I hate ABC

It wasn't too much of a surprise when they didn't cover the Women's World Cup. But they didn't even pretend, didn't list games on their schedule and then opt to air ignorant blowhard Fred Thompson instead. But this morning, they made changes to their scheduling line-up, pushing the MLS championship to ESPN 2.

Who knew my disgust with corporate media could reach new heights?

in the dark

A triathlete, photochoreographer and Gillian Welsh share a common bond. Each was introduced to a group of teens as part of the Orem Public Library's Teen Read Hidden Treasure program. Ukiah and Aslin agree, the triathlete was, um, a really, like, um, bad, kind of like, um, not good public speaker. Aside from that, we've been really impressed with the library. The library's four wings are set over a green courtyard, with an enclosed bridge joining A/B with C/D. There's a stage for readings and a magical glass window along the west wall. An open design highlights the geometric steel beam architecture. Shelved in the 941.5s- a few Disney and Calvin and Hobbes books. No manga. No librarians familiar with manga. It's a first in the dozens of libraries we've visited. Thoughtfully confused, Ukiah settled in with a Tin Tin collection.






Across 7 continually busy lanes of traffic, the natural foods store is not an easy walk from the library. Tofu dogs, fruit, snacks and kombucha. We carried our short list into a darkened store. Is this a first time power-outage at Harvest Fresh, or just another example of the deficient management/organization we've recognized at every visit to the store. It's a 100 degrees out, way too hot for kick-ball, and no one's moving to insulate the open freezers. Brad stressed, knowing the speciality cheese has about a 20 minute life span in the warmer temperature. He fights the urge to find cardboard and cover the meat cooler and we all wonder why five employees, management included, stand chatting about chocolate in the supplement section. At the register, the cashier asks us the prices of each item.
Cookies- $3.23; Nectarines- $.99/pound, Grapefruit- 2/$1, Hot Dog Buns- $2.69. We run up and down the isles, the floor staff thinks about sweeping. No one greets customers at the door with a pen and paper and request that they record prices.
"$28.63. Does that sound right to you, for what you bought?" Our cashier works with a little calculator and apologizes for the lack of receipt. "If you have any problems with what you buy... I don't know. Bring it back maybe."
We did get a complimentary Utah Truffle on our way out the door. Milk chocolate mint.

Good call on the plan to grill, power's out at the house too. Not on scale with New York's aging infrastructure, but it seems a sub-surface explosion is to blame here too.

The drive to a BYU men's soccer game put us back in air conditioned comfort. Less comfortable were the Cascade Surge who ran a defense-only game from the kick-off. I'm no fan of a 2-3-5 line-up, and it clearly wasn't working for the Salem, Oregon team. The Cougars scored early, ensuring my support of the visiting underdog. In front of me, the family of a home-town mid-fielder adhered to the University standard as stated before the game. "Sportsmanship" on the part of the fans kept foul language out of the stands, replaced by yells of "What the Dickens?" and "Oh my Goodness." Until a particularly unfavorable call by the Hispanic referee. "Are you even watching, Carlos?!" And from across the stands, "Go back to where you came from." I put my powerful evil eye to work and am kicking myself for not letting my well-practiced wicked words answer the dim-witted "what?" of the fan below me. Final score, 2-0 and no moral victory.


After an hour recapping game highlights and processing the ignorance of certain fans, we joined the monster crowd at Barnes and Noble. A spot-on Professor Snape headed the line, powered face looking fabulously sallow after untold hours of waiting. Past the lightening scared-foreheads, in and out of wand range, we headed round to the back of the building with the rest of the gold wrist-banded "PP"-ers. Troops of fans read, snacked and sought victory in impromptu Potter-trivia challenges. By a quarter after midnight, the first books made their way around to us at the end of the line. The "I'm gonna read you all the last page...." joke got old but didn't end, even with line-waiting friends told the pranksters to "stop being gay." Bystanders observations that Walmart had no line did little to convince the B-and-N crowd to abandon the company of their fellow fans. Tortured not by care of Harry's final Hogwarts days but by the ambiance of sitting in the dark by a dumpster, the kids took turns walking to the front, reporting on those who now held the book.
"An old lady was too busy laughing to worry about trapping me between her and a moving truck..."
1:25am and Lia had the Deathly Hallows in hand.

Across the parking lot, readers lined up at Sconecutters 24-hour "scones and fries" drive-thru. I think we'll make strawberry scones this weekend.

