him, and at the same time I found the top pocket, marked in red. I had never noticed that before. Sheepishly I pulled the pole out of the side pocket and inserted in into the red pocket. By now we were both soaked.
Then we heard another voice coming at us out of the storm. An interested and concerned RV neighbor had come out into the rain and was leaning toward us hollering.
“Shouldn’t you put a tarp under that?”
“It’ll be okay,” Dale hollered back. After all -- it was the Coleman WeatherMaster.
Totally convinced that we were rank amateurs the man hollered, “Do you need any help?”
“We’ll be okay,” Dale hollered back.
The now-soaked Samaritan ran back to his RV, and continued watching us struggle from the window.
Actually, the plan worked quite well, and aside from that one error on my part, the tent went up quickly in about 15 minutes from start to finish, and absolutely not one drop of water got inside!!
Because we had stopped at a restaurant in Seaside earlier in the afternoon and had eaten “real” food, we just made up our beds and settled down for the night. But I laid awake most of the night listening to the winds howl, and branches crack and fall around me – listening to the roaring of the ocean which I knew for sure was going to leap over the sand berm and swallow me up – and worrying about the bride at Acola State Park and her wedding reception.
Tent Camping on the Oregon Coast #6
ECOLA
We awoke to quiet. The rain had stopped! When we opened the tent door, we actually saw bits of blue sky! Miracle of miracles! After a quick breakfast -- outside on the picnic table – we started disassembling camp, thankful that we didn’t have to do it in the rain.
Our tent had – so far – kept us dry. (And there was plenty of wood around to knock on.) As we started on the second half of our trip, continuing farther south on the Oregon Coast, the clouds closed the blue gaps and it started to rain – it seemed more humid, more heavy, cooler as we went south.
When we arrived at Ecola State Park, the rain was cold and a wind was picking up. Ecola State Park is the one you see most often on postcards with Haystack Rock in the water off to the south.
This is where the Lewis & Clark expedition, after struggling through the mountains and underbrush and huge trees, came upon the overlooks and saw a beached whale that the natives were working on. They went down and were able to trade for some whale meat and blubber. They named the place Ecola - which means “whale.”
It is a beautiful spot – one that would make you think of as a place for a spectacular wedding reception. And, apparently that was what was happening that day. In the parking lot, a beautifully wedding gowned bride was in the process of gathering her skirts and exiting her car – a process that took over 30 minutes. The tuxedoed groom stood patiently at the door of the car, holding an umbrella, attempting to shield them both from the wind and rain. After the extrication, the couple walked under the umbrella out onto the top of the bluff to have wedding pictures taken.
“Just go to a hall and have your pictures taken,” I muttered to her from 200 yards away. Then a big catering van pulled up and workers started setting up white chairs and a small white EZ-up shade canopy. “No, No, No!” I pled. “Just go to a hall! Just go home!” But the bride was determined that everything should go as planned. They continued their photo walk down the paths we had just trod – paths running with muddy water. Her in her pristine, white gown, and white, spiked heels.
An hour later, with the rain still slatting down, and the wind still blowing cold, we stood aside while they passed us on their way to another lookout. The bride’s eye makeup was beginning to smudge, her dress was hanging on her – wet and with brown, soggy mud stains soaked up at least 15 inches from the bottom, her shoes – soaked and brown. I thought when we returned to the parking lot that the catering company would have given up the battle and re-packed their truck – but, No. They were still setting up as if nature would suddenly understand and send the sun. I thought about this bride and her doomed wedding throughout the day, and unfortunately throughout the night.
At the last stop on our walk to the Ecola lookouts, we were fortunate to glimpse through the fog and rain the Tillamook Head lighthouse, on a rock out in the ocean.
Tillamook Head has a very exciting history -- as do all the light houses -- and we were glad to have been given even a foggy glimpse.
We awoke to quiet. The rain had stopped! When we opened the tent door, we actually saw bits of blue sky! Miracle of miracles! After a quick breakfast -- outside on the picnic table – we started disassembling camp, thankful that we didn’t have to do it in the rain.
Our tent had – so far – kept us dry. (And there was plenty of wood around to knock on.) As we started on the second half of our trip, continuing farther south on the Oregon Coast, the clouds closed the blue gaps and it started to rain – it seemed more humid, more heavy, cooler as we went south. When we arrived at Ecola State Park, the rain was cold and a wind was picking up. Ecola State Park is the one you see most often on postcards with Haystack Rock in the water off to the south.
This is where the Lewis & Clark expedition, after struggling through the mountains and underbrush and huge trees, came upon the overlooks and saw a beached whale that the natives were working on. They went down and were able to trade for some whale meat and blubber. They named the place Ecola - which means “whale.”It is a beautiful spot – one that would make you think of as a place for a spectacular wedding reception. And, apparently that was what was happening that day. In the parking lot, a beautifully wedding gowned bride was in the process of gathering her skirts and exiting her car – a process that took over 30 minutes. The tuxedoed groom stood patiently at the door of the car, holding an umbrella, attempting to shield them both from the wind and rain. After the extrication, the couple walked under the umbrella out onto the top of the bluff to have wedding pictures taken.
“Just go to a hall and have your pictures taken,” I muttered to her from 200 yards away. Then a big catering van pulled up and workers started setting up white chairs and a small white EZ-up shade canopy. “No, No, No!” I pled. “Just go to a hall! Just go home!” But the bride was determined that everything should go as planned. They continued their photo walk down the paths we had just trod – paths running with muddy water. Her in her pristine, white gown, and white, spiked heels.
