Ice storm II

 

Ice storm

 

Our house in the snow, 10:00 p.m.

 

The Arctic blast

For several days now we've been blessed with a chill arctic wind coming down from Canada. This means several things. First of all, it means the chickens now have a red heat lamp in their coop, which keeps it surprisingly warm and prevents their water from freezing. For about 48 hours they refused to leave their inner sanctum, though yesterday they went out in the snowy yard for a few hours. I can't imagine what they do in their coop all day, huddled in a 4x4 foot space. What goes through their little chicken minds? They are not laying eggs now - haven't been since November - but I'm hoping that in late January we'll start seeing them again.

It also means that the hummingbird food, which I just started putting out around Thanksgiving, is freezing up. We have two or three resident hummers (Anna's Hummingbird is the species, I think). For a while I was having to thaw their food out twice a day so they could get some sustenance. It's amazing that birds with such tiny bodies and minimal insulation can survive a cold winter like this. Here's an interesting article on winter survival of hummingbirds.

In addition to these two aviary facts, this cold blast means a) it takes about half an hour longer for us to get out of the house, due to the multiple layers, hats, mittens, boots, etc., required; and b) preschool has been cancelled several times, which means I don't go to work. So we've been doing a lot of baking and crafting and visiting and watching more movies than usual. And Melina's two-week winter break from preschool hasn't even officially begun!

A Penguin

Melina is now a Penguin, which means she passed the "Goldfish" test and now has Kyle as her teacher. The first time she saw Kyle she decided she didn't like him ("Kyle's not my friend"), but now she absolutely loves him. This morning one of the first things she said was "When do I get to see Kyle again?" He is pretty funny and a pretty good teacher. Melina is actually doing some swimming now - she can swim by herself for about three feet. It's something to see! I fear for the next semester, though, when she might have to have a different teacher.

Melina's swimming classes

Melina has been taking swimming classes every Tuesday and Thursday at the local pool. Unlike her previous classes, I don't have to go in the pool with her, which is nice. There is the option of sitting in the hot tub and watching the lessons from there, which is also nice.

Melina seems to love swimming. She is very enthusiastic about putting her head underwater (she even does it in the tub), but slightly less so about blowing bubbles, which is a prerequisite for the next step up - Penguins (she is currently a goldfish). I need to get her to practice blowing bubbles in the tub. She has to do it for five long seconds, which is actually a long time to blow bubbles if you try it.

I like the idea of her learning to swim so young. We're around water enough that Melina really needs to learn how to swim. Then someday we can take her sea kayaking!

I had to buy eggs!

We have not gotten any fresh eggs for two or three weeks now, and I actually had to go and buy eggs this week. All three chickens are molting (which they do every fall). Dolley is molting so vigorously that every time she flaps her wings, feathers go flying. I had to spray all of the wet feathers off the deck today. The funny thing is that when they're not laying eggs, the chicken are a lot harder to catch. They're not as tame, and they won't stop and let you pick them up - even Dolley. So I have to wait until they are somewhat asleep on the porch railings before I can pick them up and put them in their coop. (They still refuse to go into the coop by themselves).

Speaking of which, I have been working on enhancing their coop. I built a pitched roof and put it on top of the square box that is their coop. This lets the rain run off (before it just puddled up and dripped down the middle seam). It also looks nicer, and it gives them more vertical room inside. It's also easier to clean, but not as easy to take the eggs out. I may have to cut a trap door so I can remove the eggs, but at the moment that's not an issue. I'll post photos once I'm done with the redecorating project.

Volunteering for Obama

I did a fair amount of volunteering this election season. In all, I registered 17 new voters (it took about 12 hours), spent about 7 hours canvassing, and drove one man to the county elections office. It's not much, really, but it was all I could manage given my schedule. I didn't want to sit on the sidelines for such an important election, and I'm glad I got involved.

My second day of canvassing was interesting. Turns out the woman I was canvassing with was a stripper as well as a science fiction writer. Since I had never met an actual stripper before (to my knowledge), I had a lot of questions. Turns out stripping is a job like many others. She considered it an art, and not a very well paying one. In all, she wanted to leave the business, but found it hard to find a decently paying job that she wanted to do.

The last day (Election Day) was the most interesting. In the morning I knocked on doors with another woman (who turned out to be the mom of one of Melina's co-preschoolers). We were canvassing in an upper middle class part of Portland where there were lots of Obama signs, and people seemed to be politically motivated. Together we knocked on something like 65 doors, but only about 8 had anybody home. I didn't feel like I had gotten a lot of votes out, but I did manage to catch a cold in the chilly weather.

After canvassing, I went back to the Obama office. It was a beehive of activity. One of the things I liked about volunteering for Obama was the diversity and the cheerfulness of the crowd. There are some pictures here. People were cheering and honking; the kitchen was full of donated food for the volunteers (ribs, fried chicken, chili, Indian food, pastries, donuts, and a cake I donated, among other things); and there were red, white and blue handpainted signs everywhere. It was a happy, hopeful place to work, and I was sorry that with the registration and the canvassing, I couldn't hang out in the office more often. But it was so crowded I always felt in the way there anyway.

After loitering a while in the office, I was told that a guy needed a ride to the election office to get a new ballot. His name was Gary; he was black. He needed to go home and put away some groceries, so I met him later on the corner near a new low-income housing development. When I got there, he asked if there was going to be a line. I said there probably would be, and then he wavered, telling me that he didn't really have to go now; he would just take the bus later. Well, I had a feeling that meant he wasn't going to vote, so I said something about him not wanting to miss this election, and said it was no problem for me to take him. Finally he came down and met me at the corner.