SLC potpourri

• Peanuts in the shell

• Walt Disney

• Taking out the garbage

• School Prayer

1-4, in that order. Ukiah's ranking for his hand of selections from Personal Preference's categories: food and drink, people, activities, and potpourri. Predicting none of his preferences correctly, I didn't move ahead on the board.

In Orem, outside SLC, we've spent days playing games, digging in sand, swimming at the neighborhood pool, meeting friends, and talking, talking, talking with my step sister and the cousins.






Our first tour of Provo, a failed quest for a coffee shop, ended in mall theater with Shrek the Third followed by a lobby photo op with the Simpson's. Yesterday, we missed the 7am dedication of the neighbor's new flag, despite an invitation complete with delivery of a dozen doughnuts, but made our second trip to Provo for the Freedom Parade. Lia's marching band was near the end, providing plenty of time to people watch and listen.

Young mom to younger children, "Look, it's the soldiers with their guns! (squeal) They have army trucks and shoot, shoot, shoot to keep us safe!"

"These colors don't run" stretched across a family of t-shirts in front of us.

The blond and bloated local news team waved from a jeep and the city of Lindon worked to lure us to their Celebration Days with a promise of "sugar and spice and everything nice" as demonstrated by girls waving from a purple float with a unicorn.

From sun drenched blankets set across the street from Cleo's White Moments, home of wedding and baptism gowns, we sympathized with the high school color guard marching in turquoise dresses worn over long black pants and sleeves. The herd of lamas, several bagpipe bands, a giant Garfield balloon and the Wicked Witch of the West brought the displays of military propaganda to an almost tolerable ratio. Lia's band, slated last due to a cross-town rivalry(?), was fantastic. More impressive then the Red Cross stretch-Hummer and at least as entertaining as the Kentucky Fried Chicken float.

The sound of the closing cannon was a sharp reminder of the multiple meaning of "freedom". We miss the nude cyclists of Seattle's Solstice parade and can't help but think next year's Provo parade would be much livelier if campaigning politicians were advised to demonstrate their commitment to freedom by either bicycling the entire parade route, replacing their star-spangled shirts and ties with body paint or limiting the scope of corporate infiltration of the event.

Our Fourth was rounded out by an afternoon hike deserving of it's own blog post and evening fireworks in the cul-de-sac and a brilliant hill top view of BYU's Stadium of Fire.











Earlier this week, we connected with Seattle friends for what we later recognized was an inspiring "reason to return home" type-visit. Our whirl-wind tour of SLC hosted by former-resident Bryan, opened at Salt Lake Roasting Company . After veggie lasagna, apricot torte and fantastic coffee roasted on-site, we headed to a city gem. Gilgal Gardens is a backyard showcase of the faith and ego inspired folk art of Thomas Child. In 1945 he began work on the 13 sculptures that "give physical form to his deep-felt beliefs." The garden, a secret treasure loved by high-school kids from across the county, recently saved from demolition, was preserved as a park in 2000.









Our tour continued with a stop at the weeping tree of heroine park and a walk through Temple Square. The Salt Lake Temple is a site to behold, fantastic architecture with details depicting the phases of the moon set amongst green lawns, fountains and symmetrical gardens. The visitor's centers offer education on the history of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints and glimpses of westward expansion in the pioneer days. Greeters and tour guides wear name tags with the flags of the countries of origin- Italy, Australia, Mexico, Kenya. In the universal Jesus round room, we heard the words of the son-of-God in german and english.

If you're looking for dinner, the Rio Grande Cafe, housed in a historic train station (?), has impressive restrooms and an unreliable juke box. Vegetarians be advised, the rice, beans and enchilada sauce are made with chicken and/or lard. Ukiah highly recommends the guacamole burrito and Aslin appreciates the root beer refills. A drawing and caption version of the game telephone kept us at the table an extra hour and still we didn't hear Aslin's musical selection. Sweet Home Alabama. Amanda deserves a refund.


An ice cream night cap at Squirrel Brother's turned into dessert-theater in the parking lot as an unknown teen insisted his friends, including the employee with an arm cast, fight him. They declined. Adding insult to injury, they took his keys, insisting that they couldn't let him drive in that mood.

