Summer Adventures

I've been a traveling, working, fruit picking fool of late.
I have so much to catch up on that I'll first write a bit, then just splash in a BUNCH of pictures.

Last weekend (not this last one but the one before) G and I went on one of our hikes.  I'd bought a new book on Pacific Northwest berries and was eager to see what was out there for us to pick and prepare. Canning season is upon us, after all, and even though it's much more common to just buy a jar of jam at the store, I get a kick out of picking and canning my own stuff.  I can also control what goes into it.

I filled a little pack full of tart summer apples and used some mint from my garden to check out one of the recipes. The neat thing about my berry book is that it works in small batches.  A cup of this, a cup of that, and a cup of this makes about a pint of this... that sort of thing. I love the mint apple jelly I made. I'm going to have to make some more.  Oh, don't worry, there's lots of apples out there for the stealing gleaning. 

Fresh Mint

tart summer apples

Not a lot of juice, but they were free..

The ingredients

Ta da!

Last Friday, I went to Leavenworth with my good friend Joy.  I love my women friends! I am lucky to be surrounded by women who support me and who let me support and build them up too.  Anyway, Joy and I went up to Leavenworth and picked blueberries at a small farm called Roots. Nice people. Their son owns J5 Coffee downtown. We got almost 14 lbs before the heat drove us out. Less than 10 miles away is the Carlton Complex fire, so there was a heavy scent of smoke in the air. We still enjoyed ourselves and walked around their flower gardens too.  The owner said that if there was an award for most determined pickers, it would be us! 

Smoke from the Carlton Complex fire

Flower garden

See the bee?

Joy and me!

Those mountains are usually stark and clear

Berry fields

Half the haul

Dem blueberries tho!

That afternoon, I headed for Dayton, Wa to help my sister move. G stayed home because he worked on Friday and because Eleanor is so old and she needs medicines twice daily that we can't easily find a sitter for her.  I know, I know.  But what are you going to do? 

My sister's daughter is 3 now, and really chatting up a storm. She has great manners, saying please and thank you with no reminding.  She goes to daycare where she has learned to count and say ALL of her colors in Spanish.  I am over the moon about it.  I love how she doesn't even really try hard to recall the names. Pretty awesome.

Moving is hot and dusty work. I'm a bit bruised and there may still be an antique bedspring stuck in a spiral staircase. But the rest is moved out. I bet I could've gotten that rail off but it was over 100 degrees and people don't tend to have air conditioning here.

Anyhoo, after the work came the good stuff: visiting. I love visiting my relatives. There are quite a few as my Grandfather's Grandfather, Christopher Marll, homesteaded in Columbia.  Grandpa had 6 siblings and Grandma had 9.  Yeah, lots of relatives.  You have to do a genealogical chart before you get a date in Dayton.  If you're me that is.  Reason 6,748 that I married G. Yes, this reason isn't even in the top 1,000, but I still enjoy it. My aunt and uncle live at my grandparents house now that they have both passed on. They completely remodeled- something that was long overdue.  It looks wonderful and homey and they retained all of the touches that remind any family member who has a memory of before just who lived here and how much love lived and still lives in this place.  Uncle Steve is farming and Aunt Karla is quite busy keeping him in line and keeping them afloat. I saw four different relatives just in a short stop out to their place. Neatest five acres in Columbia County.

My uncle also has this old brown Ford that was my grandpas.  I keep trying to get him to sell it to me and this time we pinky swore that when he was done with it, I could buy the old thing.  Shhhhh!  Don't tell my husband.  That thing guzzles gas.

Wheat for miles. This is during a little storm

Out Patit Road

After the storm

He looks more like my grandpa every time I see him.

As I often do when I'm in Dayton, I snagged my old friend Orinda and we went to coffee.  We went to school together, 6-12 grades, though she's been in Dayton since she was born.  Ori is the heart of the class of 1991.  I think people just sort of fly into town, find Orinda to say hello, and then go about their business.  She's neat, too. One of those people who just makes you feel happy from hanging around them. Like she's made of love and it floats around in a little halo around her head.