An hour later, with the rain still slatting down, and the wind still blowing cold, we stood aside while they passed us on their way to another lookout. The bride’s eye makeup was beginning to smudge, her dress was hanging on her – wet and with brown, soggy mud stains soaked up at least 15 inches from the bottom, her shoes – soaked and brown. I thought when we returned to the parking lot that the catering company would have given up the battle and re-packed their truck – but, No. They were still setting up as if nature would suddenly understand and send the sun. I thought about this bride and her doomed wedding throughout the day, and unfortunately throughout the night. At the last stop on our walk to the Ecola lookouts, we were fortunate to glimpse through the fog and rain the Tillamook Head lighthouse, on a rock out in the ocean.
Tillamook Head has a very exciting history -- as do all the light houses -- and we were glad to have been given even a foggy glimpse.
Tent Camping on the Oregon Coast #5
WASHINGTON - NORTH HEAD LIGHTHOUSE
Another rainy morning, more instant oatmeal, and we were off across the 4.1 mile long Astoria-Megler Bridge (The Bridge to Nowhere) that spans the Columbia River and continues Highway 101 into Washington. (Please excuse the commercial picture - just wanted to show you the entire length . . .)
Ever since I was little, I’ve had a recurring dream of crossing a long causeway-type road across tumultuous gray waters. So it was with some trepidation that I approached this crossing – wondering if this was the causeway of my dreams. The day was drizzling rain, but the gray waters were not tumultuous, and they certainly did not lap hungrily at the roadway – even on the Washington side where the road continues out levelly across the waters, it was not threatening like the waters of my dreams. So I guess I have yet to visit that nightmarish road.
It was our feeling that the Washington side of the coast was not as touristy and developed as the Oregon side. We meandered in and out of little communities that looked as if they were locked in time to the 1950's. Pleasant, peaceful, comfortable in being there. At Cape Disappointment we walked down the trail to the Northhead Lighthouse
– have I told you how much Dale enjoys lighthouses?
When we visited the southerly part of Oregon 7 years ago we were able to climb to the top of the lighthouses. But on this trip, we had to be content to stand at the bottom and look up.
That evening, we crossed back over the bridge, returned to The Ship Inn and ate another wonderful seafood dinner!
Another rainy morning, more instant oatmeal, and we were off across the 4.1 mile long Astoria-Megler Bridge (The Bridge to Nowhere) that spans the Columbia River and continues Highway 101 into Washington. (Please excuse the commercial picture - just wanted to show you the entire length . . .)
Ever since I was little, I’ve had a recurring dream of crossing a long causeway-type road across tumultuous gray waters. So it was with some trepidation that I approached this crossing – wondering if this was the causeway of my dreams. The day was drizzling rain, but the gray waters were not tumultuous, and they certainly did not lap hungrily at the roadway – even on the Washington side where the road continues out levelly across the waters, it was not threatening like the waters of my dreams. So I guess I have yet to visit that nightmarish road.It was our feeling that the Washington side of the coast was not as touristy and developed as the Oregon side. We meandered in and out of little communities that looked as if they were locked in time to the 1950's. Pleasant, peaceful, comfortable in being there. At Cape Disappointment we walked down the trail to the Northhead Lighthouse
– have I told you how much Dale enjoys lighthouses?
When we visited the southerly part of Oregon 7 years ago we were able to climb to the top of the lighthouses. But on this trip, we had to be content to stand at the bottom and look up.
That evening, we crossed back over the bridge, returned to The Ship Inn and ate another wonderful seafood dinner!
Monday, October 4, 2010
Tent Camping on the Oregon Coast #4
ASTORIA
I was having pretty good luck with the campground showers. The water temperature was just at body heat – just barely enough to be able to somewhat enjoy it. I guess if it were kept any warmer, folks would never get out! But it was tricky to find a shower where the water would stay on more than 15 seconds. I got to where before I even got undressed, I’d punch the button to test the temperature of the water, and to see how long the water would stay on – 30 seconds was the best.
Poor Dale did not have very good luck at all with the showers. The first time he tried them, the water was not only cold, but if he let up on the button, the water turned off. He must have done quite a dance – juggling soap, cold water, and keeping his thumb on the button.
Again we listened to the rain beat a steady rhythm on the tent throughout the night, and we awakened to a light drizzle of rain, mist, and a light fog. And again I heated a pot of water then dove back into the tent for oatmeal, hot chocolate, and morning pills.
For our lunches we were quite lucky – finding a table under thick pines out of the rain. We ate bagels and cream cheese, or crackers and cheese. with a fruit cup. At least we weren’t gaining weight on this trip!
After we had dumped our breakfast dishes in the garbage bag, we headed out for Astoria. Our goal was to find the Astoria Column which was supposed to be at the top of a 600 foot high hill overlooking the Columbia River. In the fog we couldn’t even see a hill! Eventually we found small signs that directed us to the eastern side of the town and we started up streets much like San Francisco’s, straight up past a college, straight up past fancy beautiful homes, and finally onto the very top of the hill; and there, in the fog and mist was the Astoria Column!