H2O

It seems like you'd feel the effects of drinking bad water pretty quickly, say within 24 hours. So we should be in the clear. It was Thursday afternoon, a few hours before the community pot-luck, when Jeremiah mentioned that flooding of the acequia brought water in to the well-house, contaminating the water. He'd never found animals or their droppings in the house and thought we should be fine. Just wanted to inform us.

Much of our work here at New Buffalo has been dedicated to building the two wonders of the composting world. Thursday morning, in the shadow of the first pile, the walls of the second collapsed as we tried to square it. Wood chips. Their thirst requires endless time with the hose. Time which could be spent shoveling manure and bringing over the next wet bale of straw. I went to the acequia for buckets of water. There'd been some trouble and plenty of talk about the water. Water rights are a hot topic, a point of conflict that has sprouted books and major motion pictures. Here, the acequia didn't start running the day it should have. The ditch walls need repair. No, the ditch needs widening. The water flooded a corner of the greenhouse. A break in the wall creates a wetland for a young grove of drought tolerant trees. Yesterday's wall retrofit protects the adobe that sits five feet from the irrigation ditch, on lower ground. Maybe we should turn the water off. No, better to let it run over the land. If we don't use it, they'll take it away. The people in Seco will be really mad if we just let the water go back to the river, wasted. Five-gallons at a time, carefully, I pull water from the channel to the compost until it's time for planting.

Following Machei's lead, we planted cucumber and squash in a double square pattern, gardening French-intensive style. Until we noticed water flowing into the sunflower bed. We grab shovels. Our work to contain the too rapid current is interrupted by down-stream David of the straw bale mansion. Do we know that we're creating too much dirt in the water, hurting his fish pond? The acequia gate isn't supposed to be open all the way. He gestures, laughs angrily. Our ditches aren't fully operational. For thirty minutes he talks as the three of us who know nothing of the water system continue shoveling. He, semi-long term resident now being negatively impacted by too much water, doesn't go up the hill and correct the flow himself. We later learn that a day earlier he told Aslin and the Buffalo girls they couldn't play on his trampoline. Because even if they did play with his kids, it wouldn't be in their hearts.



Plenty of characters around. We hiked to some hot springs along the Rio Grande with a kinder, more interesting person. Between wild roses and river willow, carefully avoiding nettles, we walked along the Rio Hondo, eyes open for petroglyphs. A waterfall, not there when we walked a couple days ago and never before seen by the locals we accompanied, thundered down the cliff. Could it be the mismanaged water? Five of us worked our way across the branches littering the base of the falls. One of us, who against advice opted not to wear shoes, lost his right flip flop. Had we known it was another two-miles to the springs, we'd have turned back. The warm pool was swarmed by little green flies, the cool by mosquitoes. We relaxed none the less, resting before the steep path of lava rock up from the gorge followed by a long walk home.



We'd given in to our need for rest and were headed for a shade tree when Manzie thumbed a ride from three fisherman. Seven of us piled in the back of their pick-up, counting our blessings. A fine story to narrate over dinner shared with the family who welcomed us here.




It's been great. Thanks to Nyna, Machei, Madrone, Manzie, Magnolia, and all at New Buffalo.

No. nononononono....

The cooler's half packed, last of the laundry in the dryer. When what to our wondering eyes should appear? A few drops of liquid under the van.

Maybe the oil pan wasn't secured after the oil change. No, it's good.
Looks like the water pump is beginning to fail. Just as we're ready to head into the wild for camping in the Chiricahuas on our way to New Mexico. We've had two days of goodbyes, our final pot-luck and now this.

We can't help but feel just a little ill.
What do you suppose it costs to fly the 4 of us home?

morning quote

"I like the grasshoppers so much better than the ants. It's in their best interest to get out of my way, not climb on and bite me. Plus they're kind of cute" -- Ukiah

Today we'll be looking into herbal and homeopathic insect repellents. Garlic and B vitamins are not enough.

Basket balls should not have quills.

We planned to play some basketball this morning, but by 11:00 it was too hot. "The worst kind of weather," Ukiah called it "warm, muggy, just- eehh." By 4, the shade from the recycling bins spread a few feet down the curb- just enough of a bench for us to rotate from- commenting on the oppressive sun, taking shots, playing PIG, rushing for a rebound before the ball connected with the landscape.

Spring has srprung and that means new growth on the cacti. Young spines not fully rooted to their greenery, pierce the rubber of a stray ball. Baby thorns go unnoticed until the ball, back in play, meets a hand just so. And someone makes a tweezer run.