We were "dragging the gut" and ran into Del and Krystle Avery. Del went to school with us and he and Krystle got married a few weeks after graduation.  They're a neat, fun couple and have two awesome kids.  Carrie- on the left- is Del's "little sister", and she happened to be visiting from Alaska.  Mini-reunion!


I couldn't leave town without snagging some apples. I can't sleep worth a crap when I'm away from G, and in general I've got some pretty bad insomnia, so after 5 hours of sleep, I got up on Sunday morning and zoomed over to my cousin's house.  With another relative (we're not that stealthy, nor am I unwanted, I just wanted to be considerate) I picked all the good apples I could reach from an old golden delicious and scooped the rest from the lawn into the trash.  My cousin doesn't like doing that part so that's the courtesy I extend for stealing his apples! I sent him a text too, that said 'Please don't shoot me! I'm in your yard picking apples! Let me know when you get up."  I think he got a kick out of that.  But seriously, let country people know it's you before you go fruit picking on their property.  Good advice right there.

Apples!

Amber waves of grain

I was happy to see everyone and happy to come home to my husband and cat.

He makes me want to sing Pharrells "Happy"

There are wildfires about 15 miles from Ellensburg, and the smoke is faint because the wind is blowing it away from us. For now.  But I still had a happy reunion and was back to work this morning.

This week? Maybe I'll get some blueberry jam made. Maybe a little apple butter, though golden delicious aren't the best for it.  I'll take some pictures for y'all. :)

Take That, Claire Danes!

When I was in junior high, Moonlighting was popular on television.  My hair hadn't darkened yet and my peers often called me Cybil Shepard, the lead actress.  Several years ago, I was likened to Claire Danes from her role in "Shopgirl", with Steve Martin.  I can live with that.

I was invited to give a keynote address for a conference in March at Central Washington University. The theme is "Innovation".  I hadn't met anyone on the committee. They asked if I would attend one of the meetings, so this morning, I showed up on time and was the first person there.  As people filtered into the room, I spoke to a few of them.  Nice people; we talked about the campus, life in Ellensburg and assorted other stuff.

Then one of them asked, "So what is your name, then?"
"My name is Mindie."  I use my first name for professional stuff.
A few eyebrows went up.
"Is something wrong?
"No!" said the blonde lady who was apparently the chair of the committee. "We were just, expecting someone....."
I'm thinking rapidly at this point- someone smarter? Someone more academic looking? Someone who doesn't look like a hobo walking in off of the street?
"... much older." 

Oh.

"Oh."
"Don't get me wrong," said the thin woman to her right, "I'm so pleased to have you as our speaker. It's just that you've done a lot of stuff." She seemed really flustered. There was a murmur from the other people in the room. 
"I'm 40." I'm actually 39, but I'll be 40 in a few months. There was a moment where two of the committee members seemed on the verge of spitting out a denial, a refutation, but at the last moment looked at each other and closed their mouths.
"You look so young!"
"Thank you."

This went on for half a minute. I was beginning to get uncomfortable with the attention.  After all, it's sort of an American thing to equate looks with success. We moved on to other topics- defining innovation, discussing approaches for the workshops and the roundtable I will facilitate- and I told them a few stories.

It's flattering that people sometimes think I am younger than I am.  In this case, it was really awkward.  Ok, flattering *and* awkward.  If I am going to be known for anything in this world, I want to be known for the stories I tell about my family, my students, my friends. I want to be known as a good teacher or friend.  Those are the things that will last. 

Where was I going with this? Oh yeah.

I get to give a keynote address!  At a conference addressing innovative ideas. How hard does that rock?!

And hello! There are worse things than being mistaken for a twenty-something. Take that, Claire Danes!

Day Town

Well, I'm driving.
Eleanor came with us because the cat sitter is out of town.  She is nonplussed and heavily drugged.  Eleanor does not like car rides and takes a form of kitty valium called acepromazine for when she goes any distance with us.  She is really stoned and that's or the best because she meows, climbs all over the car and generally works herself up into a frenzy.

