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!
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
. 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!
