Oregon Coast Getaway with Four Wheel Camper

This is what you don't want to see when you visit the Oregon coast—a band of
thick fog sitting on Highway 101. It bodes ill.

Because when you see that fog bank ahead, here's what the

usually stunning scenery looks like. 

PK and I are always ready to charge off in our little Four Wheel pop-up camper, if even for a few days. Since the Four Wheel is the self-proclaimed "only true off-road camper," and we chose it so we could go places people driving boxcar-sized RV units can't, we usually shun massive campgrounds and opt for Forest Service camps, or we tuck into undeveloped pull-outs, cliff overhangs and shorelines. We weren't entirely successful in crowd avoidance during our recent two-night trek to Oregon's southern coast, however. More on that below.

When we left for the coast a couple weeks ago, we were fleeing the heat. We'd endured triple-digit temps alternating with high-nineties for what seemed like forever, but was really only most of July.  (Now we're living in smoke from numerous forest fires. See previous post if you like depressing stuff.)

This beach is in Northern California just a few miles from the Oregon border. We considered camping in the deserted nearby parking area in the spirit of our dear little camper, but dang, it was chilly, windy, and smelled of rotting fish. Also, fog was rolling in. Sometimes we have to practice tough love with the camper.

The Southern Oregon/Northern California coast is famously cool when the inland valleys are roasting. We left the ranch sweltering in 100+ temps and two hours later were shivering on the beach (alone, of course) with stiff winds challenging the worthiness of our wind jackets. We wanted out of the valley heat, but not in to coastal chill, wind, and fog.

 We ended up about 12 miles inland on the Chetco River just outside of Brookings, Oregon, completely out of the fog and into perfect weather. This is a Forest Service camping area, but without formal sites. There may have been as many as 50 people around, but we couldn't hear them.

We couldn't see them, either. We like this. (It looks like PK is
staring at the trees, but the Chetco River is the blackness beneath the trees.)

We weren't offended when a sweet little family used the swimming hole in front of our camp. 

Camping is a "special occasion" offering an excuse for drinking wine. I don't need much of an excuse, of course, but there are worse things. The slanted light did wonders for our plastic glasses. 

Easy dinner, mostly from the garden. Simple cucumber salad,

fried spuds with zucchini, onions, chard and basil, and Trader Joe's
hot Italian sausage.  

Next day we were ready for another go at the coast, but alas, the fog persisted and, for the most part, hid the Oregon coast's spectacular beauty.

This was the view from atop Cape Sebastian, which is usually mind-blowing. 

We stopped for lunch at the picturesque Griff's restaurant on the dock at Port Orford, having read positive reviews on Yelp! PK gave thumbs up to his fish and chips. My crab Louis ($17!!) was dinner-salad sized, came with a packet of Ritz crackers (!!) and left me hungry and crabby (hahaha). 

Here we are at the second-night camp, cheek to jowl with cold grumpy campers on both sides, at Bullard's Beach State Park. Oregon has a great state parks system, but our camper does not like super developed and crowded campgrounds.Bullard's Beach has more than 300 sites plus a bunch of yurts and an equestrian camp. Sites are neatly divided by vegetation, but it didn't work for us. 

The indignities! The Four Wheel camper (she needs a name!) gets embarrassed when out of her element. We can get by without power and water hook-ups for several days, but we use them when available, especially when we've paid for them. The white bucket catches sink water. Having campers directly across the way and on either side is, well, just not fun.

PK on the last steps of a mile+ trail from camp to the beach. 

Another beach to ourselves! At least 600 people, probably more like 1,000, were in the campground, but truthfully, this beautiful beach wasn't that inviting and I don't blame them for sticking close to their RVs. The temperature differential between camp and the beach was probably 20+ degrees, so people we saw along the trail were mostly underdressed. A tee shirt is not going to do the trick here. That's grey fog blowing in on a stiff ocean breeze. Sand is skittering across the beach, and I guess we gave it five minutes. Or less. The Oregon coast isn't like California with nearly naked people frolicking in the surf (Here you could die! And you would most assuredly need a wetsuit.) The Oregon coast in July .... unknown to tourists who have not visited during summer months.... is often chilly, windy, and foggy. My sister came all the way from Minnesota one summer, traveled the Oregon coastline from north to south, and didn't see the ocean for more than a few minutes. Best time to visit? Late August and September. Then you can get by with shorts and tee shirts and the Oregon coast will blow your mind and make your eyes and your heart ache at the beauty of it all.