Before I started giving her prescriptions for travel, my vet recommended "Rescue Remedy" and Benadryl.  Rescue Remedy is apparently a naturopathic placebo.  Only nobody told Eleanor what it's supposed to do before we gave it to her.  On one of our trips to Tulsa, she was cranky the whole way and tormented me, spreading hair all over my boyfriend's car.

When I tried Benadryl, she foamed at the mouth, acted like she had a sick tummy, and puked (twice) right into my hand.  At least she didn't hit the seats or anything.  She also pooped on my foot while she was puking into my hand.  But hey, at least she didn't hit the floorboard. It was a long day for everyone, and I ended up with a long shower and a couple of hours of soothing my poor kitty.  We tried cold turkey again, only with her carrier. She doesn't like her carrier.  She peed out the back side of it, this time hitting the back of the seat.  At least I was overly prepared with sprays and wipes and paper towels.

So I drug her.  And everyone is much happier.  She tends to hang out between the feet of whomever is on the passenger side of the car and stare into space while a heater blows a little warm air on her head.  It's very zen, especially for me.  I don't like to think of any animal or human being in pain.

Anyway, I'm driving.  The drugs haven't quite hit and Eleanor is pacing.  Grey is trying to wrangle her and be patient with me as I bark orders having to do with my cat.  He does not need me to tell him what to do with a cat. Especially this cat- he lives with her and knows her just as well as I do.  But it makes me feel better.

We are headed to Dayton.

Dayton, Washington. Home of my Centennial family.  Chrisopher Marll moved there from Pennsylvania right before statehood and settled in Dayton with his family.  I believe he was Grandfather to Nineva, who was my Grandpa's mother.  Nineva.  She went by Nina.  When I wear my hair up in a bun, my Grandma told me I look just like her.  That's one of the reasons my grandpa liked me so well.

And nobody goes by their original names, it would seem.  My Great-Grandma Nina used her nickname.  She had a sister named Vina- also a nickname.  My Great-Grandpa Albert was Abbot, Aunt Sis was Alberta, Bessie is Bettie, Teddy was really named Alice and Chaud was actually named Charles.  Family reunions are a bitch for this reason.  That and having a grandma who was an identical twin.  I thought I had two grandma's until I was 7.  It's no wonder I am named Mindie but go by Antoinette and that I married a man named Greg, who goes by Grey.

And now, it's time to introduce Grey to the family he married into.  Because it's not just a family; it's also a town and sometimes a geneological snarl.  I don't know where to start.  I'm related to just about everyone.  I consulted with Patti before we decided to come visit.  We decided to do what they do: stay in a local motel and visit from there.  That way, we have a place to retreat to, in order to have a bit of quiet and a place to rest up after the heavy information inputs.

We stayed at the place that allows pets. The reason the motel allows pets is so that hunters who come year round can bring their dogs.  Clean room- no pet hair.  Free wifi, hot water.  Not much else.  A quiet haven.  Hunters go to bed early. Come to think of it, everyone in town goes to bed early.

Time to meet the Fockers.

I always referred to my uncle Steve as Uncle T-B.  We couldn't say his name when we were little. He and my Aunt Karla bought my grandparent's place since their deaths and rennovated the house.  It's the first time I have seen the house in the two years since they moved in.  New siding, new windows, floors, heating system, bathroom (might I say WOW on that part) and a couple of new walls.  Pretty snazzy.  I am amazed at the touches they left in place.  The floor of the back porch that my grandpa built himself is the same.  The root cellar is still in the same place- also dug by hand by Grandpa.  Much of the furniture placement (new furniture) is the exact same, and the deck is updated by still in the same style.

T-B showed Grey videos of me when I was an awkward teenager, complete with long, blonde, permed hair and acid wash jeans.  And pimples.  The 1980s were a tough time.  He also showed Grey the vdieos of my time on the Columbia County Fair Court, wearing red off-the-shoulder dresses and big red picture hats.  Waving to a crowd of people with a big smile stuck on my face.  Riding in the back of a wagon at the country fair with spray-painted on jeans and white shirts.

Oy. Family.