Had we been younger, we might have taken the 165 steps inside the column to the lookout platform on the top. But then what could we have seen? Fog! The column was built in 1926 and is 125 feet high. A spiraling mural is painted around the column depicting 14 events in Oregon’s history – like the discovery of the Columbia River, Lewis & Clark, and the pioneers. And not being able to take in the famous view of anything, we returned at a 45 degree angle back to sea level. Lagoon couldn’t have wreaked more havoc on my stomach.
We spent a couple of hours at the Columbia River Maritime Museum
and were completely fascinated by the tales of old shipwrecks, of the harrowing “Crossing the Bar,” and tales of the “Graveyard of the Pacific.” These were familiar terms to me, yet I had never realized that these things happened right there, where the Columbia River dumps into the Pacific and creates great chaos in the water. That coupled with the fog, and the weather, over 2000 ships have wrecked near the mouth of the Columbia River.
I was in awe of the bar pilots who must board the big ships to guide them into the mouth of the Columbia River. They go out on small boats to meet the big ship, they have to time the waves just right to jump up and grab a ladder on the side of the ship and haul themselves up to the deck where they take over the navigation of the ship across the chaotic bar. Those guys (& ladies too, actually) get paid $180,000 a year – it probably all goes for life insurance.
And the Coast Guard – the guys who patrol that area -- almost daily helping boats in distress . And they get paid diddly-squat, and probably don’t even have dental insurance.
In the late afternoon the rain let up to a light drizzle and we went to Fort Clatsup to see the area where Lewis and Clark’s expedition built a fort and spent the winter.
Here I met my heroine Sacajawea and we exchanged kindly words
. Dale went back to the car to rest for a minute, leaving me alone to explore trails through the deeply forested camp. I can tell you – if a person were to get lost in those forests, they’d never find their way out, nor would anyone find them! I kept remembering the slogan “Hug a Tree.” I really didn’t have a full understanding of that concept until I walked through those forests. 
Being acquainted with only the forests of Arizona, Utah, Idaho, and Yellowstone, I thought I understood. But in those forests, there really is no undergrowth in comparison with those I walked through at Fort Clatsop. And the trees and not nearly so thick, and not nearly so tall – and the forest not nearly so deep and dark. Lions, and tigers, and bears! Oh My! I didn’t go far – about 200 feet – then I was backtracking -- as well as watching my back -- and I caught up with Dale before he even reached the car!!
That evening we went out to dinner! The ladies at the museum had told us about a pub, the Ship Inn, that was an excellent place to have seafood. So we went! It was right on the boardwalk by the Columbia River
and we had a table right by the windows overlooking the water. The fish dinner (halibut for me, a combination for Dale) was the best I’ve had in years and years!! Or perhaps it was so wonderful because of all the oatmeal, bagels, and Progresso soup we had been subsisting on.
Then back to the tent, cool showers, and listening to the drumming of the rain throughout the night.
I was having pretty good luck with the campground showers. The water temperature was just at body heat – just barely enough to be able to somewhat enjoy it. I guess if it were kept any warmer, folks would never get out! But it was tricky to find a shower where the water would stay on more than 15 seconds. I got to where before I even got undressed, I’d punch the button to test the temperature of the water, and to see how long the water would stay on – 30 seconds was the best.
Poor Dale did not have very good luck at all with the showers. The first time he tried them, the water was not only cold, but if he let up on the button, the water turned off. He must have done quite a dance – juggling soap, cold water, and keeping his thumb on the button.
Again we listened to the rain beat a steady rhythm on the tent throughout the night, and we awakened to a light drizzle of rain, mist, and a light fog. And again I heated a pot of water then dove back into the tent for oatmeal, hot chocolate, and morning pills.
For our lunches we were quite lucky – finding a table under thick pines out of the rain. We ate bagels and cream cheese, or crackers and cheese. with a fruit cup. At least we weren’t gaining weight on this trip!
After we had dumped our breakfast dishes in the garbage bag, we headed out for Astoria. Our goal was to find the Astoria Column which was supposed to be at the top of a 600 foot high hill overlooking the Columbia River. In the fog we couldn’t even see a hill! Eventually we found small signs that directed us to the eastern side of the town and we started up streets much like San Francisco’s, straight up past a college, straight up past fancy beautiful homes, and finally onto the very top of the hill; and there, in the fog and mist was the Astoria Column!
Had we been younger, we might have taken the 165 steps inside the column to the lookout platform on the top. But then what could we have seen? Fog! The column was built in 1926 and is 125 feet high. A spiraling mural is painted around the column depicting 14 events in Oregon’s history – like the discovery of the Columbia River, Lewis & Clark, and the pioneers. And not being able to take in the famous view of anything, we returned at a 45 degree angle back to sea level. Lagoon couldn’t have wreaked more havoc on my stomach.We spent a couple of hours at the Columbia River Maritime Museum
and were completely fascinated by the tales of old shipwrecks, of the harrowing “Crossing the Bar,” and tales of the “Graveyard of the Pacific.” These were familiar terms to me, yet I had never realized that these things happened right there, where the Columbia River dumps into the Pacific and creates great chaos in the water. That coupled with the fog, and the weather, over 2000 ships have wrecked near the mouth of the Columbia River. I was in awe of the bar pilots who must board the big ships to guide them into the mouth of the Columbia River. They go out on small boats to meet the big ship, they have to time the waves just right to jump up and grab a ladder on the side of the ship and haul themselves up to the deck where they take over the navigation of the ship across the chaotic bar. Those guys (& ladies too, actually) get paid $180,000 a year – it probably all goes for life insurance.