More posts about Southern Oregon/Northern California

Bear Trip on the Rogue River

There You Have - The Mighty Rogue!

Camping and Cooking on the Rogue

Quick Getaway - Crater Lake

Oregon's Illinois River with Four-Wheel Camper

Smoky Hell Here in Southern Oregon

The smoke and fire situation in SW Oregon is dire. A state of emergency has been declared and the Grants Pass Daily Courier is calling the situation a "full-blown catastrophe." Nearby Grants Pass' air quality has been deemed "hazardous" and I'm pretty sure the thick smoke that's stuck in our part of the valley is the same. Respirators/masks are recommended for anyone who has to be outside.
How do I look? Wearing the mask is a lot easier than holding my breath.

This is the view across our country road today. The hillside behind the smoke is less than a half mile away, so our air quality here is officially hazardous, according to DEQ standards.

This is the same general area (same trees) photographed two days ago.
Then, the smoke made pretty colors. No more! I didn't have trouble
breathing air that looked like this. Today. Trouble. 

The garden looks sad. It isn't getting any love except for admiring
glances from behind windows. 

The weather forecast includes dry lightning and thunderstorms, which would make a terrible situation worse. We can expect more smoke from the out-of-control blazes for several days, possibly weeks. One positive: such conditions are a wake-up call for all who take for granted our fresh air, abundant clean water, healthy forests, and beautiful rivers and lakes. I can't wait to take my next gulp of the clean, clear, crisp air to which I've grown accustomed. And that I once took for granted.

Pretty, but I hope never to see sun and sky like this ever again from our garden. 

Revisiting Harold and Maude

I've watched this quirky movie, my all-time favorite, half a dozen times since it was released in 1971. I saw the film again recently, and my, my, my, how times have changed. My times, that is. Actress Ruth Gordon was 75 when she starred as its eccentric life-affirming and hilarious heroine. For the film's purposes, she turned 80 as the story evolved.

When I first saw the film—and my pretty little unlined face ached from laughing—I was 27.  I don't remember the other times I saw it, but I'm certain that I still regarded 80 as a distant impossible-to-reach and hideous age. The difference between earlier viewings and seeing the film now? I identify with Maude! And 80? Considering how times jets past, that "impossible age" is just around the bend.

Maude used to look "old" to me. She was a fabulous person trapped in wrinkles and sags. I loved her spirit and verve, her outrageous antics and her gentle but over-the-top handling of the suicide-staging teen played by Bud Cort.

In my twenties, Maude was wonderful but old. End of story. I could not relate. Upon my most recent viewing, I admired Maude's youthfulness, although I did note that someone supposedly on the cusp of 80 with nary a gray hair is using hair dye, a perfectly acceptable tool to chisel a few years off her appearance. (Hair Dye, the Fall Garden, and the Cruel March of Time) Overall, though, it was, and is, unsettling to face the fact that at 68, I am cruising the last third of my life, fast approaching the age that Ruth Gordon was when she was so wondrous in Harold and Maude.

Longevity runs in my family. My father died at 93 and my mom is nearly 98. She's still doing relatively well, by the way, and I would not be surprised if she reaches 100+. Her heart, lungs, blood work, blood pressure, thyroid, etc. etc. are nearly perfect. She has but one mild (and generic) prescription drug. However, she's almost blind, essentially deaf, can't walk, and needs assistance with the "activities of daily living." Her mind is good (mild dementia only). She is sweet and funny and I love her, but I am not sure I want to go there.

Maude was POSITIVE she didn't want to go there. She knew she was going to die before she got too  decrepit—on her 80th birthday to be exact. She knew because she'd been saving the pills and calculating the time it would take for the pills to ease her into forever.  Since she knew when and how she was going to go, she didn't worry about it, and every moment was a joy. She was in control. She didn't give a damn about what people thought or what was legal or illegal or why anyone should try to stop her from liberating a city tree and relocating it to the forest whilst careening down the middle of the highway in a stolen truck. Maude embraced life so thoroughly it was breathtaking. And also inspirational.