One thing my family loves is apples.  One of the best places to get apples is in Ellensburg.  That's fortunate, eh? So we went to the best place to buy a couple of boxes: Thorp Apples and Antique Mall.  It's good food, reasonably priced.  Organic, local and oh, so yummy.  I picked up a couple of boxes for my aunt and uncle, and a couple of boxes for my sister Mickie and her family.  Mickie had her husband, Lester, stepson Logan and granddaughter Jenna Lynn (age 2) living at her house right now. Logan is 11 and very talkative.  He's a good kid.  While we were visiting Steve and Karla, we got to also visit with my cousin Chryssee, her husband James and their four year old daughter, Allie.

I spent a lot of time with this part of my family when I was younger.  A few weeks in the summers, lots of holidays and time where Ryan, Rob, Chryssee and I would be at Grandma and Grandpas at the same time.  Alsways fun.  I loved my cousins.  I went from being the youngest to being the oldest in just a few hours and I loved spending time with them.  So it's a treat to see any of my cousins.  Chryssee was born when I was 11, and somewhere floating around is a picture of me holding her when she is six months old.

We take apples for everyone.  Grey appeared somewhat skeptical at the prospect of me buying boxes of apples for my family.  We had taken one over to Patti's house the last time we were there and they ate them, straight up.  Didn't even pretend they were going to can them.  Bigger families on this side, so we brought more boxes.  It's not just my family; everyone here eats them like crazy.

We visit awhile longer and decide to go back to town to see the Christmas Kickoff fireworks.  The town really loves fireworks but can't shoot them off on the fourt of July because it's such a dry area.  So they do it the day after Thanksgiving.  Even though there are only about 2,500 people in town, thousands come to see the fireworks.  Grey and I find parking and work out way towads the courthouse.  It's the second oldest in the state.  My Great-Great-Great-Great Grandparents saw it built.  On the way I am stopped by Ramon Streby, who goes to our family church and a friend from high school named Denise Witt, who I have not seen in 20 years but she is so remarkably unchanged we recognize each other immediately.  She is married and has three lively boys.  I see lots of people I know.  Some know me too and we nod.  Grey doesn't say much and seems unsurprised when I suddenly hug Ramon and then introduce him.  He's affable.

After the fireworks, we go by the historical Winehard Hotel, run by my friend Shelly.  She is one of the nicest people you will ever meet.  You need a gorgeous suite in a beautifully rennovated hotel?  Go THERE!  And then off to a restaurant to eat.  The first place we tried, we couldn't get anyone to take our order.  It was terribly busy.  I recognized my nephew's girlfriend but we haven't been introduced and I didn't want to freak her out while she was working.  The second place, Skye Book and Brew, had a pretty decent grilled cheese sandwich and a local Johnson Hollow IPA.  Perfect. And a good end to the night.

The night ended at 9.  In fact, everything sort of ends by 9 in Dayton.  It's a "roll up the streets when the sun goes down" sort of place.

Today was a shopping and a walk around Dayton sort of day.  More relatives- Grey met one of my third cousins and a former stepdad (who I just love), and we walked a mile out to Grandma and Grandpa's to visit a bit longer.  On the way, I gave more town history and pointed out some landmarks.  Lester, Mickie's husband, took us up the Touchet River Road, turned on Hatley Gulch Road and drove us to the old Marll (Grandpa's people) homestead, past a bunch of my Uncle Vernon's land that my Uncle Steve now farms and to Aunt Vina's cabin.  The homestead is where they used to grow vegetables and strawberries to make their living, and that very strawberry field is the place where my Grandma correctly diagnosed my Aunt Dorothy with appendicitis- and it saved her life.  Grandma lost her kid brother to a burst appendix when she was just a teenager, so she knew the signs. We saw deer and Pioneer Park, the land my Uncle Vernon donated to be a hunting/camping park.  The sign just says that people should be courteous.  Nobody has to clean the place up.  Down Skyline and through the fields in fallow we drove, around a couple of hairpin turns, and back into Dayton.  I am really impressed with Lester. He knows our family history at least as well as me.