On the way to the election office, he told me his life story. He was in recovery and he had just relapsed; he was kicking himself over it, but he had faith that he could get back on the wagon. He had been homeless last year, but with some help he had managed to get one of the new apartments in this development. His big lesson was learning that he couldn't help everyone who wanted to stay at his apartment; people took advantage of him because he couldn't say no. He told me he was thinking about getting his G.E.D. He was very emotional about the election; he was inspired by Obama and said he cried when he visited to the Obama headquarters. He was a big, rough-looking man, but from my brief contact with him he seemed to have a heart of gold. He told me over and over how grateful he was that I had gone out of my way to take him to vote. I dropped him off at the end of the long line waiting to get into the election office. He looked like he was about to make a run for it, but in the end he did stay in line. I didn't find out if he voted, but I'm pretty sure he did.

I would never have had an experience like that if I hadn't volunteered for Obama. I don't know what I'm going to do now, but I would like to stay involved somehow. I hope the grassroots energy of this election doesn't dissipate. I will do what I can.

Political activities

So I know I've been really lax about updating the ol' blog lately. Part of the reason is my obsession with the election, which has me surfing the web wayyy too much. I've been volunteering to register voters for a few hours every week; so far I've registered 11, of every persuasion. It's interesting work. I've volunteered at four different places - a post office, a farmer's market, a transit center on a weekday, and the same transit center on a weekend; and a grocery store. The PO was the most productive spot; I registered five people in two hours. Every other place, I've registered about one person per hour.

The difference in the transit center on the weekday, versus the weekend, was striking. On the weekday, it was mostly young people or people who were not working for one reason or another. Most people wouldn't look me in the eye; they wouldn't talk; they seemed in general like they wanted to have nothing to do with me. On the weekend, it was a much different crowd - more families, more people of a higher socioeconomic status, and more people interested in chatting. I had a long talk with an ex-felon carnival operator, and an enthusiastic liberal guy on Vicodin (he had broken his arm in a scooter accident). He gave me stock tips and told me how hard it was to invest in gold.

In general, most people were either completely indifferent to me (and wouldn't look me in the eye), matter of fact ("I'm registered, thanks"), or very enthusiastic about voting. I had a few people who seemed suspicious (one asked me what state I was from, of all things). A couple asked me who I was voting for. And quite a few said they didn't want to register, didn't want to be involved - as one said, "they're all crooks."

There were a few registrants that I was proud of. One hadn't voted since the Nixon administration. He said he didn't want to vote, but I cajoled him and he actually took a form home and said he might fill it out. The other, a contractor around 47 years old, had never voted and never registered. He was excited and proud to be doing it for the first time. That made my two hours standing in the cold in front of Albertson's worth it.

At Sue's wedding

 

 

Sue's wedding

 

Sue and her bridesmaids

 

Firedancing at Sue's wedding

 

Chapman Swifts

Here's a trailer for a documentary about the Chapman swifts. We went there last week and had a picnic with Aaron. It's getting to be such a scene - hundreds of little kids racing down the hill on cardboard sleds, people with elaborate picnics... I'm surprised all the food trucks don't show up. I used to live across the street from this school in the early-to-mid 1990s, but there were no swifts then. I do have fond memories of barreling down the hill on a surfboard with five other people, one snowy day.

A close encounter with a raccoon

The other night I stayed up way too late watching the convention, and, feeling lazy, decided the chickens would be OK sleeping on the deck that night. (For some reason my chickens refuse to return to the coop at dusk, unlike the vast majority of chickens worldwide). So at 3:30 a.m. my mommy-powered ears heard a "squawk!" and a THUMP. I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs in time to see a black shape slinking off the deck. It was about the size of Olallie (who is a huge cat), but it moved like a raccoon. I was relieved to see it didn't have a chicken in its mouth. I got a flashlight and went to investigate. Dolley was sitting on the deck table, but the other two were gone. After some searching around, I found Abigail in between our house and our neighbor's house, sitting next to a pile of her own feathers, but apparently unscathed. I put them both back in the coop and searched around for Martha. I couldn't find her anywhere, and I feared the worst, but just as I was going to go back to bed she came walking out of some bushes around the side of the house. Phew! We were really lucky. I solemnly pledge never to let them sleep on the deck again. And, not coincidentally, they have avoided sleeping on the deck railing ever since. (But they still haven't found the coop).

Llama packing travelogue: Day 1

(Taken from my notes).

Another long drive to Baker City. As on our last trip, we stopped at the New York City Sub Shop in The Dalles, where they make good subs on home-baked bread. Briefly drawn in to a monster truck show on TV. Melina keeps asking why they are called "monster" trucks.

Leave the Dalles at 2:40. Looks like we're driving into a thunderstorm.

The one-hour stretch from Baker to Halfway is gorgeous. The road winds through sagebrush-covered hills, following a stream through green fields filled with cattle. It's dusk and a big dark thunderstorm is on our tail; the landscape alternates between glowing yellow hills and purple sky in the saturated evening light.

Spent the first night at the Halfway Motel (the cheapest option, at $70). Clean, basic rooms. The other guests are a group of bikers (motorcycle bikers) and some Germans. We roll in with the storm, lightning flashing around us. We pass the luggage in though the first story window and go for a walk around the little town. It's a nice little place with lots of quaint old storefronts and wood buildings. There are flowers everywhere, in window boxes and front yards. There's a quaint inn, a tea garden, an acupuncturist, a newspaper, a restaurant or two, a few gift shops and mercantiles and a seedy bar. Several buildings are painted in funky colors, or otherwise decorated in unusual ways. On the other side of the buildings along Main Street there is open space back to the fields and mountains.

We stop and talk to a woman about her cats; she has 11. She knows the llama ranchers and gives us directions to their ranch; we talk about Portland and the weather. The storm has passed. I would definitely come back to Halfway. We asked if the winters here were bad; she said no, not so bad -- it only got down to -15 a few times last year, and there were four feet of snow for most of the winter. But not too bad.

