that's better

Shelved between roughly 3 dozen cookbooks, file folders marked with chocolate finger prints and olive oil gather dust. It's not because the magazine clippings and hand copied recipes are disorganized, never alphabetized into a binder, that I ignore their content.

Maybe I'd find an identical cookie recipe in our ancient copy of Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book, but I bypass what I vaguely remember as tried and true as well as the would be better ifs. I know I should, I make mental notes to, teach my kids to- but I rarely make notes in the margins of my own cookbook. And since I don't remember if adding an extra 1/2 cup water or using roasted rather then fresh garlic would have improved the recipe, I trust the stories and suggestions of strangers.

• "Perfect texture."

• "We took these to a party and then ate the rest for breakfast. Easy and delicious"

• "These were exactly what a snickerdoodle should be. I substituted 3 tsp baking powder for the cream of tartar and baking soda, and they still turned out beautifully - great texture. I'll probably add a bit of vanilla when I make them again."
  

Thanks RecipeZaar.

note to self

When thinking of making snickerdoodles, really wanting homemade cookies and the extra warmth the oven provides, cream of tartar is essential.

When neither you nor your neighbors have any, do not attempt to satisfy the cookie urge with leftover beets. Even chioggias disappoint.

Update-
With a little notice, the baking fairy at flour power can meet all sweet tooth needs!

eggplant plus

Tofu Robot loves eggplant.

And we love Uwajimaya for the rice noodles, smoked tofu, lychee ice cream, tea cup collection, and Kinokuniya Bookstore. Here, we found the books for Ukiah's Japanese class and the t-shirt for Brad's birthday.


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In unrelated news, I have a special appreciation for the state patrol officer who last week assured me that it was fine to ignore the "park closed" sign. We'd driven an hour plus, into the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, only to find a rope denying access to the Hyak snow park. An unexpected complication for the dozen of us who meticulously checked avalanche reports, chain requirements and hot chocolate availability before heading out for a day of sledding.

"You won't ticket us?" I asked.
"I won't. Doesn't make sense that it's closed," he answered, pulling the shovel from his trunk.

He went to help dig out an suv and we found parking in a lot maintained to suit the skills and tires of us city folk.

beer of the day

Brad and I found ourselves with a rare moment alone together and opted for conversation over a beer. Or two. And because it appears I'm unable to find time for a meaningful post, let me comment on the greatness of Big Time's Lift Ticket winter brew. Of course you could appreciate the amber goodness on site at the brewery but that brings you uncomfortably close to the jock/frat boy element that dominates the U-district. Rather, we suggest the Fiddler's Inn, where seasonal brews are advertised on a handwritten list delivered to your small, not too sticky table. It's a working man's bar; decent menu, heavy wooden seats, muted sports on screen behind the bar, and a waitress who may or may not be interested in serving you. If only it were walking distance.
Further inspiration for advancing the homebrew efforts...

lemon meringue soda

Thanks to Mark, Ukiah and Aslin can argue the essence of Jones Soda's Christmas tree flavor.

Ukiah- "It tastes exactly like a Christmas tree."
Aslin- "Tree. Plain. Old. Tree."
Ukiah- "No, it's dirt and pine."
Aslin- "Just tree. Bark with some leaf."
and on and on and on

Common ground in a sample from the dessert pack...

Aslin- "I think the lemon meringue pie is pretty good."
Ukiah- "Yeah, lemon-y, not too sweet. Good."

cheers!

Ukiah and I fell asleep on couch before 11, he exhausted by coughing, me drowsy after half Gale's Christmas Ale. DDR continued and apparently a new song was unlocked. I woke to watch the stuttering of Space Needle fireworks and am sure an effort was made, but don't remember what we toasted. The night ended with Dawn's intellectual and pragmatic dissection of Brad's and my decade old debate- what is butt rock? Share your opinion below or here (note- #7 is entirely wrong.)

After lentils for prosperity and the lighting of the Buddha, we at the owlhouse raised glasses of sparkling cider.
TO- monkeys; peace, love and understanding; Will Smith; inspiration and action; Bruce Springsteen; moving forward; smart people; hard work and fun; and you.