And the Coast Guard – the guys who patrol that area -- almost daily helping boats in distress . And they get paid diddly-squat, and probably don’t even have dental insurance.
In the late afternoon the rain let up to a light drizzle and we went to Fort Clatsup to see the area where Lewis and Clark’s expedition built a fort and spent the winter.
Here I met my heroine Sacajawea and we exchanged kindly words
. Dale went back to the car to rest for a minute, leaving me alone to explore trails through the deeply forested camp. I can tell you – if a person were to get lost in those forests, they’d never find their way out, nor would anyone find them! I kept remembering the slogan “Hug a Tree.” I really didn’t have a full understanding of that concept until I walked through those forests. 
Being acquainted with only the forests of Arizona, Utah, Idaho, and Yellowstone, I thought I understood. But in those forests, there really is no undergrowth in comparison with those I walked through at Fort Clatsop. And the trees and not nearly so thick, and not nearly so tall – and the forest not nearly so deep and dark. Lions, and tigers, and bears! Oh My! I didn’t go far – about 200 feet – then I was backtracking -- as well as watching my back -- and I caught up with Dale before he even reached the car!!That evening we went out to dinner! The ladies at the museum had told us about a pub, the Ship Inn, that was an excellent place to have seafood. So we went! It was right on the boardwalk by the Columbia River
and we had a table right by the windows overlooking the water. The fish dinner (halibut for me, a combination for Dale) was the best I’ve had in years and years!! Or perhaps it was so wonderful because of all the oatmeal, bagels, and Progresso soup we had been subsisting on. Then back to the tent, cool showers, and listening to the drumming of the rain throughout the night.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tent Camping on the Oregon Coast #3
FORT STEVENS
Wednesday morning it was still raining - a gentle misty rain. I donned my rain poncho and quickly boiled some water on the one-burner propane stove and dove back into the tent. We feasted on instant oatmeal, hot chocolate, bananas, and morning pills. Then we headed to the beach for our first look at the Pacific Ocean.
Up until this moment we had traveled alongside the Columbia River which, as it fanned out to dump into the ocean, was broad and looked to be a sea, itself, with ocean going ships, barges, and all sizes of fishing vessels.
Right in front of us, stranded on the beach was the Wreck of the Peter Iredale, an English sailing ship that ran aground in 1906.
We had read about this site, but thought we were going to have to hike to it, and weren’t sure we wanted to do that in the wind and rain.
Fort Stevens (where we were camped) was built during the Civil War to defend the western coast from marauding Southerners. Then during World War II it was active in protecting the western coast from enemy submarines. As a matter-of-fact, it was shelled by a Japanese submarine that had managed to get near the Oregon Coast.
In the picture, if you try hard, you can visualize two big cannons sitting up on top of this concrete structure.
The Clatsop Spit (the point of land that juts up between the Pacific and the Columbia) is famous for birdwatching; but unfortunately for us, the birds were tucked away somewhere out of the wind and rain, because we did not see many – just seagulls, Great blue herons, and brown pelicans.
Here is a list of the birds we saw between Boise and the Pacific and back again:
Blackbird, red-winged; Blackbird, Brewer’s; Chickadee, Chestnut-backed (lifer*); Cormorant, Pelagic; Cormorant, Brandt’s; Cormorant, Double-crested; Cowbird, brown-headed; Crow, Northwestern; Crow, American; Dove, Rock; Egret, Great; Flicker, Northern; Goose, Canada; Gull, ring-billed; Gull, Herring; Hawk, red-tailed; Heron, Great Blue (hundreds at Fort Stevens); Jay, Steller’s - Pacific race; Junco, Oregon; Kestrel, American; Kingfisher, Belted; Loon, Pacific; Merlin; Murre, Common; Nuthatch, red-breasted; Osprey; Owl, Barn; Owl, Barred; Pelican, American White; Pelican, Brown; Raven; Sanderling; Shearwater, Sooty (thousands on water); Sparrow, House; Swallow, Barn; Swift, Vaux’s; Vulture, Turkey; Woodpecker, Pacific Hairy; Wrentit (lifer*).
After touring the beaches, fort, and all the birding lookouts at Fort Stevens we were pretty well drenched and decided to retire to our warm, cozy tent. I grabbed a can of Progresso soup, heated it up on the one-burner stove, ran it into the tent where we feasted on soup, bagels, hot chocolate, and evening pills. Then we spent the evening playing games and reading. I’ll have to admit on our entire trip, we were in the tent by 7:00 at the latest, and usually into our warm bed by 8:30, listening to the rain beat on the roof. We averaged 13 hours of sleep each night!
Wednesday morning it was still raining - a gentle misty rain. I donned my rain poncho and quickly boiled some water on the one-burner propane stove and dove back into the tent. We feasted on instant oatmeal, hot chocolate, bananas, and morning pills. Then we headed to the beach for our first look at the Pacific Ocean.
Up until this moment we had traveled alongside the Columbia River which, as it fanned out to dump into the ocean, was broad and looked to be a sea, itself, with ocean going ships, barges, and all sizes of fishing vessels.
Right in front of us, stranded on the beach was the Wreck of the Peter Iredale, an English sailing ship that ran aground in 1906.
We had read about this site, but thought we were going to have to hike to it, and weren’t sure we wanted to do that in the wind and rain.