Llama Packing: Day 2

Slept fairly lousily at the hotel, as expected. Too bright, plus smoke filtering in from some unknown source (though only I could smell it). Melina woke at 4:00 a.m. and wanted me in the bed with her, so I switched beds, but didn't go back to sleep until 6:30 or so; she woke at 7:15.

Found a good grocery store to make up for the fact that we forgot to go to the store in Baker City for last-minute supplies. I was happy to see fresh vegetables. As we were wandering through the cramped little store, I heard what I thought was a sad or wounded dog squealing in the back, behind the meat counter. I thought, well, it's such a small town they probably let their employees bring their pets to work. Found out later it was an employee practicing his elk call, much to the amusement of the checkout lady.

After stocking up on non-perishable vegetables (like zucchini), we drove to the llama ranch. There we were met by Raz, his wife Louise, and another woman who lived on the property. The two women were working in their beautiful, flourishing, verdant vegetable garden, which was fertilized by a steady supply of llama poop. I was extremely envious. The garden was surrounded by fruit trees, and there was a chicken coop nearby. Melina "helped" in the garden while we packed and repacked the llama panniers, weighed them (they must be equal on both sides of the llama) and learned the basics of packing and managing a llama. I begrudgingly gave up half of my Trader Joe's cookies to save space. I should have given up more; as usual, I packed enough food for an extra army.

Finally, we went to round up the llamas - an operation requiring three people (not us) and a very long piece of rope. Soon Raz et al. came back with two dark brown llamas, Nigel and Velcro. Both are extremely laid back; Nigel is the "ambassador llama" who accompanies them to REI, and is used to curious kids and newbies. Jeff did manage to get one of them (Velcro?) to spit when he was learning to attach the halter, though (luckily he spat at a tree, and not at Jeff).

Raz loaded the llamas onto a truck, and we headed off to Summit Point trailhead, a very steep and rough road. Raz stopped to let his wife out so she could pick huckleberries in the woods, and we continued on.

When we arrived, we loaded the panniers onto the llamas (Jeff getting to be quite a pro at this) and loaded Melina on to Jeff's back. I led Nigel and Velcro by a rope over my shoulder. They are so well-trained, it was easy to forget they were even there. Nigel (in the lead) stayed about two feet behind me the entire time. We would stop for a rest; I would move away; Nigel would follow, like someone at a cocktail party with a poor sense of personal space. Then there were a few times when Nigel refused to move--a protest against leaving a favorite grazing area, I think. A few firm words and tugs and we would (usually) be on our way. It was hard to remember that you're never supposed to look a llama in the eye: they take it as an insult, or perhaps a challenge. Given the huge size of their limpid brown eyes, it's very hard not to do.

After getting into the groove a bit, it became clear that this wasn't going to be a fast hike. The llamas need to rest about 10 minutes out of every hour, and since we had packed them so fully, we needed to go extra slowly. I, being in charge of the llamas, had to make sure we didn't stop in a field full of lupine, which is poisonous to llamas. This was a challenge because lupine is by far the most common plant around, with multiple varieties in different colors and forms. I was wondering where we were ever going to find a lupine-free zone to camp--until we came to the Meadow.

The Meadow! I never expected a meadow like this. A high altitude alpine grassland, a mile long and half a mile wide, interspersed with stands of pine, surrounded by high granite peaks, and topped with an endless sky scattered with thunderheads. Absolutely gorgeous.

After some wandering around, crossing streams and trying to avoid poisonous plants, we set up our camp near a lone pine and a small creek. Melina busied herself arranging rocks and making various foods out of dirt. And then Jeff realized he had forgotten the water filter.

So we boiled some noodles in stream water, and I made a pasta puttanesca that Melina refused to eat, and Jeff convinced me that he should run back to the car (three miles) to get the filter. This is the kind of thing that fills me with dread: all sorts of visions of Melina and I alone in the wilderness, Jeff having disappeared without a trace; the wolves circling. I was comforted by the fact that there's a staffed lookout tower 2.5 miles back, so if there was an emergency we could go there (and believe me, I had visions of strapping Melina to my back at midnight and pounding on the startled lookout's door...) Anyway, I "let" him go and tried to keep myself occupied for the next two hours, doing dishes and reading to Melina and not letting her know I was nervous even when a pack of coyotes started up a lusty howl feet from our tent; and even when the pounding hoofbeats of some unknown creatures alarmed the llamas into standing up and pointing, llama style, at the sound. Outside, I lit a candle and an LED light as a beacon for Jeff when the sun went down.

After about an hour and 45 minutes, just as it was getting truly dark, Jeff returned. Yay! He told me he had been followed by an owl and had seen a herd of deer or antelope nearby. He took over the job of reading to Melina, and I went out to look for the owl and to get us some water with the filter.

The owl--or owls--found me almost immediately. There were two of them, and with my headlamp I could see their whitish underbellies. [Talking to a friend later, I figured they must have been short-eared owls.] They circled me several times in absolute silence, their wings making not a sound. Finally one of them made a creaking call, like a squeaky wheel, three times. After a few more circuits, they flew away.

I investigated the bog where I had been directed to get water, found it to be disgusting, and went back down a hill to a small stream near our camp. In the dark it seemed three times further away; I was disoriented and glad I had brought a little LED candle to use as a path marker at the top of the hill. I kneeled by the creek in the dark, filling our bottles, and trying not to look like prey to a mountain lion. Halfway through, I saw something move in the stream, and realized I was drawing water directly downstream from a big warty toad. As I was kneeling down to look at the toad I heard a whooping sound nearby. Spooked, I darted back to camp, and Jeff confirmed that it was a coyote.

So now Melina is in bed, Jeff is bundled up head to toe in a sleeping bag looking at the stars, and Velcro and Nigel are sitting contentedly in the field. They seem so easily pleased; they don't need much. Just grass and water and fresh air, at least for today.

