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!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)