Our love and wishes for the new year.

48 days

It's the 3rd day of Kwanzaa and Christmas merchandise is 50% off. Holiday retail sales were not as dismal as predicted, but it appears there wasn't any "growth." And that's what it's all about. Drug stores and boutiques have pushed Santa aside introducing Valentine's cards as snowman and reindeer replacements. It appears the potential profit of kitch and cards celebrating New Years, Cuban Liberation Day, Al Hijra, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, Candlemas, and Chinese New Year have yet to be fully recognized.
You have 48 days to pick the perfect Valentine card. Plenty of time to come up with something better than a dusty rose photo topped with

I love you for the person you are

in ornate non-union print shop calligraphy.

In other would-be sweet news that we found depressing, today, the shelter has no pet rats.

Hot chocolate + almond late + an hour out of the wind and rain = consolation.

cafe bella

S to the 4th power

Snow
Samarya
Show
Sea


Before live model Father Frost, a santa-type- regal in blue, took his pose at the drawing jam, the snow began. The pirates and nudes and musicians held series of short poses, we observed or exited quickly, quietly. We weren't official event photographers, so didn't document Ukiah's charcoal sketched wings or Aslin's print making process. Soap-making filled the multi-media studio with evergreen then chocolate, a combination inspiring to the camera. Snap shots out the window only.



We missed the snowballs but had plenty of time in the slush. Ukiah, Aslin and Brad hiked through the dark to meet me at Samarya's holiday party/fundraiser where sparkling cider ran short but the chocolates lasted all night. I tried to look nonchalant when Aslin pulled first one, then two of my raffle tickets. We haven't been to the Volunteer Park Cafe and will happily add it to our next conservatory visit.

"Can new people join next quarter?" Aslin asked, no doubt hoping another girl or two will join her drama class. Of course that would mean Queen Aslin would have to share the female roles in the end-of the-season performance showcase. I especially appreciated the inventive use of character props in the kids' adaptation of the picture book, My Lucky Day.

Snow turned to rain and eventually, a little water in the basement. The kids and I braved the elements again, bussing to the aquarium where the diver in the Washington Waters exhibit assured us she, swimming in 120,000 gallons of water, was drier in her suit than those of us waiting to watch the octopus feeding. The speech for school groups included discussion of the territorial disputes between the wolf eel and the octopus. Behind us, away from the preschool ears, other aquarium folk described the method the octopus uses to stun his prey. I shuttered at the eye removal and joined the kids at the touch tank.

tip-toeing towards rats

A man in a dark wool trench coat and starched sky dress shirt hooked a leash to the cocker spaniel's coller. Past the outdoor doggie gym, away from the noise of 15th Avenue. No cell phone, no cigarette, just a young man in patent shoes walking a dog who looks and jumps and calls like Tawney. She's been neutered and it will be another week before she is cleared to fetch or climb through tires. The man's (cashmere?) checkered scarf compliments the dog's golden hair and both blow in the wind. All the dogs need walking, twice a day.

An older woman, close cropped silver hair highlighting her diamond studs, sits on the floor. Wrapped in a small pen, legs tucked at a not uncomfortable 45 degree angle, the socializer sits an inch or two away from the litter box. Jeffery Eugenides Middlesex lies open, upside down, across her thigh. She picks it up a half dozen times, likely rereading the same two paragraphs for an hour. A red-eyed, white rabbit sniffs, retreats, sniffs and paws his the bald spots along his back.

We came for the rats. The Rat Pack boys and girls keep separate apartments, a dwarf hamster centered between them. The girls, slightly smaller, nose over one another to reach us. Aslin's in, pinky finger from each hand offered for exploration. I follow with one shy knuckle, Ukiah eventually joins us. The trio of boys, interested initially, move on to climbing the walls before we've fulfilled our visiting need. Ukiah and I watch the little guy, the one with only 3 feet and half a tail while Aslin returns to the girls. Maybe we'll need two cages too.