Fort Stevens (where we were camped) was built during the Civil War to defend the western coast from marauding Southerners. Then during World War II it was active in protecting the western coast from enemy submarines. As a matter-of-fact, it was shelled by a Japanese submarine that had managed to get near the Oregon Coast.
In the picture, if you try hard, you can visualize two big cannons sitting up on top of this concrete structure. The Clatsop Spit (the point of land that juts up between the Pacific and the Columbia) is famous for birdwatching; but unfortunately for us, the birds were tucked away somewhere out of the wind and rain, because we did not see many – just seagulls, Great blue herons, and brown pelicans.
Here is a list of the birds we saw between Boise and the Pacific and back again: Blackbird, red-winged; Blackbird, Brewer’s; Chickadee, Chestnut-backed (lifer*); Cormorant, Pelagic; Cormorant, Brandt’s; Cormorant, Double-crested; Cowbird, brown-headed; Crow, Northwestern; Crow, American; Dove, Rock; Egret, Great; Flicker, Northern; Goose, Canada; Gull, ring-billed; Gull, Herring; Hawk, red-tailed; Heron, Great Blue (hundreds at Fort Stevens); Jay, Steller’s - Pacific race; Junco, Oregon; Kestrel, American; Kingfisher, Belted; Loon, Pacific; Merlin; Murre, Common; Nuthatch, red-breasted; Osprey; Owl, Barn; Owl, Barred; Pelican, American White; Pelican, Brown; Raven; Sanderling; Shearwater, Sooty (thousands on water); Sparrow, House; Swallow, Barn; Swift, Vaux’s; Vulture, Turkey; Woodpecker, Pacific Hairy; Wrentit (lifer*).
After touring the beaches, fort, and all the birding lookouts at Fort Stevens we were pretty well drenched and decided to retire to our warm, cozy tent. I grabbed a can of Progresso soup, heated it up on the one-burner stove, ran it into the tent where we feasted on soup, bagels, hot chocolate, and evening pills. Then we spent the evening playing games and reading. I’ll have to admit on our entire trip, we were in the tent by 7:00 at the latest, and usually into our warm bed by 8:30, listening to the rain beat on the roof. We averaged 13 hours of sleep each night!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Tent Camping on the Oregon Coast #2
THE COLUMBIA RIVER GORGE
Tuesday as we continued along the Columbia River Gorge a misty rain started. We turned onto the old Highway 30 and visited Horsetail Falls
and Multnomah Falls, 
and got our first glimpse of the lush ferns, pines, and undergrowth that make western Oregon so beautiful.
At Horsetail Falls there were no crowds and I was able to pause, listen, and truly appreciate their beauty. (However, my very favorite falls were to come several days later).
It is said that the Columbia River Basin is the most hydroelectrically developed river system in the world with over 400 dams along the various rivers that feed into it. As we drove along we discovered that the 100 mile stretch of river that makes up the gorge has 4 dams backing up the river into a series of lakes that provide recreation, irrigation, power; and through the locks in the various dams, barges can travel from the Pacific Ocean all the way to Lewiston, Idaho. We stopped at the Bonneville Dam,
watched the volunteers counting fish at the observation windows, and looked at the fish ladders. 
Along the mountainsides of both Washington and Oregon we saw windmill farms. 
We passed many semi-trucks each carrying one big windmill blade. These windmills appear to be twice as large as the ones we saw in the San Bernardino canyons in 1999.
I will have to admit here that I am in favor of dams, I am in favor of wind power, I am in favor of solar power (although that is more expensive). If I were given the duty of voting on nuclear power, I would probably vote in favor of that, too. I feel that we should be moving ahead on our sources of power and not get stymied in our efforts to provide ourselves with better, cleaner sources of power.
We steeled ourselves for the drive through Portland – thinking: this city is two times bigger than Salt Lake City, and driving in Salt Lake City is a white-knuckle nightmare. But we found the freeway to be well-signed, and the speed limit was doable, not like the wild 75 mile-per-hour roller-coaster ride through Salt Lake. The Oregonians seem to actually obey their speed limits, making it much more easy to negotiate through their largest city. We skimmed across the northern part of the city, still along the Columbia River, to the north-western-most city of Astoria, across the bridge over Young's Bay, and up to Fort Stevens where we had reservations for the next 4 days.
Fort Stevens Stake Park has 600 campsites, and we thought we would be awash in a sea of campers, but the area where we were to stay was in amongst tall pines and quite empty
. We had just put up our tent, and finished our bowl of soup when it started to rain. And it rained for the next 7.5 days!
Tuesday as we continued along the Columbia River Gorge a misty rain started. We turned onto the old Highway 30 and visited Horsetail Falls
and Multnomah Falls, 
and got our first glimpse of the lush ferns, pines, and undergrowth that make western Oregon so beautiful.
At Horsetail Falls there were no crowds and I was able to pause, listen, and truly appreciate their beauty. (However, my very favorite falls were to come several days later).It is said that the Columbia River Basin is the most hydroelectrically developed river system in the world with over 400 dams along the various rivers that feed into it. As we drove along we discovered that the 100 mile stretch of river that makes up the gorge has 4 dams backing up the river into a series of lakes that provide recreation, irrigation, power; and through the locks in the various dams, barges can travel from the Pacific Ocean all the way to Lewiston, Idaho. We stopped at the Bonneville Dam,
watched the volunteers counting fish at the observation windows, and looked at the fish ladders. 
Along the mountainsides of both Washington and Oregon we saw windmill farms. 