Llama Packing: Day 3

A perfectly lovely day. Instead of moving camp as we usually do, we stayed in the meadow. Had fried potatoes, zucchini, onion, summer sausage for breakfast; Melina refused to eat it. I'm not sure what she lives on. (I did make her Top Ramen for dinner, which she wolfed down). For our day's entertainment we decided to hike to the top of a small nearby mountain. Jeff had Melina on his back so we went slowly, bushwhacking up the grassy slope. About two thirds of the way up it got steeper, so we stopped for a break and took turns scrambling to the top alone. On the near side we could see our tiny campsite, with the llamas, in the vast meadow far below; on the far side was a severe landscape of rugged granite mountains and glacial cirques. You would never guess, standing in this peaceful meadow, that the other side of the mountain would be so forbidding.

Afterward, we scrambled back down to our camp (much easier than going up) and attended to various camp chores (dishes, laundry, watering the llamas, dinner). I had a hot cocoa with kahlua. We went down at the creek to wash the dust off Melina (who had been taking dust baths, very much like a chicken), and returned to our camp to find it overrun with cows. There were about 15. They had been circling for a while, and finally, in our absence, they got up the nerve to come stare at the llamas. It was funny to see how the calves were fascinated by the llamas, while their mothers rolled their bovine eyes and ambled away, unimpressed. The herd wandered off when we returned, but is now camped out on the hill above us. The llamas are bedded down, an untouched bowl of water between them (they seem amazingly indifferent to water). When I look over with my headlamp I can see their eyes glowing.

No coyotes tonight, at least not so far. Instead I can hear Melina begging for "a really really scary One Day about goblins" as Jeff tries to get her to sleep.

Llama Packing: Day 4

Spent a cold night in the solo tent, where I thought I would sleep better. Woke at 5:45 a.m. to a loud MOO five feet from my head. Heard Jeff get up and shoo the cows away ("chya! chya!") After five minutes of listening to their hoofbeats and grumblings near my little tent, I decided I had to see them, as well as get up to pee. There's nothing like peeing in a meadow with 30 cows lined up staring at you. I shoo'd them away more and eventually they wandered off. As I crawled back in the tent I noticed frozen dew on the camp chair outside.

I went back to sleep and awoke at 8:15. I was surprised to hear coyotes partying in the distance; I didn't know they howled in the daylight.

After a long morning packing up the llamas (and readjusting their packs), we hiked out of the beloved meadow and over a scary, exposed mountain pass to Pine Lakes. We almost camped in an alpine meadow above the lakes (something I would never have considered, incidentally, if we didn't have the llamas), but we decided to hike down to a more traditional "developed" campsite near the lake itself. We built a campfire, made tea, had Indian food (Tasty Bites) and a glass of wine, and settled in. Had to search the campsite (fruitlessly) for Melina's stuffed kitty, which she is suddenly attached to; hope to find it tomorrow. For now, campfire and moon shining on lake. Very cold, though--we will all sleep together in the tent tonight.

Llama Packing: Day 5

Spent the day at Pine Lakes, exploring. Two other backpackers came through, but didn't stop. Wandered around granite rock garden landscape; Jeff swam in lake, jumping off high rock. Melina seemingly bent on self-destruction, climbing and jumping off large boulders. Uneventful, yet pleasant--though I was a little grumpy, mostly because I was dreading the exposed and steep climb out. Tomorrow we rise at 6:30 a.m. (!) for our 7.5-mile hike back to the car.

Llama Packing: Day 6

Woke at 7:00. Due to our newly acquired organizational abilities, we left camp at 10 a.m., a minor miracle. It took us about an hour to crawl out of Pine Lakes basin (including time for me to have a few small panic attacks on the trail). Then for four hours we descended from the pass, stopped at a roaring spring for water (unfiltered), ate lunch in a cow-infested pine stand in the meadow, and traversed the last hill before descending to the trailhead. We arrived at 3:20. Raz met us with the truck (we had called him from a high point on the trail). We said goodbye to our trusty llamas (who didn't exactly seem heartbroken) and headed back to Baker City. With my gift certificate (see June travelogue) we got the Honeymoon Suite at the Geiser, which was a fantastic windfall after five days in the dust. Melina's bath water was nearly opaque, in part due to the laundering of her kitty, which was a dust sponge.

Ate at Barley Brown's brewpub in Baker City and replenished any calories we may have burned off.

Llama Packing: Day 7

Breakfast at Mad Matilda's, ice cream at the local soda fountain (long promised to Melina), and then up I-84. Stopped at Emigrant Springs State Park (Melina: snake park? steak park?) and then continued on to the little town of Echo. Stopped for lunch at the Red ___ Deli (can't remember the exact name); Melina refused to eat anything healthy. By this time, getting road-weary and ready for home. Have driven this endless stretch of I-84 four times this year; starting to feel like a long-haul trucker. Cannot think of new stories to entertain Melina; must find new forms of automotive entertainment.

And there, exhausted, I end my story.

Llama packing: the movie

Dolley

 Here's a photo of Dolley (this was supposed to be a video, but for some reason it didn't work!).

My berry crumble recipe

I've had a lot of requests for this. It is fantastic on just about anything, and only takes about 10 minutes (plus baking) to make.

1 stick butter
1 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup flour
3/4 cup regular or quick-cooking oats (not instant)
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
Berries or fruit

Blend the first six ingredients, preferably with your hands. Put berries or fruit in an oblong baking pan. I usually use frozen berries. Drizzle fruit with honey; sprinkle with oatmeal mix. Cook at 350 for about 20 minutes (for frozen berries), or until crumble topping starts to brown.

This is from the Fanny Farmer cookbook (all except the honey!)

Impetigo

Supposedly, Melina has impetigo this week. It manifests as a sort of scab near the mouth and nose. She had a runny nose for a while, and a scab formed under her nose. I thought it was just a scab, but she was turned away from preschool (much to her disappointment) and we went to the doctor yesterday, who confirmed that it was impetigo. Fortunately, it is easy to treat, and the scab has already cleared up. (She was allowed to go to preschool today, too). Honestly, I still think it was just a scab. But whatever. It is very contagious and it can be pretty nasty if it's left untreated, so if it was impetigo, I'd rather know before the backpacking trip later this week.

