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!).