We passed many semi-trucks each carrying one big windmill blade. These windmills appear to be twice as large as the ones we saw in the San Bernardino canyons in 1999.I will have to admit here that I am in favor of dams, I am in favor of wind power, I am in favor of solar power (although that is more expensive). If I were given the duty of voting on nuclear power, I would probably vote in favor of that, too. I feel that we should be moving ahead on our sources of power and not get stymied in our efforts to provide ourselves with better, cleaner sources of power.
We steeled ourselves for the drive through Portland – thinking: this city is two times bigger than Salt Lake City, and driving in Salt Lake City is a white-knuckle nightmare. But we found the freeway to be well-signed, and the speed limit was doable, not like the wild 75 mile-per-hour roller-coaster ride through Salt Lake. The Oregonians seem to actually obey their speed limits, making it much more easy to negotiate through their largest city. We skimmed across the northern part of the city, still along the Columbia River, to the north-western-most city of Astoria, across the bridge over Young's Bay, and up to Fort Stevens where we had reservations for the next 4 days.
Fort Stevens Stake Park has 600 campsites, and we thought we would be awash in a sea of campers, but the area where we were to stay was in amongst tall pines and quite empty
. We had just put up our tent, and finished our bowl of soup when it started to rain. And it rained for the next 7.5 days!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Tent Camping on the Oregon Coast #1
There are no crowds along the Oregon Coast in September, maybe that’s because it rains a lot along the Oregon Coast in September. And that makes tent camping along the Oregon Coast in September quite an adventure.
We started our late-season vacation on September 13 with the idea that we would leave our pop-up trailer and Trailblazer home, and pack the bare necessities of camping into our little Toyota Corolla, thereby not only saving gas, but enabling ourselves to zip in and out of traffic without the hassle of a trailer dragging along behind.
It turned out that our little car held quite a lot of stuff: a big, roomy 9X14 foot tent; 2 Coleman camp cots with foam pads; a 2" memory foam mattress topper; 2 sleeping bags; 3 pillows; 2 camp chairs; a small camp table; a cooler; 2 Rubbermaid totes for paper plates, saucepans, soup, and instant oatmeal; a case of bottled water; 2 duffle bags for clothes; 2 winter coats; 2 rain jackets; 2 light jackets; a one-burner propane stove; 3 small propane tanks; a bag of field guides; and various cameras, binoculars, and telescopes. When we had finished with the packing, the trunk was neatly filled -- not cram-packed; and the back seat was filled only to the bottom of the side door windows! I would have thrown my guitar on top if I’d thought I’d have time to strum it.
We planned to take two days to get to the Coast, because we like to stop and look at everything and anything. So our first night was at Memaloose State Park on the edge of the Columbia River near The Dalles.
We had just set up our tent when 4 vans rolled into the four tent sites next ours. Slogans were white-washed all over their sides indicating that this was a group of biology students from Bowling Green University on their way home from the Coast. Out poured at least 36 kids with 19 tents. We looked at each other and groaned – this was going to be a long night. And it was, but not because of those kids. That group turned out to be the most quiet group of campers we had ever heard. They set up their tents quickly and quietly. We heard nothing from them during the night and they were gone the following morning having left no trace of their ever having been there.
What we didn’t know when we reserved was that aside from the beautiful park-like setting on the banks of the big river, the Denver and Rio-Grande railroad tracks to Portland and vicinity ran along the same bank of the river approximately 500 feet on the north side of our tent! It didn’t take us long to figure out that those rails have to be the busiest in the Northern United States – trains going east, then trains going west with engineers who delighted in blasting their screaming air horns just outside our tent every 35 minutes throughout the night.
And also what we didn’t know when we reserved was that 300 feet on the south side of our tent was Interstate 84 – the only highway carrying traffic between Denver and Portland – four lanes of bumper-to-bumper semi-trucks with tires whining and air brakes roaring all through the night.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Privy Information
One-half mile to the outhouse requires planning ahead! Our family’s favorite spot to hold our annual camp out is in a cozy clearing among the pines on Bettenson Flat in the Fish Lake Forest of Utah (9000 feet in altitude). It is a perfect place away from the regular weekend crowds. Well, perfect in all but one way – the outhouse is a half mile away across the meadow as the crow flies (see the small white dot in the upper part of the above photo). And many a pour soul has set out over that meadow with their hopes high of meeting their deadline, only to turn back anxious to find a faster method of transport.
Shuttle service, including motorcycle, motor scooter, SUV, pickup truck, and sedan was on alert 24/7. One vehicle would leave, and the sentinel at camp would watch the privy through binoculars until the shuttle was reloaded and headed back in the direction of camp. “Next shuttle to the privy leaving in 15 minutes,” the sentinel would shout. Sometimes folks weren’t fast enough and would be left standing on the dirt road in the dust of the out-going shuttle, forlornly waving their roll of TP as it unraveled in the mountain breeze.
Outhouses are known by many names: privy, biffy, kybo, dunny . . . and there are others that I won’t mention here. My granddaughter calls it “the stinky opera house.” There must be something to this because when my daughter was little she enjoyed sitting in the various outhouses from Arizona to Montana singing Bali Hai at the top of her lungs.
It isn’t a difficult thing for me to deal with outhouses in the forest – especially the new pre-fabricated concrete ones that have replaced all the pit toilets that were around when I was young – now those were stinky opera houses! But still, not difficult, for someone who was raised on a farm with the only “facility” being a ramshackle two-holer located 200 feet west of the house on the other side of the barnyard near the pigpen.