We left the shelter with our adoption application and volunteer information. I'm not quite ready for pet rodents, and have some concerns about Cutie's relationship with our potential new pets, but am keeping the words of a stranger in mind.

"Don't worry about it too much," he looked me in the eye, and I think would have held the bus door open for us if it weren't automatic. Charmed and confused, I watched him climb the stairs and settle on the back seat of the 2. From the sidewalk, I gave a muted wave and rushed to join the kids in a 4-block fight with the wind. We bought mini-doughnuts to share with our new group, a treat to mark the end of the library scavenger hunt. I didn't worry about transfats or sugar and am trying not too be concerned with the lack of parental excitement over our group offering.

fortunate

Before we ordered vegan Mongolian beef, before I dumped a cup of tea, before we noticed that our table cloth had doubled as a napkin for earlier patrons, the women across the room cracked their fortune cookies.

"You will soon follow your heart's desire." The dark-haired woman crumpled her fate, pronouncing it "lame."

Four pots of tea later, Aslin arrived at the same fortune, finding it lame only for its lack of originality. She's inherited my tendency to collect the conversations of others and looks to the empty table where an hour earlier, her would-be destiny was discarded.

Fortune cookie superstition has us debating the proper procedure for the reading of fortunes. Split the cookie, eat half, read, finish cookie. No, read the fortune before eating any cookie. NO, don't even look at the fortune before finishing the cookie.

Ukiah- "You will meet someone famous."
Brad- "You will enjoy good health and financial independence."
Nora- "You will welcome many people with your smile."
Aslin- following you heart's desire? not lame.

I pocket the forecasts for an art project I would have finished years ago, except that I occassionally misplace my fortune reservoir and have to start over.


In the past month, we've been blessed by visits with butterflies. (A word of caution for the birds, the Heliconiidae of the long wing family, is brightly colored to warn you of their terrible, bitter taste.) Thanks to craigslist, we've got two new-used exercise balls ideal for video game seating. Plus, as a pirate and newspaper zombie/samurai/guy the kids picked up a ton'o candy trick-or-treating.




With the homeschool group, they helped NorthWest Harvest package a literal ton of chocolate and learned this bit of Seattle candy trivia-
FR edrick
A nd
N elson
G ift
O f
S weetness



And let's not forget the marvel that is pumpkin beer. Thanks to the brewers at Elysian for hosting us, and letting us take the empty pumpkin keg for pumpkin-cauliflower soup.

been there, done that, would do it all again

This incomplete list of trip favorites use to live in the side bar. She graciously moved to a post knowing that no matter how painful, it's time for the Owlhouse to move forward.

Cape Disappointment- Long Beach Peninsula, WA

Saturday Market- Eugene, OR

Crater Lake, Oregon

Barack Obama, 2008

Cowboy Poets- Elko, NV

Gilgal Sculpture Garden- SLC, Utah

Lazy Lizard- Moab, Utah

Mesa Verde, Colorado

Carver Brewing- Durango, CO

Taos Pueblo, NM

Georgia O'Keeffe Museum- Santa Fe, NM

White Sands, NM

Chiricahua Mts, AZ

Bisbee- Bisbee, AZ

Desert Museum - Tucson, AZ

Sonora Co-housing - Tucson, AZ

Sam's Family Spa -Desert Hot Springs, CA

Ghetty Museum - Los Angles, CA

Camp Ocean Pines - Cambria, CA

Pipestone Vineyards - Paso Robles, CA

Sacramento Valley School - Sacramento, CA

Guemes Island - Washington

Lake Okanagan - Kelowna, British Columbia

Lake Louise - Banff, British Columbia

Kaslo- Kaslo, British Columbia

Kamloops Farmer's Market - Kamloops, British Columbia

Touchstone Farm - Mayerthorpe, Alberta

Gaetz Lake Sanctuary- Red Deer, Alberta

Local Currancy - Calgary, Alberta

Tyrrell Dinosaur Museum - Drumheller (Badlands), Alberta

Glacier National Park - Montana

Coeur d'Alene Library - Idaho

Grand Coulee Dam -Coulee, WA

appropriate use of cheese cloth

"Do you have any cheese cloth?"
"That depends, are you going to use it make cheese, or adulterate it in some way?"
"Adulterate. But in a positive way."