Miscellaneous adventures

I haven't been posting much lately, but we've been busy. We've gone berry picking three times together this year (Melina went an extra time with her preschool); we've been swimming a lot; we went to the Oregon Country Fair (Melina's fourth time!); we've done some backpacking trips and lots of gardening and socializing and outdoor concerts. Right now we're getting ready for our next adventure - a llama packing trip to the Wallowas. I'm sure I'll have plenty to post about when we get back.

Denniphur and Deff

Melina has suddenly started calling us by our first names. I swear she used my name 80 times today. It's one thing to constantly hear "mommy? mommy?" but another thing to hear your given name called out over and over, from every part of the house. With Jeff, she alternates between Da-da, Daddy, Dad, and Dzeff - with me it's usually Mommy, Mom, or Denniphur. I wonder if this is a typical phase? She's also started mimicking me saying "Jeh-eh-eff" when Jeff takes a turn too fast in the car or commits some similar act of foolishness. And yesterday at Trader Joe's she said "Mo-o-om, you NEVER let me have ANYTHING I want." I felt like I had a teenager on my hands.

Our Eastern Oregon trip (part I)

 

A few weeks ago we went on our first backpacking trip of the season, to Eastern Oregon. Normally we wouldn't go so early in the year, but Melina's preschool was on break so it was a good time. The weather turned out to be great (it was over 100 there a week later) and, apart from the ticks, a good time was had by all. Here's the trip report I wrote while we were on vacation.

Day I: Portland to Baker City

A five-hour drive broken up by a sub sandwich in the Dalles. Melina keeps up random conversation ("Is that boat sinking? Why are we going to the hotel this way? Is the hotel invisible?"). Jeff tries to explain the huge wind turbines we pass in the Eastern gorge. "Where did it go, on a big pole? Just like the car? Did it go up in the air? Is that how it's supposed to be, like that?"

Baker City: arrive at the Geiser Grand Hotel at 6:20. Motorcycle rally! Hundreds of Harleys and other motorcycles lined up in rows in the streets around the hotel. In the front, a stage with HELL'S CANYON RALLY in big letters, and a cheering crowd in black leather and skimpy teeshirts, horned helmets, skin-tight lace, and black German-style helmets. They're raffling off two pistols! Behind the hotel, a beer garden with another set of loudspeakers.

At first, we are freaked. When I made the reservation yesterday there was no mention of a biker rally. The lady at the desk tells us we can't get a refund because we made the reservation yesterday; I tell her we didn't know what we were getting into. We go up to see the room. The hotel is beautiful, a newly renovated turn-of-the-century (or earlier) gem with a second floor gallery looking down into the dining room; above, a stained glass ceiling. On the third floor, there are ghosts, but we get a room on the second floor that is well soundproofed, large and comfortable. After settling in (the staff is relieved) we go for a turn outside, checking out the characters and the bikes. Melina is a little scared of the motorcycles at first, but soon warms up. I want to take her photo with one of the scarier-looking bikes but I'm afraid of her tipping it over, with dire consequences. Actually, though, the crowd is well-mannered, mostly middle-aged couples with a few rough edges. Dinner is hot dogs and sauerkraut at a corner soda fountain. Melina is now completely wound up; as I write this I'm in the smoky library waiting for the all's-clear from Jeff, who is putting her to bed.

The next day: the night was not so bad. The stage behind the hotel closed around 11:00. People in the bar talked loudly until late, and smoke filtered in under the door, but the circumstances are unusual. Melina slept until 9:30-10:00 on the double bed; no major traumas. In the morning we packed and repacked and ate breakfast at Mad Matilda's coffeehouse. Excellent food and coffee!

Part II: North Fork John Day Wilderness

On Saturday we drove up past the historic little towns of Sumpter and Granite, to the Granite Creek trailhead. This area was the center of goldmining activity for about 100 years and there are big piles of rocks left over from dredging activity, plus lots of dilapidated cabins and mining equipment scattered about.

The Granite Creek drainage was beautiful and parklike, with Ponderosa pines, huckleberry bushes and grasses. Granite Creek itself was swollen with snowmelt, and was more of a roaring river than a creek. The area is quite remote and unvisited at this time of year; we saw nobody on the trail, though there was one car at the trailhead. Unfortunately my ability to enjoy the setting was hampered by a) a wicked case of PMS; b) Melina's incessant whining; c) an [unfounded] fear of rattlesnakes; and eventually d) the fear of never finding a camping spot. We noted (after hiking several miles in) that our Sullivan guide did not show any camping icons on this trail. At the very lowest point, when we started bickering about whether to continue on or retreat three miles back to the trailhead (low blood sugar was setting in), I walked ahead. Suddenly I saw a big white Newfoundland dog bounding through the bushes - at least, that's what I thought, until I realized it was a blonde bear. It stopped about 100 feet away from me and looked at me; I stared back and waved frantically to Jeff to come see, but he was too far behind me. I yelled "bear!" as quietly as I could, which of course spooked the bear, who ran off at top speed, its huge blonde rump wobbling through the undergrowth. It truly was a blonde bear - yellow, darkening to brown at the ends. I had never seen a bear this close, except from a car. Luckily it seemed very wary of us and therefore less likely to raid our camp.

Immediately after, a white-tailed deer ran toward us (probably spooked by the bear), saw us, and headed away.

We found a flat space to camp at the tip of a bluff where the bear had disappeared. Coincidence? I think not.

Part III: North Fork John Day Wilderness, contd.