It was a long way to go on cold winter days. My brothers tried to keep a path shoveled the entire distance, but sometimes nature called during the middle of a blizzard and we kids would just tear out the door in our bare feet and high-tail it through the snow to the welcoming confines of the little out-building. There we would sit and read the Sears Roebuck or Montgomery Ward catalog, then search the back index of the books in hopes of finding at least one of the more flexible pages that made up the index to use for TP.
Who can complain about dispersed camping in the forest when only a half mile away awaits the greatest comfort of modern day camping – a forest service outhouse stocked with rolls and rolls of soft white tissue paper!
Friday, July 30, 2010
Muffins, Lemons and Zucchini
Thanks to Cynthia I became the proud owner of a battleship-size zucchini! You hear of zucchini gardeners thinking up covert ways to divest themselves of their over-abundant zucchini crop -- wrapping each up as a gift and leaving them in the back seat of their unlocked car, leaving them in the middle of the night on a neighbor's porch, air-dropping them on parachutes from low-flying aircraft -- but for some reason, I am never the recipient of any of these benevolent gifts. If I want a zucchini, I have to go to the store and buy one! So I was overwhelmed with thankfulness when I was presented with a wonderfully huge zucchini! My eyes danced seeing visions of zucchini bread, zucchini muffins, zucchini stir fry, and just plain old steamed zucchini with butter and pepper!
I have had a zucchini bread recipe I have been wanting to try since 2007 -- so Cynthia hadn't been out the door 4 minutes before I was in the kitchen grating away on that zucchini. The recipe was titled "Lemon Zucchini Bread" and it used lemon pudding, fresh lemon juice, and grated lemon rind, and poppy seeds. You can see why I was intrigued. But I was disappointed. The bread looked beautiful, the texture was wonderful, but the flavor was very much tartly lemony -- too tart for my taste, and I love everything lemony -- but sweetly lemony. My husband enjoyed it because he likes things tart. So I will return to my old stand-by zucchini bread recipe that I have been using from my kids' cooking classes in high school.
But I do want to share with you my all-time favorite recipe for using zucchini, and for that matter, my favorite muffin recipe: "Anything Goes Muffins." This recipe calls for anything that has substance and is moist. I have used zucchini, bananas, applesauce, fresh grated apples, pumpkin, cooked oatmeal, cooked malt-o-meal, cooked cream of wheat, mashed potatoes, cooked carrots (I wonder how raw carrots would be, or pineapple? hmmm) and the muffins always turn out beautifully and tasty and great. Oh - I have never used raisins or wheat germ -- I'll leave that for you to try :/
ANYTHING GOES MUFFINS
2 c. flour (can use part whole wheat)
1 Tbsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
½ c. brown sugar
1 c shredded (zucchini, carrots, cereal, applesauce, bananas, pumpkin, cooked cereals, grated apples, etc. etc.)
1 egg, beaten slightly
3/4 c. milk
1/4 c. oil
½ c. raisins (optional)
½ c. wheat germ (optional)
Mix together. Spoon into greased muffin tin. Bake at 375 degrees about 18 min.
I have had a zucchini bread recipe I have been wanting to try since 2007 -- so Cynthia hadn't been out the door 4 minutes before I was in the kitchen grating away on that zucchini. The recipe was titled "Lemon Zucchini Bread" and it used lemon pudding, fresh lemon juice, and grated lemon rind, and poppy seeds. You can see why I was intrigued. But I was disappointed. The bread looked beautiful, the texture was wonderful, but the flavor was very much tartly lemony -- too tart for my taste, and I love everything lemony -- but sweetly lemony. My husband enjoyed it because he likes things tart. So I will return to my old stand-by zucchini bread recipe that I have been using from my kids' cooking classes in high school.
But I do want to share with you my all-time favorite recipe for using zucchini, and for that matter, my favorite muffin recipe: "Anything Goes Muffins." This recipe calls for anything that has substance and is moist. I have used zucchini, bananas, applesauce, fresh grated apples, pumpkin, cooked oatmeal, cooked malt-o-meal, cooked cream of wheat, mashed potatoes, cooked carrots (I wonder how raw carrots would be, or pineapple? hmmm) and the muffins always turn out beautifully and tasty and great. Oh - I have never used raisins or wheat germ -- I'll leave that for you to try :/
ANYTHING GOES MUFFINS
2 c. flour (can use part whole wheat)
1 Tbsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
½ c. brown sugar
1 c shredded (zucchini, carrots, cereal, applesauce, bananas, pumpkin, cooked cereals, grated apples, etc. etc.)
1 egg, beaten slightly
3/4 c. milk
1/4 c. oil
½ c. raisins (optional)
½ c. wheat germ (optional)
Mix together. Spoon into greased muffin tin. Bake at 375 degrees about 18 min.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Graduating the Granddaughter
From May 22 to Jun 4 we were in Utah attending Dayna’s seminary graduation and high school graduation. This was Salem Hills high school’s second graduating class and the second time the graduation ceremonies were held at the high school stadium. The invitation informed everyone that the event would go forward no matter what the weather. The day before the ceremonies, it snowed – 2 inches in Orem. But on May 25, the sun came out and welcomed us to a glorious day.