But by the time we got back to town, it was dark and I was carsick as hell.  And I needed to pee.  Jenna Lynn fell asleep in the car and would be up all night.  Logan helped to narrate and all along the way, Mickie showed us all the places she and Jenna Lynn would glean apples and have picnics.  I guess since Mickie and Uncle Steve both do it, gleaning isn't just a weird thing about me. Mickie referres to the practice of picking wayward apples, apricots, berries and other fruits as "procuring".  And Yvette does it too, sometimes in tandem with Mick.

So there.

I'm exhausted.  It's 8 p.m.  We are in for the night.  Tomorrow, it's church at our little United  Bretheren Church and then saying our goodbyes and taking off for home.  Yvette isn't here this trip.  She was at Mom's house for Thanksgiving and is now in Olympia visiting her boyfriend.  She and Grey will meet. Someday.

I worry about Grey though.  How will he do on the geneology test?  Will he know the Marlls from the Jennings?  Will he know the nicknames? What about the UB church history?  Will he be able to find his way back to town when Lester drops him off on Skyline? Can he correctly identify the location of the hospital where I was born? I mean, now the hospital is on the other side of of town. Will he be able to tell the difference in taste between a Jonagold apple and a Honeycrisp?  What if he can't even name my Uncle Vernon's favorite apple (It's Golden Delicious)? There is over 100 years of history just on my mom's side of the family to memorize.  I feel a little sorry for him but hope he will be able to come home with me.  I'll post pictures in a separate blog in a few days.  Because you know I took a bunch.

Bandwagon

One of the nice things about November is that the elections are over.  In this case, my favorite causes won in the national election- Elizabeth Warren, Mazie Hirono, and Tulsi Gabbard all won historic spots in Congress, bringing women up to a record (and still not 50%) number of women representing all of We The People in Washington.  Tammy Baldwin became the first openly lesbian senator from Wisconsin.  It's not that I'm so "pro-woman" or "pro-LGBT" (ok, yes, I am, but I have a bigger purpose here) as I am adamant that our representatives reflect the demographics of who makes up our country.  I am glad that these people- Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, Atheists and women- have stepped up.  In many cases, in my opinion, it's just a matter of finding the right person with the courage and backing to go forth and put themselves out there.  I'm not sure I would have the wherewithal myself.

But enough of political talk.

November is also a month of gratitude for many of my friends.  They list all sorts of things they are thankful for, from books and warm houses to coffee, friends, family and even death. I thought about jumping on the bandwagon.  I am grateful for those things too, and would also add technology (hint to my in-laws: we'd love to skype with you!) my job, my amazing husband and boots and snow and a house that doesn't leak.

I love reading what people put up.  It's poignant and often insightful, whimsical and sometimes just sentimental. I guess I could make a short list..

I'm grateful for Eleanor, who is 16 and a cat, for waking me up every day around 6:30 to give her water from the faucet because such a grand dame cannot possibly drink out of a bowl.

I'm grateful for snow because it gives me a chance to stay inside and get fat over the winter.

I'm grateful for coffee for powering my life and uh, keeping things moving...

I'm grateful for my friends in Oklahoma who somehow have the courage to live in a state that not only preemptively banned Sharia law but also in the last 10 years finally banned cockfighting and allowed tattoos, and has only this month done away with Affirmative Action.  Mmmmm yeah...

I'm grateful for breath mints.  If anyone ever, EVER offers you one, you eat that motha and like it.  I don't care if it's not vegetarian.

I'm grateful for deodorant.  See above, you smelly hippie.

I'm grateful for underwear too.  Warm underwear.

And cheese graters.

And unemployment.  When we decided to move here, Grey sacrificed his job in Oklahoma and moved across the country so that I might follow my dream.  As it turns out, this is a very small town with not a lot of employment opportunities.  And it's taking some time to find something.  There are often over 100 applications for every job.  What this translates to is a very patient man who does a wonderful job of distracting his attention into positive energy.  He researches, plans and cooks amazing and nutritious dishes.  I eat like a queen and all I have to do is dishes.  So while I hope Grey finds what he is looking for, I benefit directly from that not working out quite yet.  Nom Nom Nom!