It was three weeks ago when I paid way too much for u-pick blackberries only to come home and make a dreaded phone call turning down an inspiring job. Taking the misfortunes in stride, I headed to liquor store. Turns out a fifth of vodka is about 2 1/2 cups. To double the recipe I'd need 4, so I took a second walk up to 23rd and Union, wondering if I should avoid eye contact with the clerk who sold me my first bottle just a half-hour earlier.


I can't find my sewing kit. My guess is that it and the cheese cloth I remember packing away, are at the bottom of the closet I can't bring myself to dig through. Not until the hall is free of the bed frame and dresser and Goodwill box. No rush now that the man at Kitchen Basics approved our use of the cloth.

Yesterday, after a morning of soccer with toddlers, an almond latte followed by a sunny afternoon in the dahlia garden and climbing the camels at Volunteer Park, we strained the berries and toasted the birthday Joan Jett and I share.


Blackberry Liqueur

1 pt Fresh blackberries
2 1/2 c Vodka
1 Vanilla bean
1/4 ts Whole allspice
1/2 c Sugar syrup (2part sugar/1part water, boil, cool)

Select full colored and plump berries. DO NOT wash until ready to use as water causes mold to form. Rinse berries and place in a mixing bowl, lightly crushing to release flavor.
Add vodka, vanilla bean, and allspice. Stir and store in bottle in cool dark place for 3 weeks.
Strain mixture through dampened cheese cloth, squeezing as much juice
as possible.
Pour back in bottle adding sugar syrup to taste (1/3 to 1/2 cup
per pint) and age another 3-5 weeks.
Yield: 1 pint plus.

second breakfast

Home fries at the Crocodile Cafe are fresh cut red potatoes, not too greasy. The cinnamon french toast has the slightest hint of nutmeg. For some, it's hang-over food. For us, it's an almost clean table with a view of the Sunday morning puddles and people of 2nd/Blanchard and second breakfast. Today it includes free samples of Izzy Essque sodas. Mandarin is light on sugar/calories, soft on flavor.

The tables are full, there's a shortage of soy milk, the coffee is fresh and a steady stream of two-headed dolls, re-crafted vintage wear and beaded jewelry are making their way into the cafe. I heard a rumor that I Heart Rummage was on hiatus, but we didn't cross paths with it in our time on the road. Anyway, it and its hand-crafted pillows and lemon verbena soap are back. With a vengeance. As displayed by our super-fantastic new Ninja pint glasses. Thanks Miss Val!

blog o' the day

We turned here when the cookbooks failed. Because what else goes so well with tomatoes from the garden?

Note: the garbanzos cook up well even if you're tired, a little nervous about your new job and forget to soak them over-night. A day long bath works just fine. Which is especially important now that Aslin is down one of her finest chewing teeth.

we heart plums

Most of us, anyway.
I exhausted my usual plum resources last week with the first batch of plum sauce. At the park, hillside trees hold their branches just out of reach. Until we return with milk crates. Ukiah and I stack them in various combinations, knowing the incline is too steep, but figuring the mud should give traction to the boxes. Still, as is always the case in fruit picking, the best plums are just beyond reach.

Down the ally, a single tree offers what could make a dozen coffee cakes. The neighbor says she "can't possibly eat them all" and from the fruit-littered pavement, it seems as though she's not even trying. So Aslin and I carried over the step stool, scratched ourselves climbing the tree, lost our footing sanding on top the fence, felt a bug in our eye, and eventually brought out the 8-foot ladder.

Plum Sauce

In a medium pot, combine-

5-6 garlic cloves, minced fine
1/2 ounce fresh ginger, minced
1 small onion, minced
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 cups water
2 teaspoons sesame oil
1/8 cup soy sauce
1 teaspoon crushed dried chilies
3 lbs plums, pitted & chopped
1 lemon, juice of, fresh

Bring to a boil, simmer for 30 minutes

Strain, returning liquid to pot

Mix
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 tablespoon water
Add to solids and blend/process until smooth

Return plum puree to pot, simmer until thickened

Serve with noodles, spring rolls, rice, tofu, stir fry
I suggest freezing or canning some extra, cause plum season is just about over


Ukiah generously donates his share of the family plum treasury to Shell, who enjoys them in a salad with fresh kale and earthworms from the garden.