On Monday, after a restless night where I worried about bears and falling trees, we decided to scout ahead on the trail. And wouldn't you know it, there was a *beautiful* campsite about 1/4 of a mile down the path. A large, grassy field; a sheltering tree; the convergence of two rollicking streams; the remains of a mining cabin; and even an old (but serviceable) outhouse. Little did we know, but it was also crawling, absolutely crawling, with ticks. (By the end, Melina and I were bitten by three ticks each, while Jeff got away with one; that's not counting the dozen or so we picked off before they could attach. Luckily they're not the kind that cause Lyme disease, though - just Rocky Mountain spotted fever. Which none of us have.)

Later that day we hiked further along the trail to the old Gutridge Mine. Melina was very excited about seeing the "scary mine," and we were all disappointed when it proved to be nothing but several large piles of rocks. Still, we did spend some time relaxing and playing along the river. That night I slept horribly, feeling ticks crawling everywhere. In the middle of the night Melina started coughing with a croupy, seal-like bark that made my blood run cold (visions of a midnight trek to the trailhead), but it was just a passing thing and never reappeared. (Did I mention that Melina got a cold on the first day of our vacation?)

On Tuesday we retreated from the ticks and headed to our Forest Service rental cabin, the Fremont Miner's Retreat at the old Fremont Powerhouse near Granite. Ironically (considering how remote we were), we had to rush out to the car and drive fast in order to find cell service so that we could call the Forest Service before 4:00 and get the combination to the cabin lock. I found a tick on me in the car; I asked the ranger about them and she said that if you want to avoid ticks, you pretty much have to stay in town.

Part IV: Fremont Miner's Retreat

We spent Tuesday and Wednesday nights at the Fremont Miner's Retreat, a little bare-bones cabin in a settlement of about four other houses. There's a little pond ("Lake DePuddle"), a friendly ghost (in the house next to us), and an old electrical station that was used for mining operations. We went into the minimalist, ramshackle town of Granite for breakfast and had a good conversation with one of the locals, who told us all about bear and cougar sightings, trails, campsites, and how to mine for gold. On Wednesday we circumnavigated Olive Lake, which was more of a challenge than we expected because of the remaining snow and many downed trees. But all in all it was a mellow day, and finally a relaxing one.

On Thursday we left the cabin and had breakfast in the town of Sumpter. Afterward, we visited the Sumpter dredge, an impressive, gigantic contraption that was used to mine gold for several years. Later we checked in to the Geiser Grand Hotel again, getting the same room for a second night. (This time, we had a ghost sighting; see below). We took a walk to the park (where Melina had a bloody run-in with another girl, who hit her in the nose) and browsed through the very well equipped Baker City library.

Melina at Lake DePuddle

Sumpter Dredge

A ghost at the Geiser Grand

Notice how the ghost does not appear in the mirror behind it!

Part V: North Fork Umatilla Wilderness

On Friday we spent some time at Mad Matilda's Coffeehouse in Baker City (truly a first-class coffeehouse; they even roast their own beans). This Friday there were hundreds of cyclists in town for a stage race; I was surprised at all the goings-on in Baker City. It's a much more happenin' town than you would think.

After stocking up on chocolate, mints, and coffee beans, we headed north to the North Fork Umatilla wilderness. This is what I wrote that night:

Friday night, summer solstice, 9:05. Finally putting Melina to bed, completely punch-drunk. We are at a creekside campsite. It's still light enough to write by, plus I have a campfire going in front of me. Still quite warm.

The hike here was relatively brutal, despite being very level. Damage from the winter has not been repaired, so there was a lot of crawling over and around downed trees. Parts of the path were overgrown with itchy plants. Also, it was fairly warm and muggy, and the path never wavered from its straight, monotonous, claustrophobic route paralleling the left bank of the river (which was often too far away to see). There was so much dense greenery it is hard to believe that above us there are grassy plateaus.

Saw no wildlife, but many deer prints. No ticks and no mosquitoes!

Jeff ended up carrying Melina on his shoulders most of the way, because she toddles along so slowly and it was getting late. We figured our speed at 1.4 m.p.h., given waiting for Melina and climbing over/under/around downed trees. We passed one nice campsite at 2.7 miles, but it was too far from the creek, so we continued on and found a nice one 1.6 miles later. This is near the creek and has a nice firepit with a ton of firewood left by previous campers.

Saturday evening, 9:03. Slept horribly the previous night, for no apparent reason. Woke to cloudy skies, but we climbed up above the treeline onto the grassy hillsides, and our moods improved as the view grew more expansive. We hiked to a viewpoint at the end of Coyote Ridge. There were many wildflowers and much elk poop. Several small rain showers came and went; Melina fell asleep on Jeff's back during the first one and slept with Jeff's hat over her head. We saw one snake (a uniform brown) and a lizard or two, plus some interesting bugs; but no large wildlife. In camp, we are constantly serenaded by Swainson's thrushes.

Melina got busy cleaning the camp this morning. She found tufts of pine needles and used them to sweep rocks and dust off huckleberry leaves. She even cleaned our dishes in the river and wiped them off with a baby wipe.

On the hike, Jeff told Melina endless "one days"; I honor his fortitude.

------------------------

On Sunday we hiked out. This time it was sunny, and I was wearing long pants so I was immune to the itchy plants reaching out onto the trail. All in all, a much more pleasant hike. At one point, Melina dropped her orange Tigger somewhere, and I headed back to find it (meanwhile, Jeff had offered to buy her another one, which she readily agreed to). But Tigger was found lying by the side of the trail, and became the star of several One Days about mountain lions and monster cougars. After hiking out we treated ourselves to some gloppy iced coffee drinks in Pendleton and then zipped on home back to civilization and hot showers.

The next morning, I found a tick on my stomach!

Beetle on a flower

Melina tidying the forest

 

Mountain Woman and Melina (making a funny face)

Strawberry flower

Clarkia

The Truly Bad Night

Last weekend Jeff went off to a local zendo for a meditation retreat, leaving me alone at home with Melina for the weekend. It was the first weekend we had spent alone together, so I decided we should go down and visit the folks in Monmouth and head down to Corvallis and Eugene to catch up with some friends.