I know better than anyone that I need to get over mourning my lost youth and and my disappeared middle age and proceed with the rest of my life. But here's something nobody ever tells you about getting older: age does not necessarily impart wisdom, nor does it bestow acceptance of the inevitable.

I've discovered, at all the milestones, that I have to figure out again how to be OK, or even happy, with the person that aging has delivered to my mirror. Every birthday presents a new challenge about "how should I live" more than "how should I look." Because there comes a time when, without spending thousands on having "work" done, everything is going to sag. I have friends who are "spending the thousands," or contemplating doing so. I'm not going there, either. One thing I have figured out is that physical decline and "beauty down the tubes" is inevitable and a nip here and tuck there isn't going to matter the least in the end.

I'm figuring out now how to think about being almost 70, which is "terribly strange" as Simon and Garfunkel observed in their wonderful song, Old Friends.  That song brought tears in my twenties and it still does. How bittersweet that I've become reconnected with a dear friend from that period of my life, the person I imagined I'd be sitting on the park bench with in my old age. Marcy's turning 70 this year. Unbelievable. (It would be difficult to find a person with more vitality than Marcy Tilton. She's a top-selling Vogue pattern designer, entrepreneur, and "everyday creative." Check her out.) She also tears up on Old Friends, by the way.

Am I stockpiling sedatives? No. Not yet. And even if I did, 80 is too young. I now have friends who are 80, or almost 80. They're not even close to doing "a Maude." I guess I should take a lesson from my mother, LaVone. Even though she can hardy see or hear, can't walk and so on, she still takes pleasure in life. Somehow.

My mom greeting her new great granddaughter, Hadley Rose.
She was seriously delighted by the baby.

When she was my age, a mere 68, my mom was still active in church, walked the neighborhood with friends, played bridge, did all sorts of intricate crafts, cooked up a storm, read books and magazines daily, traveled with my father, and was always making something or doing something for family. Had she known that she would live another 30+ years and be so diminished, I wonder what she would have said or done or thought.

I'm wondering the same about myself.

Mom with some of her family in June, 2013.

Note: If you've never seen Harold and Maude, you must. No matter your age. Here's some info from Wikipedia. 

Get-away on Oregon's Illinois River with Four Wheel Camper

Every now and then PK and I look at each other, nod at our modest, but deluxe-to-us, little camping unit, and, without saying much,  agree. Let's go. Even for one night. It's so easy, after all those years of tent and river camping, to just throw a little food into the Four Wheel camper's refrigerator, fill the propane and water tanks, and hit the road. Someday we hope to do this for months at a time. For now, we must be content with a few days here and there. Most recently, it was to Southern Oregon's Illinois River, a clear rushing stream near (and in) the Kalmiopsis Wilderness. 

Here's what I love about our Four Wheel camper atop our Toyota Tundra: It's light and portable and easily handles narrow and awkward backroads full of potholes and rocks. It has a sink, running water, a refrigerator, a queen-sized bed, a CD/radio/iPod player, a heater, a two-burner propane stove, and battery powered electricity. Lights! Heat! What luxury! We can camp in unofficial campsites such as this. Not a single vehicle passed by because, well, the road sucks. We were a stone's throw from the turquoise splendor of the Illinois River. This spot is about 90 minutes from home. In case you're wondering about the obvious, we carry a portable toilet inside the camper, but use it only for number one. For the other, we have a shovel and good knees.

The Illinois River Falls. I recently learned that son Quinn came here often as a high school student, navigating a terrible road, to walk over the rough basalt, radiating heat waves, to reach the falls and the amazing swimming hole below. What a great teenage playground. I had no idea. Parents, of course, are often clueless. I grew up in North Dakota. We could not imagine such a wonder within easy striking distance. We did have the Mouse River, though. Aptly named.

This sign greeted us at the entry to one of our old stomping grounds, the road over the Chetco Pass leading to a trail to the beautiful Chetco River deep in the Kalmiopsis Wilderness. The Biscuit Fire in 2002 destroyed 500,000 acres and was the primary reason we haven't been back for so long.