I'm grateful to my mom because she makes amazing and beautiful quilts.  She made me one for my graduation last December and it's currently on the bed, keeping us warm on these frozen nights.  Now if Eleanor would just stop farting on the bed...

I'm grateful for my brother-in-law.  There was a time not too many years ago- long enough that my nephew, his son, would not remember but not long enough for me to forget- that we were not friends.  In fact, there was this moment during an angry confrontation between he and my sister that I had out a knife and I was a few moments of terror and self-righteousness away from letting a little more light into his noggin.  It's no secret that my sisters and I grew up a little on the rough side, and that means quite often that we made choices in our dating and marriages that sometimes involved rough guys.  And my brother-in-law was a rough guy.  And I about stabbed him, straight up.  I'm not proud of that.  I had to go to years of counseling to work out those issues.  The really great thing is that when you flash forward to ten years later, I am glad to report that one of the cool things about visiting my sister is also seeing my brother-in-law.  He is sober and clean and involved with his son's life.  He is supportive of my sister.  He goes fishing and is an expert at smoking salmon.  I should know; it's the only meat I really eat unless my cousin makes duck.  If B-- is making deer jerky, smoked salmon, or anything with crab or shrimp, I'm there.  I feel sorry for everyone who isn't me when B-- cooks.  I eat the hell out of that food and the only stabbing going on is if someone gets in the way.  On second thought, they are much more likely to get bit.  Grey got to witness this phenomena on our last visit.  He wasn't horrified, but let's just say that the honeymoon is over. 

Classic rock is also on the list of things I am grateful for. ZZ Top, Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Seger, The Eagles, Queen, The Doors, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Rush, Sting (with and without The Police) Iron Butterfly and the plethora of music that I grew up with and still love. We didn't get to bring any stereo equipment when we moved, so I listen to Pandora and a favorite classic rock station in Oklahoma City.  Classic rock is the soundtrack of my life.  Ok, that and classical music.  Don't judge me. Because, seriously, if you were going to judge me, it should have been about the meat-eating or stabbing confession above.

There are a few less tangible things for which I am grateful.

Like perspective.  I had a rough week.  Things just did not go the way I wanted them to go and for the life of me, not everything is under my control. I also know that my dandelion had a rough week too, probably much rougher than mine.  A friend of mine finally got the news this week - after weeks of waiting- that her husband does not have lymphoma as originally thought.  How difficult to wait to exhale for two weeks, and how lovely to get such good news!  My other friend sent me a text this week too- her mom, who is only in her 60s, has been sent home with hospice care for renal failure.  Her diabetes has made it impossible to keep her on the kidney transplant list.  It is a matter of time, and when she goes, my friend will be an orphan.  Her dad died when she was 19 and that's a tough thing to lose both of your parents by the time you are 32.  When I put into perspective how lucky and blessed I am to live the life I do, I am on the whole a fortunate person. So I don't get everything I want- who does? This does not mean I cannot be happy.

Anger.  I am grateful for anger.  For the longest time, I had two feelings: extreme joy or burning hot anger. Over the years, I have been able to identify and feel lots of feelings in between, like indifference, annoyance, slightly okie-dokie, significantly non-plussed and bemused.  The toughest one is "little bit pissed but still reasonable", which is as far as I want to go towards anger.  The acronym I have for self-assessment is HALT.  If I am angry, I have to do a quick self-assessment: Am I Hungry? Angry? Lonely? Tired?  If I am any one or more of those, it means I need to do some self-care before approaching human beings.  I often just need a nap, a sandwich, a hug or a few minutes to reflect on my part in a situation so that I can refocus on making things better rather than worse.  That just leads to regret.

Regret. I am grateful for the stupid things I have often done.  I tend not to repeat those mistakes and since I'm not 39 and about halfway through my life, I think I have made about half of my mistakes.  I am fairly confident, however, that the mistakes I make from here on out are not the crazy, life-changing ones I made in the past.  Like that '78 Firebird I bought so that I could teach myself to power slide.  Or that time I moved to Denver on 24 hours notice.  Or how I was a bartender for about a year, and not a good one.  Or how I broke a few hearts. 