Well.

Things started going wrong the night before Jeff was due to leave. For some reason, Melina woke up three times during the night, and I was already pretty exhausted. We woke up around 7:30 and managed to get down to Monmouth and Corvallis without mishap, but I could tell Melina was getting overtired. She fell asleep in the car on the way back to Monmouth and slept until 5:00.

So, just in case you're not tuned into these things, these are the factors I had going against me from the beginning:

Da-da away. (Jeff usually puts Melina to bed).
Unusual sleeping arrangements.
Mom exhausted.
Excitement of seeing grandma and grandpa.
Late nap.
Generally overtired.
Just gave up the binky.
Going through a "difficult phase" of many tantrums.

I started the process of putting Melina down at 8:00 p.m. In retrospect, we should have stayed up and watched the late movie, because Melina was completely wired at 8:00. But I plowed through several books, laid Melina on my chest, turned out the light, and waited. No luck.

At 10:00 I had tried just about everything but the failsafe: driving her in the car. We got in the car and headed over to a gas station somewhere between Monmouth and Independence to fill the tank, since my car was running on fumes. Several gas stations were closed (I didn't know gas stations ever DID close), but I finally found one and filled up. And then my car wouldn't start. Instead, it whined several times; Melina declared that she didn't like that noise. The gas station attendant came over and tried to push the car so I could pop the clutch and start that way, but since we were in a level parking lot he couldn't get much speed and it didn't work. Another gas station attendant came over with her car and together they jumped my car. (I just had to jumpstart my car a few weeks back after Melina left the interior light on all day - she is growing very familiar with the sound of a failed battery).

After this I drove around in the country a bit and she was out pretty quickly. But driving in the country with a questionable battery is not very relaxing (and the country around Monmouth is very dark and sparsely populated), so I turned around and went back to my parents' house pretty quickly - probably too quickly. In retrospect.

I knew that the game was up when I laid Melina down on the bed and she asked for water. I had left her water bottle in the car, of course. Mom went and got her a glass of water, which I knew wasn't going to work for Melina. Melina promptly spilled it in the crib, then pitched a fit because the crib was wet.

Again, I tried laying down with her, calming her down, singing, the whole works. By this time I was about to lose it myself. After about half an hour I decided to try the car again. This time we went for a longer drive, and Melina was completely sacked out when I came home and put her on the bed (the crib was still wet).

My friend Becky has a term - "rotisserie baby" - for what it's like to sleep next to a toddler, especially in a double bed. For the next two or three hours, I laid awake, alternately trying to keep Melina from falling off the bed and trying to keep from being pummeled by her feet. Around 2:30 I tried to pick her up and put her in the crib. And she woke up.

This time, all hell broke loose. It was a full-on tantrum, and I was beyond the end of my rope. In the end, I had to cave in and ask my mom to help, and hover outside the bedroom while Melina screamed within. It was one of those cases where nothing but "crying it out" was going to work, and I didn't have the mental fortitude to do it myself. My mom grimly and efficiently sat next to the porta-crib observing Melina's rising and falling levels of hysteria. Finally, finally, finally, Melina went to sleep. (Thanks, mom). I laid on the couch, still wired, until sunrise; at around 5:00 a.m. Melina hopped out of the crib and padded out to find me laying on the couch. I brought her back to bed and thankfully we both managed to fall asleep for a few hours.

It wasn't quite over the next day; I cancelled my plans to go to Eugene and decided to head home instead. On the drive home Melina screamed bloody murder from Salem to Wilsonville, until I finally pulled over because I was afraid I was going to ram someone's car out of frustration. I calmed Melina down in a motel parking lot and she promptly fell asleep when we took off again. She napped for an hour and a half and then had another screaming tantrum when she woke up.

Oh, and did I mention Jeff was a at a *meditation* retreat?

Given the previous 24 hours, I was dreading Saturday night's entertainment. To my surprise, Melina fell asleep easily after the usual routine and didn't wake up once during the night. She slept perfectly, and has slept perfectly ever since. We are all sane again. Thank God.

Bye-bye binky

The binky is dead. Long live the binky!

A few weeks ago (a few weeks after Melina's third birthday), the Binky Fairy came and took Melina's binkies away, leaving a few nice gifts in return. (After many weeks of predicting the Binky Fairy's visit, we solemnly rounded them up, put them in a brass teapot, and left the teapot on the porch. In the morning, two Thomas train engines and a purple bouncy-balloon had miraculously appeared). The binkies themselves will take a nice vacation before being assigned to new babies around the world.

Melina took the transition surprisingly well. I was dreading it with most of my being, but there was only one bad night (unless you count the Bad Night several weeks later, which I will write about in a minute). Melina was sad on and off for about 24 hours; after that she squared herself to the new reality and marched on in her inimitable Melina way.

By the way, part of the impetus for this transition was a trip to the Dentist, who seemed irritated that we had allowed Melina to keep the binky so long. He pointed out how her mouth was being deformed and assured us we would need orthodontic work. (Other than that, the first real dentist visit was a walk in the park!).

Despite the Binky Fairy's thorough efforts to round up all the binkies in the house, I found one on my bedside table about two weeks later and found the all-time favorite "lellow" binky on the kitchen counter yesterday. I have no idea where it came from, but luckily I found them before Melina did.

Now if I could only get her to fall asleep in the car....

Ski girl

 Here's a photo of Melina from our last ski trip. I like her look in this photo - she looks so confident and direct.

Tulips

 I just really like this photo I took a few weeks back. It reminds me of an old Dutch painting.

Recent activity on Mt. St. Helens

I just found this video and thought it was pretty incredible. They say Mt. St. Helens could rebuild itself within 100 years or so, and this makes it believable.