Priorities

The homecoming "to do" list is lengthy, growing daily. We have managed to pay the house insurance, sort toys and go for Vietnamese food. Visiting our parents was fantastic, Ukaih's adjusting to the library construction- requesting holds at another branch, and we spent the afternoon with a man who left Sudan at age 5, spent 16 years in a refugee camp in Kenya, and on his fourth day in the US, joined us for a walk to the lake. Buttercup is about 75% unpacked. We adults each have a job interview this week. The kids have a new cat-sitting gig. We love having our own washing machine.

Between visiting with friends and sorting clothes now too small for the kids, we've seen a play, been wowed by examples of New Zealand's early childhood education practices and harvested enough tomatoes for a decent taco salad. In other words, we're thriving in the midst of uncertainty. It could be that yoga, television, soccer and cocktail parties are helping us through...

We weren't here to experience the unusual weather patterns this winter. No flooding or extended power outages for us in the southwest. Are atypical patterns the new norm, or have we forgotten- does it usually rain for multiple days in August? Does the temperature generally top out in the mid-70's? I'm a little worried that it's already sweater-season for me, but it means great blueberries into late August!


We spent about two hours at Mercer Slough Blueberry Farm, sampling high and low bush varieties, limiting our interactions with spiders. Assuming we can find a kitchen scale, we'd like to do a little math project. What's your best guess on the number of blueberries in 18.25 pounds? Cost per berry at $1.25/pound? Inquiring minds want to know. And not just because we're jobless and working with a tight budget.

The plan is to make freezer jam in the morning, before haircuts or a trip to Value Village. We won't be following the recipe that calls for a can of blueberry pie filling and box of raspberry Jello. We're going the old fashioned route, pectin and lemon juice. Unless someone has a more inspired suggestion?

A favorite come pumpkin season, South 47 Farm has organic, u-pick, thornless blackberries. Between resume writing, filing tax returns and thanking our long list of travel hosts, we hope to pick at least 10 pounds next week.

transitions

We're home(!)- mourning the loss of our neighborhood chocolate shop and thrilled with the addition of corn to the back garden. Change takes time, and apparently a year is enough for subtle and significant differences. We're working to acclimate, finding our way the the relocated farmer's market and learning Shell's new menu.

Adjusting to the new hive of townhomes at the end of the our street and Cutie's expanded physique should be fairly smooth transitions. The growing stable of Owlhouse bicycles, moderate. Putting all the other aspects of normal life back together could prove more complicated. The prospect of finding jobs, making school decisions and having housemates become neighbors, challenging. A whole new round of adventures. Possibly recorded here. So many decisions.

It's been a busy couple days, not particularly dedicated to unpacking. We'll be around for a while. There's always next week.

communication

It's routine. "Double-tall americano, please." Barista follow-up questions can go one of two ways- room for cream? or so, coffee with hot water? The kids at Cowboy Joe know their way around the espresso machine. A local art show, photos of rodeo highlights and downfalls, cattle in the basin complete the western feel. Hang your jacket on the horseshoe rack, the patio out back is glowing warm before 9am.




Along Idaho St., the visitor center at Sherman's Station was closed. The windows of the school were cloudy, but we could see through a crack in the creamery door. I called it the livery, but Aslin wondered why a farm would have a library. Down the road at the NE Nevada Museum, also closed, outdoor exhibits gave clear definitions of stage coaches and mud coaches. An original Pony Express cabin was brought to the property a decade ago. The job announcement stated clearly that "young, skinny, wiry" riders, preferably orphans, could earn $25/week if they'd risk their lives daily as riders on the path from Missouri to California.