Arizona outdoor bball lesson- don't miss the backboard.



To the best of our knowledge, the penguins of Saturday night's birthday celebration avoid quill injury by not playing ball. They did sympathize as they've experienced (first hand) the discomfort of toothpick impalement.

4 years and counting

Round two of the Gulf War was announced 4-years ago to the day. The objectives stated continue to go unmet.

The fair citizens of this nation are protected the discomfort of viewing photos of our fallen soldiers. With a civilian death toll nearly 20x that of US servicemen/women, the citizens of Iraq are offered no insulation from such disconcerting images.

Read more at the Huffington Post, Moderate Voice, Raw Story, or any of the 2,000 other sites offering Iraq war news, history, analysis and plans for action.

When the Mayor of Salt Lake City is calling for impeachment, could it be the time has come?

Overkill

The Titan Missile Museum is free for children age six and under. Here, just south of downtown Tucson, kids can pick up a "Junior Missileer Program" to help them learn all about the Titan ll missile, "how it worked and why the United States needed it." Opting out of the tour, we directed ourselves through the single-room exhibit and attached gift shop. Inside the front door, a nostalgic miniature of the 9mega-ton sat quiet, unable to deliver the force of 9,000,000 tons of TNT up to 5,500 miles with in 30-minutes. In it's role as a gallery of graphs, charts and educational paragraphs, the mini-Titan exposes us to hazards of another type. In red white and blue, it proclaims the triumph of our cold war efforts, hailing the success of "peace through deterrence". "Overkill" (over production of weaponry) the replica assures, was "necessary to account for weapon failure," to "ensure 100% saturation."


Freeze-dried ice cream and uranium-symbol temporary tattoos line the gift shop counter. Impulse purchases. Shelved with original photographs of mushroom clouds over the Nevada Test Site, was a 1950 publication by the Office of Civil Defense.
"Six Survival Tips" made the centerfold of Survival Under Atomic Attack...

1. Get shielded - Ideally in a basement or subway
2. Drop flat on the ground - This puts you out of harms way as trees, walls... may be flying/falling through the air
3. Bury your face in your arms - Protect your face from burns and prevent blindness
4. Don't rush out after a bombing - Wait 1-hour for lingering radiation to die down
5. Don't take chances with food or water in open containers - Eat only canned foods, drink water sealed for protection
6. Don't start rumors

Memorize These

Wow. Talk about your road-side attraction.

Chaos, Ukiah wore shoes

Flat, not too difficult. That's how I explained it to the kids.

After nearly a mile and a half, it seemed odd that we were approaching houses. The trail book told all about Old Tucson Movie Studios that we could expect to see to the north. (Columbia Pictures has been filming westerns in the shadows of Golden Gate Mountain for nearly 60 years. Gunfight at the OK Corral, Rio Bravo, Three Amigos. The Tucson Mountains are television territory too. Gunsmoke, Young Riders, Bonanza.) The Tucson Hiking Guide made no mention of any housing subdivisions.

It was early, plenty of time to recover from our wrong turn. We'd just retrace our steps and find the "well constructed easy to follow path." The book says there's essentially no change in elevation along the trail, but we were already off track and three of us saw a trail "up there". We climbed a 60 degree incline a quater-mile to our first mirage. No path.

Back at the trail head we double-check the sign. David Yetman, Golden Gate Mountain, Golden Gate Loop. We found it, a tiny little path, hardly what I'd call "lined with rocks". A steady breeze took the edge off the noonday sun. We could still do the 6.6 mile loop.

Sand. Grapefruit-size rocks. The trail surface alternates as we we cross shallow basins. Rocks crumble underfoot. Their broad tops reaching just beyond knee high we repeatedly interrupt the instinct to reach out, steady ourselves on the fish hook barrel cactus.

The mountains here are falling down. Dry peaks crumble, spilling fragments of another era to the floor. It's a state of decay the geologists call "chaos". The huge boulders are archives and notably, "the first place the trail become confusing." Confirming directions, we headed west, hoping to recognize Kitt Peak or Mt Washington to the south.

The saguaro need 7 years to complete their process of death. In under 5 hours we learned enough of the gradual decline the desert can bring. In heavy sand, with jokes no longer funny, some of the region's majesty may have been lost on us that final mile.