Melina and Obama

I have been pretty much obsessed with the election lately and have dragged Melina along kicking and screaming (sometimes). Jeff has resisted my efforts, though he did commit to being an observer at a polling place with me tonight (more on that later).

On Sunday we went to the Obama rally in waterfront park, despite a wicked, wicked cold. To this day I don't know how I managed to rally myself, because I still feel under the weather. Anyway, Jeff went for a bike ride (it was a beautiful day) so Melina and I got on the bus and headed downtown. Apparently the line to get in was about 22 blocks long, but we rather dishonestly snuck in where it crossed a street (I had no idea where the end was). I figured that since I had waited in line to see Obama before, and had been turned away a foot from the door, I was entitled.

Once we got in, a kind volunteer directed us to a spot in the shade (because Melina was with me). (We were under the tree to the right in the picture above). Since we were there for about two hours, we got to know our neighbors pretty well: a friendly and interesting parenting educator who saved our spot while we waited for an hour to use the porta-potty; a troubled parent with a poorly disciplined preschooler who kept throwing plastic bottles into the crowd; and a tightly-wound young woman, apparently not a mom, who was obsessed with the troubled parent's misguided attempts to disipline her child, and who spent more time staring angrily at the mom than actually watching Obama. It would have been just SO interesting to get the three of them together to talk, although I don't know if I really would have wanted to be there.

Finally, Obama came to the podium (just as Melina was falling asleep in the Ergo on my back). The noise of the crowd cheering woke her up. It was so inspiring to see Obama and his family up there. It really was moving to see an African-American family (oh, can I just say "black"?) and know that they could (probably WILL) be the First Family come January. Let us hope.

The speech itself was the standard stump speech, and I don't remember most of it, but just the fact that we were there was significant. I don't know if Melina actually ever SAW Obama; I tried to point him out to her, but I don't think she quite got it, given that there were several thousand people between him and us.

So today we had another adventure in democracy. I volunteered to go over and be an "observer" at a polling place, specifically the Hollywood Library. Since Oregon votes by mail, polling places really aren't that exciting, but someone has to make sure the box stays there until 8:00 p.m. I went over with Molly and Melina; Jeff was going to meet me there when he got off work. Turns out that observers from campaigns must stay 100 feet (or 50 feet, I heard later) away from the ballot box, which means that I would have been across the street and unable even to SEE the box. I called HQ, who said I might as well go home until later that evening. After telling Jeff there was a chance I might be arrested (in my dreams), I returned to the library at 7:30 ingeniously disguised as a common citizen. In that persona I managed to sneak my way in, past the only library employee who knew my real identity, and pretend to peruse the children's literature (I even checked out three books just for effect), while glancing at the ballot box occasionally. Apparently I was the only observer there, although other polling places had up to four observers. At 8:00 they closed the polling place and I was able to confirm that democracy had been sufficiently safeguarded.

Throughout this whole election cycle, Melina has been more and more into Obama. Actually, I think she just likes the way his name sounds, and I suspect she thinks any black man is Barack Obama. She's always asking for stories about Barack Obama (one day about Barackobama?). They usually have something to with Obama battling a scary monster or going down the slide at the park. I have been trying to educate her about Hilary, too, but Obama is more fun to say.

The seventh circle of hell

I know I've talked about Melina's "one day" habit before (that's how she asks for a story), but I have to say there is nothing worse than laying in bed at 6:45 on a Saturday morning with Melina snuggled up between us, comfortably and cozily drifting back to sleep, and suddenly hearing:

One day?

Once you hear that, you pretty much know that any chance of additional sleep is shot. And then there are the moments when you're navigating rush hour traffic, trying to get around a cyclist while a Hummer approaches from the opposite direction, when you hear...

One day, mama?

And you know that the only truly satisfying "one day" will be about... a scary monster! (See post below).

Melina's first prom

On Saturday Melina went to her first prom. She was supposed to stay home, but her babysitter completely spaced the date, so she came with us (it was a kid-friendly prom). She wore a little black velvet number and fairy wings, while her mama sported a hot pink low cut flowing gown and a long black curly wig (the theme was "hair"). Jeff wore a suit and his greasy grey Zeus wig. We had a fun time. After the other little kids left, Melina spent the time a) darting out the front door so she could jump down the cement stairs over and over; b) angling to get another M&M off the back table; c) avoiding the tall guy in the huge fake afro; d) running around hysterically and rolling on the floor. We took her home at 9:30 and it took her a while to wind down, but all in all it was a success saved from the jaws of disappointment.

Scary monsters

Melina is absolutely obsessed with scary monsters lately. Here's a conversation we've had oh, say, 985 times:

M: One day?
J: *sigh*
M: One day?
J: What do you want a one day about?
M: A scarrrrry monster!
J: And what did the scary monster do?
M: He ate Melina all up!

I mean, how many times can you hear that story and still find it fascinating? For me, the answer is two, but for Melina, infinity is not enough. Also, now that her imagination is really taking off, she is afraid of monsters whenever she enters an empty room, which usually means that she has to be accompanied by an adult. And she's also afraid (in a fascinated sort of way) of her da-da when he enters "monster mode." Basically, Melina's invisible world is peopled with green furry monsters with three eyes who want to *eat her all up.*

Five minutes of fame

Yours truly was quoted in Newsweek. Don't you think it's about time I got myself a private jet?

Melina skis

Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing - Photo Books

Snowbaby

 

 
This photo is just to give you a general idea of how much snow there is on Mt. Hood these days. This is across the road from Teacup Lake. There was about a foot of fresh powder on top... amazing conditions.

Triking in the snow

 
Here's Melina on her new Schwinn tricycle, enjoying the snow!

March snow

 
Here's a photo from a freak March "snowstorm" a few weeks ago. I think it's the latest it's ever snowed here - at least in modern times. You can see the new raised bed, too. There are little sprouts under the snow. Luckily none of them were harmed.