At the park, a church group held a bingo fundraiser. We rushed the old-school swing-set. Long chains suspended from a steel frame, primary colors chipping away. A toddler in church clothes ran through the puddle surrounding the merry-go-round. "Mom....mom..." Aslin didn't finish, didn't need to. The flop and cry said it all. Getting tricky on the swings, she somehow flipped forward only to land backward- thankfully clearing the cement buffer that would never meet today's playground codes.

A flyered telephone pole told us of the event. We decided Oregon could wait, and stuck around another day to hear what Barack Obama had to say to the rural communities. Aslin found her breath and we rested before heading to the convention center.


Aslin- "I like. I'm never gonna wash my hand again because he shook it. He said about health care that everyone should have it. He said something about the war not really solving anything. People mostly, I think they really like him and appreciate and admire the way he thinks and makes decisions. He's good at doing speechs and answering questions- seems kind, I was listening and I know that he he is. Well, in my opinion. I like him."




Ukiah- "It seems like he went out of his way to go to a relatively small town- seems like most people would skip that I guess. But it seems important to visit different parts of the country.

He said we spent 200 something million a day in Iraq, but we could use that money on different things- like special education and health care. Somebody asked how he's going to improve medicare. He said that it doesn't make any sense for people who make a billion, or even a million dollars to pay half as much tax as everybody else. There is money for health care and we should work more on disease prevention.

He said that thing about Volvo driving, latte drinking liberals. Something about mining, I don't remember. I thought he totally did not look 35, he looked younger- or maybe it's just because George Bush looks like he's 200. He seemed really smart, supported a lot of things I would support. I think another funny thing he said is that sometimes he thinks people are here because he's so wonderful- but his wife reminds him that not it. They care about the issues.

We had to wait 70 minutes, but it was worth it. I thought the people in front of me were obnoxious- the woman had a big hair-do and was taking a lot of pictures."


The local democrats had their work cut out for them. Overhearing the network of volunteers and rural liberals, the turn out was much larger than expected. Which is encouraging. The audience heard soundbites on all the key domestic issues. Meaningful soundbites. An understanding of immigration and interest to continue learning about water rights and mining. "If Canada were paying $100/hr, we'd be headed to that border." "I haven't signed onto the ___ mining bill, but the law dates to 1872, it probably needs some updates."

Senator Obama wants to bring "common sense and fact" to the White House, to be rid of ideology. He noted that individual citizens don't have federal lobbyists and that the in No Child Left Behind, the "money's been left behind." It was a town hall style meeting, and Obama was comfortable talking to the people. The conversation centered on domestic issues- education, health care, environment, jobs, with the Senator sounding interested and competent on all fronts.

I'd have preferred if he'd closed with his acknowledgement that "change takes time." That as president, he "can't suddenly make everybody's life better, automatically." That we have a mutual responsibility to each other and that we have to overcome our cynicism. "I'll be a president who believes in the constitution." But no. The final words were along the lines that "no president can guarantee that there won't be a need for war." I'm reminding myself of his emphatic belief that "this war should not have been authorized, should not have been waged." Trying to comfort myself with my belief in his 90 minutes of advocacy for early childhood education, wind power, labor unions, national health care, civil liberties and diplomacy. The Senator knows we have to talk and listen to one another, communicate. "In democracy, we have to compromise." I know he's right, I'm just tired, disgusted with what now passes as compromise.

reasons to yodel

Sparkly. Glittering. Shadowed by low-cast clouds. The same clouds that convinced us to head west, skipping Antelope Island. Past the Morton Salt plant, the Bonneville Salt Flats show signs of aging. Cracks deep into the upper crust. Brad read of the concerns of decreasing salt levels. Not worry for the fly or pufferfish habitat, but fear the racing will suffer.

Before the visitor center, Nevada welcomes travelers with a pair of conjoined casinos. We took the highway under the skybridge and were advised that there were no accommodations in the area. Heart concert and some sort of centennial celebration have Wendover booked solid. Both sides.