Could have been worse. Ukiah could have insisted on wearing flip-flops. Again.

Love is an empty mouse trap

(all times are approximate)

5:30p The sun sets, the temperature drops
6:30 Barley vegetable soup for dinner, too cold for dishes tonight
8:45 Wrapped in blankets, we finish reading aloud ch. 12 of The Westing Game
9:00 Long sleeve shirts tucked into pants tucked into socks. Wearing hats, tucked in sleeping bag liners, tucked in sleeping bags, topped with every blanket and towel available. Tissues nearby as we all have colds.
2:15a Flashlight on, Ukiah up to use the bathroom
2:35 Ukiah, "Guys, did you hear that?"
2:45 Flashlight again. Ukiah, "I hear something, scratching... There it is! It's one of those little Pica things! By the front seat."
2:50 I'm up, van doors open, using empty water bottle to bat into darkness
3:10 No luck, back to bed
3:15 Sounds from inside dashboard
3:30 More sounds, Brad up and moving all food to tent
3:45 Ukaih, "Ahhhh, something ran by my face!"
3:46 Lights on, all up. Gather jackets, sweaters build nest-bed for kids in tent.
4:00 Tuck kids in again
4:10 Small sounds at back window
4:30 I think I feel something on my head. What if it tries to burrow into my sleeping bag?
5:00 Coyotes howl, I'm already awake
5:15 Kids talking, laughing in tent. A sign they're not frozen.
5:20 Coyotes, much closer/louder
6:00 I don't want to pull my head from the sleeping bag, so I can't tell if it's light yet.
6:30 Up making coffee
7:30 Almost getting warm
8:00 Find frost on backpack left out overnight
8:30 Pulling everything out of van, sorting and shaking as we go
9:00 Second cup of tea, ch. 13 of Westing Game
10:00 Monty Python inspired re-enactment of hilarious events of last night
10:30 Discovery of critter hiding in heater compartment under back seat
10:31 STRESS
10:33 It's not a ground squirrel, a mouse
10:35 Find sticks to push it out
10:45 Mouse moves to pocket between seat and van wall and returns to hiding under heater
11:00 Duct tape over all visible holes
11:10 Start car, turn on rear heater, hope mouse will not be hurt
11:12 Consider taking heater apart
11:15 Repeat above steps for a half-hour
11:45 Try peanut butter bribe
11:55 Face to face with trembling mouse, I realize it's more scared than me, talk to it, encougare it to find a new home, still try to prod it out with a stick
12:05p Mouse runs up seatbelt, trough crack in seat, out? No one saw the exit.
12:15 Semi-confident mouse has vacated
12:20 Heavy clouds overhead, rush to take tent down, pack
12:21 Aslin, "Is that snow?! Oh wait, it's just hail..."
12:40 Van packed in record time
3:30 Check into tiny, stinky, overpriced hotel in Blythe, CA. Empty van, check under heater
6:00 Go to store for mouse traps, discover oreo yogurt, worry about fate of humanity and planet
7:00 Set two peanutbutter mouse traps in empty van
9:00 Sleep, cough, sneeze...
7:30a Continental breakfast- frozen waffles and raisin bran
8:30 Find courage to check traps.
8:31 Rejoice in untouched traps, feel 95% sure we left the little critter back at Joshua Tree

Happy Valentine's Day!

The mention of tumbleweeds...

brings thoughts of the desert; arid land, barren to my pacific northwest eyes.


Driving east out of LA, a pink smog mutes the sky. Towards the town of Desert Hot Springs, the plants grew shorter, more browns and grays- flowering black tire treads, green soda bottles and seeding plastic and cardboard of every color.

While time in Joshua Tree revealed a land far from desolate, trash nesting in the creosote bushes beyond the park illustrates a most depressing emptiness.

Promotional Deals

To say that our Disneyland trip was subsidized by two “vacation ownership” clubs, would fail to recognize the effort Brad and I put forth. After all, we subjected ourselves to the challenge of two sales pitches in exchange for six hotel nights and four Disney tickets. TrendWest and Shell Vacation Club have similar products and each banks on the logic of ownership over renting. Motel 6 was named for its room rates, both clubs tell us, playing on our fears of inflation.

TrendWest has a friendly staff, lively music. The staff at Shell seem stressed and offer us Subway sandwiches, ham or turkey.