There are some things I never got to regret.  I had three older sisters I could watch grow up.  That saved me a lot, you know.  I never made their mistakes and they were protective of me.  So protective that on my first date, I was home by 9 with a quick peck on the cheek from a boy terrified that Yvette would beat him up.  She had a reputation for doing that- she beat the snot out of a kid for beating me up in sixth grade.  I'm pretty sure he went on to live a normal life.

Family.  I think this is my favorite intangible.  There is the family you get and the family that gets you.  I have both and I am lucky.  I wouldn't trade my family for anything, as crazy as we are.  My sisters are so funny, creative, laugh-inducing and heartful.  And like me, they each have a streak of iron through them.  We get each other as only siblings can.  Sometimes we tell the old stories, to reassure ourselves that these things really happened.  We used to tell them to someone draw out the poison.  Now we tell the new-old stories, of the younger years in my nieces and nephews' lives.  Of dance parties and grandparents and becoming women.  And now we plot new stories for our families.  And we connect on a deeper level than I can with anyone else.  I married someone who fits right in without even trying, and he is becoming part of those stories. The rest of my family is comprised of long time friends from Washington and Oklahoma. People who know the other parts of me, who have helped me become an adult and who saved me as much as I saved them. 




I guess I jumped on the bandwagon after all, in the style of oversharing and gratitude.  If you are reading this, I am grateful for you too, and hope you have a wonderful holiday season.  Stay warm, eat some turkey (or tofurky) and spend some time with people you love. 

Sculpture

That's not powdered sugar

Home

Grey

Back Road

It doesn't always snow in Dayton, Washington.  When it does, you get these big, fluffy mounds that drift across the road and settle nicely at the bottom of the gulches and gullies.  Columbia County is, topographically speaking, like a big patchwork quilt that someone fluffed and never smoothed, with gently rounded hills and creek beds at the bottom of every canyon.  Wheat fields are interspersed with fallow, soybeans, bearded barley and rapeseed.  Corn crops up from time to time and strip farming is common to help aid in preventing soil erosion.  Farming is a time-honored profession.  I learned this not only from living in the environment, but from a day my grandfather took me on a little excursion.

He had an old white Ford pick up truck, and when we would go for a drive up the back roads- Patit Road, Johnson Hollow, Eckler Mountain, Crall Hollow, the Touchet River Road and Hatley Gulch, we would look for wildlife.  I'm a crackpot wildlife spotter.  I don't see dark colors well and cannot accurately tell between gray, brown, and green or blue from black, but I see shapes extremely well.  I can spot small game from hundreds of yards and tend towards a holistic view of a given landscape.  Leaves, time of year, light and weather just sort of point things out for me. And Grandpa loved to go for a drive. I think he just really loved to look around his world.  He drove until he was 89 years old and the people in Dayton just sort of watched out for his car since he stopped obeying parking signs or places to stop and go.  Nice people, Daytonites.

We'd get going and be on top of the world, looking out at the land and the fields, breathing the clean air.  The windows would be rolled all the way down and neither of us thought about seatbelts.  Half the time, I rode in the back of the truck, losing my breath looking over the top of the cab or coughing on dust the whole time.  But on drives like this, Grandpa would dispense advice and we'd take turns pointing out mule and whitetail deer, the occasional elk, gorgeously plumed Chinese pheasants and coyotes.  Grandpa would point off to the right, and that's the way the truck would veer.  On a washboard gravel road, it gets pretty terrifying to swerve so sharply.  Fortunately, we didn't go faster than 20 miles per hour on these outings.  Grandpa didn't really notice, as he would be busy telling stories and jokes I had heard a hundred times before about a 12-point elk (his antlers are still up at the cabin), building hydraulic wood splitters and how the crops are doing that year. I loved it and I knew that one day these would be only memories.  Every ditch we narrowly avoided, every herd of Mulies we spotted and the few black bears we saw stuck in my memory and lingers still in my imagination.  They serve as part of the vast backdrop of my storytelling.  As adults, my sisters and I would play a game with our boyfriends.  We'd take them out to my grandparent's house and wait for Grandpa to offer to take him of a ride, then decline to go with him.  Depending on how carsick and/or frustrated he got would sometimes dictate whether or not that relationship continued.  We weren't really nice girls.