I had only been to one outdoor graduation before – for my oldest son in Phoenix. And that was going be a hard program to beat because during the opening prayer (they actually had prayers back then, and it wasn’t even an LDS town) there was a streaker who ran full-katilt, stark raving nude across the end zone. I missed the whole thing, however, because being the devoutly religious person I am, I had my eyes closed in prayer. Although the entire crowd was hooting and cheering, I kept my eyes closed and wondered disgustedly about the manners of the irreverent crowd.
But Dayna’s graduation did out-do that one of 1976. The graduates marched around the entire football field. It was fun to watch the senior girls wobble around the track in their spiked heels of bright yellows, pinks, and purples. Dayna was two people behind the bright yellow spiked heels, so she was easy to find. (Dayna chose to wear purple comfortable flat shoes.)
Skydivers presented the American Flag, sailing through the air, then down onto the field where a Boy Scout ran it over to the flag pole and a waiting honor guard raised it up, then gave it a 4-gun salute. The speeches were even great - the principal talked of Alice in Wonderland and likened her adventures to those the graduating students were likely to face. And told the kids that they could actually have their “cake and eat it, too,” and pointed to a table that was laden with cupcakes for each student, and each cupcake held a picture of a graduating student.
The show was great – watching the back-flips and inane gesturing of the kids as they received their diplomas. No sooner had the last graduate received his diploma than a cannon blast rent the air, followed by 4 others in quick succession! I had to search under the bleachers for my heart! What a day! What a great event to honor the graduates! It was fun to be there – Thank you, Dayna, for inviting us.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Worldly Path vs Godly Path
Today in Relief Society our instructor was encouraging us to be the person God wants you to be. She asked if we could think of a time when we had had to choose between the worldly path and the Godly path. I thought of at least 4 zillion times – duh! But there was a time, that I came very close to veering . . .
I was writing a romance novel. I joined the Romance Writers of America and was attending their meetings. Several of these ladies were published with Harlequin and Avon and it was quite exciting to be included in their group – they knew so much, had been through all the ropes. They had various ways to seclude themselves from the everyday world so they could write and they invited me participate in these methods with them. Most of them, when they were on deadline, would go away to a cabin or hotel where they would not be disturbed with normal life. Since I had a family I felt quite obligated to, I always declined. At one time they were all into a method that was probably a self-hypnosis thing. They all met at a cabin and attempted to get into a trance-like state where they could actually meet their characters. I didn’t much feel like I wanted to be a zombie in company with a bunch of grown ladies (and since I had a family I felt quite obligated to), I declined. These things were not a great temptation to me. However, we all have our weak spot. And mine was that I did want to have my novel published, and my goal was to be published with Harlequin. I wanted it bad!
At the annual Romance Writers conference, I was able to meet with an editor from Harlequin and she read my sample chapters and outline and told me that she was impressed. She told me that she would be interested in working with me, but I would need to change my style to come up to Harlequin standards. What this meant was that I needed to add some steamy sex to my book. And not all that much steam, either, just a little sizzle. So I agreed to give it a try.
I began to rewrite my book, including all the editor’s suggestions. It was coming along nicely, until my son asked me if he could read it. Oops! Also, at this time, I was serving as a counselor in the Young Women’s organization. Oops! What would happen if one of my young women were to read this novel (as they surely would, because they all knew I was struggling to write one.) Oops!
The new version came to a screeching halt as did my career with Harlequin.
I was writing a romance novel. I joined the Romance Writers of America and was attending their meetings. Several of these ladies were published with Harlequin and Avon and it was quite exciting to be included in their group – they knew so much, had been through all the ropes. They had various ways to seclude themselves from the everyday world so they could write and they invited me participate in these methods with them. Most of them, when they were on deadline, would go away to a cabin or hotel where they would not be disturbed with normal life. Since I had a family I felt quite obligated to, I always declined. At one time they were all into a method that was probably a self-hypnosis thing. They all met at a cabin and attempted to get into a trance-like state where they could actually meet their characters. I didn’t much feel like I wanted to be a zombie in company with a bunch of grown ladies (and since I had a family I felt quite obligated to), I declined. These things were not a great temptation to me. However, we all have our weak spot. And mine was that I did want to have my novel published, and my goal was to be published with Harlequin. I wanted it bad!
At the annual Romance Writers conference, I was able to meet with an editor from Harlequin and she read my sample chapters and outline and told me that she was impressed. She told me that she would be interested in working with me, but I would need to change my style to come up to Harlequin standards. What this meant was that I needed to add some steamy sex to my book. And not all that much steam, either, just a little sizzle. So I agreed to give it a try.
I began to rewrite my book, including all the editor’s suggestions. It was coming along nicely, until my son asked me if he could read it. Oops! Also, at this time, I was serving as a counselor in the Young Women’s organization. Oops! What would happen if one of my young women were to read this novel (as they surely would, because they all knew I was struggling to write one.) Oops!
The new version came to a screeching halt as did my career with Harlequin.
Screech Owl Stake Out
Before I move on to other subjects, I have one more note to add about our drippy ash tree:
I had gotten used to scanning that buggy tree every few minutes to see what new birds I might find dining there. Then on May 21 the birds were suddenly scarce. I thought I had found the cause when I saw perched on a high limb a gray cat. What was a cat doing up there so high? I grabbed the binocs and was flabbergasted to see that it wasn’t a cat at all, but a little Western Screech Owl! He (just guessing on that) stayed there all day posing for photographs, and then in the early evening he flew off.
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