After hearing our preference for camping and “alternative” travel options, The TredWest team offers to bring us into the world of “guaranteed” vacations at luxury resorts for around $6,000. The Shell family points out that our $70,000 investment would give us more vacation than we would know what to do with.

What’s to think about, really? If we’re going to continue to vacation, if we’d rather be in a 1,000+ sq ft condo than a tiny room, if we believe prices are going to continue to rise…The clubs bring the same pressure to the close of the presentation. These real estate bargains are good at the time of our meetings only. Sure, we can buy later, but we won’t have the same benefits. We forfeit our free house keeping and matching club points and a few other bonuses I can’t remember.

Through the gate for our second day at Disneyland, I was much relieved that rejecting such fine vacation opportunities hadn’t voided our Disney passes. If fact, with the help of our Black Gold Cooperative library cards, we were able to upgrade them to annual passes. The very limited, never go on a weekend or at holiday time, SoCal Select passes. Just in case we make it back this way sometime in the next year… Or maybe you'd like to borrow them...

Some People Love LA...

the rest of us pray we don't hit traffic, then curse when we do.


From Anaheim to the Getty Museum, I-5, I-10 and 405 were bad. The horendous 2 1/2 hour return trip required the use of hazard lights and a little time-out on the side of the freeway. A situation made all the more uncomfortable by my raging case of poison oak.


Thanks to the father/son team we followed from a strip mall parking lot at Trinity and Washington, to Ukiah and Aslin for knowing when to avoid sibling disputes and to Buttercup for not overheating- we made it back to the Disney neighborhood.

The park opens at 9:00 tomorrow. We've placed our bets on the small-crowd potential of SuperBowl Sunday; could go either way. If we're lucky, "It's a Small World" will have resumed uniting all the peoples of the planet. We're also crossing our fingers for a meeting with Eeyore.

Labyrinth

I'm feeling a little blue. We left the ocean and headed inland, where we thought evenings might be warmer, better for camping. They're not. A trip to the grocery store found us stumbling into surburban hell. The cars, the Walmart... Thankfully (painfully?), they're surrounded by miles of agricultural land- a hundred vineyards and wineries, and some of the best olives imaginable.

If we were home, I'd be looking forward to the New Year's Eve labyrinth walk at St. Mark's. Instead, I'm anxious to head back to the ocean, welcoming the new year without the maze of highways and strip malls. Whew.

Cheers!

Disco

We hung a strobe light in the attic today. Three little disco balls too. I might have hung more if it weren’t for Amanda’s warning. "At some point you might have to worry that they'll just come in to party."

"They." The squirrels. We’ve patched the holes, tried the live traps, and still they want to share our home. All my online research and conversations with “pest control” persons didn’t offer much reassurance. "Once they're established in a nest, they're hard to get rid of. " But, with the van still in the shop, we’ve got time to experiment with new methods. If the pulsing light and mirrored reflections aren’t enough to make the squirrels uncomfortable, the seven little bottles of fox urine we hung and generous sprinklings or pepper crystals should put a damper on their party. We're not shy about trying the ultra-sonic sound devices either.

Other often overlooked household care enabled by the van’s cylinder mishap?

• Cleaning the gutters
• Pruning the trees and thinning bamboo
• Plumbing repair
• Mulching, weeding, gardening
• Moss removal from roof
• Furnace cleaning

Tomorrow we move the washer and dryer. With any luck, we’ll be off before we find time to paint.

Canines

So, I went to the dentist on Tuesday and they told me what they were going to do. They put a gas mask (whatever that mask is called) on me. It was vanilla gas, to make sure you breathe in the smell. They took small metal pliers and grabed hold of my tooth and say they'll count to three. Then, wiggle, wiggle and pull them out. That's how it happened. My canines were pulled out.

The gas made me feel floaty and my lip stayed numb for a while. Also, I was tired and couldn't talk right. I had to only eat soft foods like soup, yogurt. No pizza or nachos. I couldn't have my favorite bread, the crusty kind.

Now I have my wire for my top teeth. I can't chew gum, can't chew carmel, even some of my Halloween candy. I'm pretty excited since we're making Thanksgiving dinner foods tonight. I can eat stuffing, tofurky, potatoes, green beans, roasted almonds, and apple cider. ~ Aslin

First Tuesday in November

VOTE
Enough said?