If we'd known Elko was home to the Cowboy Poetry Gathering we might have headed here intentionally. Following last night's $10 gambling loss a hash-browns/four-cups-of-coffee breakfast in the casino coffee shop set us right for the day. We toured the library and laundromat. No slots machines at the former, a Maytag free corner dedicated to the sport in the latter.


Behind a web of orange safety netting announcing the sidewalk closure, The Western Folklife Center pulled us in for LL Griffen's Something a Cowboy Knows. A series of portraits that invite faith in ranching life. Capturing the crows-feet of modern cowboys, she leads us to the past. Mad Jack Hanks and the others hold the history of the Bosque, Irish, Paiute and Mexican vaqueros. And the anglicized buckaroos they became.


We dedicated the afternoon to soaking in details of riding skirts and educating ourselves on the advantages of hemp reatas. (They doesn't stretch or rot.) An explanation accompanies a turn of the century photo I'd have taken for a water wheel. Beef wheels, a pre-refrigeration solution to keeping meat fresh for the ranch kitchen. Whole cows were prepared, wrapped in heavy cloth, wet, and raised high above ground. A leverage system allowing cooks, often Chinese, to lower the animal, cutting away the day's dinner supply. Who knew?

A video presentation, Why the Cowboy Sings, opens with cattle calls. Long and short notes, grunts. Calls across the octaves, direct the herds through the seasons. There's a rhythm, a rhyme to the commands, a distinct voice from everyone who "cowboys for a living." The narrator tells us city folks, "You can trust a horse more than a human... A horse will teach you preservation..."

We'd like to order beers and sasperilla, think it over. But the Pioneer Bar is closed. Except in for a week in January when the folklorists, singers, artists, poets, the cowboys, keep it open. 24 hours a day.

Cottonwood

It could be that salt-licks are too expensive. Or the neighbors just don’t care about the moose. Maybe they do care, or would, but no one’s found time to visit the family cabin in ages. Maybe no one ever planed to visit the tax-shelter, err, cabin. Maybe once the construction currently carving up the mountain results in the planned 12-lot subdivision- retired doctors embracing their mountain-man side will build houses and bring more salt licks into Big Cottonwood Canyon. In the meantime, Avis and Jim seem to have the only yard serving the moose population.

Our new friends know a little something about hospitality. For 25 years, they ran the Silver Fork Lodge, 11 miles into the canyon, a short trip from Brighton or Solitude. Hospitality is a good cup of coffee served with a slice of homemade pie, not serving as the public restroom for anyone too timid for the outhouses in the mountain’s parks. There was no sewer in those days. And given extra precautions called for in the watershed, septic was especially complicated.

The lodge is in different hands these days. It’s added a back deck, full liquor license and along with the ski resorts, A & J and the rest of the neighbors, an elaborate sewer system.



Behind the lodge a quarter mile, we can hear the creek from A & J’s living room window, teasing. Not calling to be played in. This is Salt Lake City’s water. They own it all. Don’t even think of harvesting your own rainwater. No lawns allowed. Dogs by special permit. It's a hikers paradise, with aspen groves brightening the trail even as rain clouds threaten. Or, you can fish Lake Solitude. But do not put your hands in the water. No body parts. And don’t tell the lone Forest Service employee that you didn’t see the signs. He’s suppose to be part of a team, but with approximately half our tax dollars now going to the war on Iraq and other military spending, there’s no money for managing our federal lands and resources. So lend the country a hand. Stop your littering and carry a map you can read. Resist the photo-op and do not set your toddler on the back of a moose. We don’t have the money to pay for the public’s lack of common sense- let alone to invest in outdoor-education. We'll leave that to the non-profits.

The salt-lick sits by a wheelbarrow. Part of the construction effort, a puzzle without benefit of precisely cut pieces. Canyon development has spit up a slew of rocks, plenty to finish the patio. Eventually. Come spring, late spring after the winter’s 10-12 feet of snow melts, the geranium and tea rose will return. And the moose will be back for their mineral supplements.

We left the Mickey Mouse shaped mine dump, Tin Tin books and summer-apple sauce. We are trying to put thoughts of wintering in a snowy area out of mind. We’re on the home stretch, by way of Nevada.