When I was 12, Grandpa took me to watch harvest in action.  I hopped in the truck with him and we made our dusty way towards Waitsburg and off to the Northeast to a corner I'd never be able to find on a map. Fifty or so trucks parked in a field and I recognized several of the old men from town, including my Uncle Vernon.  Almost everyone there was an old man, with a few child witnesses, more curious about days gone by than swimming at the community pool.

Two men sat atop an old-time swather.  A twenty-mule team was hitched to pull, only there were way more than twenty mules.  How did they get so many out here in one field? How were they going to pull that heavy piece of equipment on a hillside?  In the Boax commercials, which is what one usually associates with a twenty mule team, the mules are hitched in a double line, two deep and ten long.  This was not the case. The mules were four and six deep but only five or so long.  As they pulled the swather along, the mules towards the sides did the work of turning and the ones in the front added stability.  Likewise for going straight across the field.  It was hot work for men and mules, kicking up dust but doing the job of wheat harvest.  I can see why a whole crew was needed for harvest work.  Indeed, my grandmother's first paying job was to cook twice daily for a harvest crew of about a dozen men, including shopping for, cooking and cleaning up after the meals.  Hard work for women too.

As Grandma had grown up in a large family with nine siblings, she knew inherently how to plan, cook, serve and clean up after men and children.  A lady hired her was a teenager to stay at their farm and cook for the harvest crew, including the man of the family.  The lady didn't think much of my Grandma, nor did she trust her cooking skills, allowing her to only make one kind of dessert, kind of a dry cake with no icing.  The men didn't really like the cake and Grandma offered to make something else.  The lady wouldn't hear of it, saying that Grandma would just waste money in making inedible messes.  But the man, after a week of the same thing, took Grandma aside and asked her if she could make chocolate cake.  Yes, yes of course she could. And so triumphantly, a chocolate layer cake with chocolate icing was baked and proudly set before them.  It was promptly devoured.  Every Sunday afterwards, Grandma baked them the same cake.  They paid her two dollars a week, plus room and board.  A dollar was enough for a pair of shoes and she gave most of it to her family to help with expenses.  She was fifteen or sixteen years old and worked as a cook for the rest of her life.

Hours later, I was still mesmerized by the process of pull, turn, pull turn.  Dump grain and cart it off. Pull, turn, pull turn. Sweat.  Sweaty mules, sweaty men.  It all depended on them working together in unison.  One man calling out and the rest knowing their jobs. Community.  The mules knew their jobs too, and were offered water when the men took a break too.  It's damn hard work.

Farming practices have evolved greatly.  My friend Ramon Streby works harvest on a big, air conditioned harvester, wearing Oakleys and blaring music in the cab.  He posts pictures on Facebook looking cool.  My other friend Elissa is a physics teacher in Long Beach, California.  Sometimes she has to go home to Dayton to help out too.  Thin, tan and a beautiful California girl, she goes when her dad calls.  And all of us, us kids from Dayton, we sometimes spread out over the world.  David is in New York, I am in Oklahoma, Claudia is in Texas and more and more of us travel and move around the globe.  But the center of our world is, ultimately, a gravel road and an old truck with buttons you push on hard to get the radio station to tune in. It's a 12 degree creek on a hot July day and taking your kid fishing for the first time on the Tucannon.  It's my Grandma telling me stories of the church socials where all the unmarried girls would make a pail lunch for two and put them on a picnic table, and all the unmarried men would choose a pail and that's who you would have lunch with.  Grandma got an ugly one once, and she stopped making delicious lunches for church after that.

We rode home in silence.  I'm not sure why Grandpa took me to see the harvest, Maybe he didn't mean to take me at all.  I'm glad he did.

Later in life, I did the driving

Grandma- heading to church

Garden

Mule Deer

Harvest. Photo Credit:  http://www.columbiaco.com/

Columbia County. Photo Credit:  http://www.columbiaco.com/