Columbia River Wildlife

I think the person:golf course ratio in Canada is about 3:1. Not including mini or "fun" golf. Walking up hwy 95 I listened to the water. I found it, a small stream rushing under a cheerful little bridge, dividing a rolling green lawn. A golf course.

After a georgous day in the warm and diving pools at Fairmont hotsprings, we hiked up to find the source of the creek. Interpurtive signs told of blue heron and osprey. Aslin spotted a woodpecker. Here, in the foothills of the Rockies, we dipped our toes in a miniture Columbia River.

The next morning we walked three miles for cinnamon rolls. I pointed out a pair of black-eared deer and Brad pointed at me, “Your eyes are puffy,” he said.

I didn’t get much sleep the night before. Brad woke me just before midnight. “Something’s going through our stuff.” We have three Rubbermaid boxes- one with tools and two with clothes- that we tuck under the van at night, making space for the fold out bed.

I pointed my flashlight out the window.

A ‘thud’ and rustling.

“Do you think it’s a bear?” he whispered. I thought no, probably an evil squirrel. Like the one that ran laps around the living room, and jumped onto Kim’s leg when Aslin was a baby. I did not want a squirrel tossing our clothes around.

I pulled the curtain further back, my light illuminated nothing. Except our cooler, upside down beside the picnic table, 10-feet from the van. Shit. We’d forgotten to bring the cooler into the van. It was one of those moments, when you wish like anything you could go back in time- even just a few hours. Brad’s light found eyes. The brown eyes of a black bear.

I heard eggshells crunching.

Brad assured the kids, “we’re safe, the bear isn’t interested in us. It can’t get into the van."

I was less sure. The doors of the Volkswagen are thin. The rubber around the windows is quite worn in some places. If a bear could smell rice milk in a closed cooler, maybe it could smell granola in the compartment under the bed. On it's rear legs, a bear could tear through the canvas top to get the grahm crackers. Maybe Scott and Mercedes left bells hanging from the pop-top frame for just this purpose. Or maybe the ringing would only annoy the bear. Brad slept holding the car keys and I reminded my self how to use the fire extinguisher. Just in case.

I tried to think happy forest thoughts. Only the Blair Witch Project came to mind.

I fell asleep, dreaming a ranger came to check on us in the morning, to tell us how irresponsible we were. I woke when the bear came back. Or maybe it was a new bear. Do they ever travel in packs? The horn on the van doesn’t work.

I thought of Yogi Bear and almost smiled.

Daylight came. “Who knew bears liked tofu?” Ukiah noted. The bear also enjoyed our cheese, chocolate, butter and mustard. He sat on the tomatoes.

“He comes around every night,” the campground attendant told us. “They had to chase him off the golf course down at the resort this morning.” Now we know.

We packed lunch and headed for another day at the springs and the river. Here the Columbia is small but persuasive, accepting every loose rock invitation to change course. It jumps four feet west, only to redirect itself after a crowd of fallen trees. We hiked for hours, crossing the mighty Columbia (in single jumps) a dozen times per mile.

After dinner Aslin sniffed the van, “I love that soup smell.” I lit a candle, crossing my fingers that bears aren’t attracted to citronella.

Border

(8/27- we're a bit behind!)
At the border we were instructed to park the van as an agent would have some questions for us. It was an unexpected rest-stop but after driving a few hours, we stretched our legs on the walk to the office. We hadn't taken advantage of the other rest-stop amenities and once in the interview room were not able to leave, even for the restroom. The Canadian agent asked our names. He disappeared, I assume to search for us in assorted criminal-related databanks.

Lamps in the corners reflected shades of blue. I admired the Canadians, providing full-spectrum lighting for people in this stressful situation. Very progressive. "ZAPP." I hadn't recognized these as bug-lights. I'd missed the giant "Ex-ucator" label on the side.

The agent returned. "Ever been denied entrance to Canada?" he asked and again disappeared.

An hour and a dozen dead flies later, we were on our way.

We spent the night in Cardston. The city park/campground backed to a wildlife preserve and stream, home to skunks, snakes, dragonflies, trout and owls. Aslin swam until dark, I spied through the windows of a closed/abandon restaurant down the road and Brad met a guy in the bathroom. The man was washing vegetables in the sink. "I just picked vegetables from someone's garden..." He offered to share then gave directions for a quick tour of Calgary.

In the morning we learned that Albertans drive ridiculously fast. Or so it seems from our Volkswagen with a broken speedometer.