Brush is coming back strong from the 2002 fire, but it doesn't replace

the forest that used to be here. Wait another 100 years or so.

For many years we backpacked to the clear and beautiful Chetco River on Memorial Day weekends, including in 1987 when Chris was not quite one and Quinn was not quite 10. I still can't believe we packed a baby in diapers into the wilderness! Rattlesnakes abounded and all Chris wanted to do was eat rocks and throw himself into the river. (This part has not changed.) It wasn't that much fun, to tell the truth. But on this day we went no further on the road to Chetco Pass, but instead hiked a short trail to the Illinois River Falls. 

Creek crossing on one of many short hikes along the Illinois River.

Parking lot at the trailhead to the Illinois River Falls.

The Illinois River rages big time during the winter but in late June 2013, swimming holes are placid and inviting.

Forty (!!!!) years ago friend Grace and I spent four or five days camping on this beach on the Illinois River as I was handling a major transition (build up to divorce) and she was building up to her own tumult. Then, this spot was a mining claim. Today it is hiking destination for an official trail. No more mining claim, and still a gorgeous swimming hole. When Grace and I camped here, we tried to oust a thick rattlesnake by dropping a boulder from a tree (which I somehow climbed with the rock) The boulder missed the snake. The snake looked bored. Amused, maybe? We moved our operations closer to the river. But then....there were the baby rattlers. 

Rare carnivorous pitcher plants native to the Kalmiopsis. 

There's a lot to be said for getting outta Dodge, even for a day or two. Not that I don't love home and garden and friends and every day ordinary life. But somehow, those get-aways trump just about everything. What's next? A quick trip to the Oregon coast coming soon. Damn, we're lucky to live in Southern Oregon.

Simple Cucumber Salad Ushers in Sweet, Sweet Summer

It was 104 this afternoon in the Costco parking and 102 in our shaded gravel driveway. Dreadful for us, but for tomatoes!? Hot damn! About a dozen Early Girls ripened significantly since yesterday. And the English-type cucumbers rival the zucchinis in wowzers overnight growth. The bounty above made it in short order onto our dinner plates. By mid-September, we'll be tired of this fare, but tonight was a culinary celebration.

On the plate our first Caprese salad. We had to make do with cheese other than fresh mozzarella, not as good, but for our first tomato harvest, it had to do; simple cucumber and onion salad (recipe below); grilled New York steak; marinated grilled zucchini, onions, and peppers (not from the garden.)

The cuke/onion salad is a summer staple. It is so easy to make and delicious. I credit my mother, who is fast approaching age 98, for this recipe. It is a piece of my midwestern childhood that has been repeating every summer for decades. The first salad of the season always tastes the most amazing. Here you go:

Simply Delicious Cucumber Onion Salad

Ingredients (serves 2 with some leftover)

You can alter the amounts easily. Figure a medium cuke per person plus a little onion. The dressing is one third water, one third vinegar, and one third sweetener. If you use a food processor to slice the veggies, this fresh crisp salad takes about five minutes.

2 medium-sized English cucumbers (or other slicing cukes) 

half of 1 small sweet onion such as Walla Walla

3 tablespoons cider vinegar

3 tablespoons water

3 tablespoons sugar (Or sugar substitute. I use Splenda.)

Salt and pepper to taste

Directions

Slice the cukes into thin rounds. Slice the onion thinly. Place into glass bowl. Mix the vinegar, water, and sugar. Add whatever salt and pepper you like. Pour over cukes and onions and mix. Serve immediately at room temperature or wait a few hours. This is good the next day, but will have "wilted". Even then, the cukes and onions remain crunchy.  

Quinoa, Avocado and Nectarine Salad

The cup of red quinoa doubles in volume when cooked, but is still trumped by all the veggies, herbs, fruit and nuts in this delicious salad. Sub mangoes or cantaloup for nectarines. 

As a carb avoider, I try to mitigate starchy stuff, such as brown rice or quinoa, by adding loads of flavorful-vitamin-and-fiber-rich veggies and fruits, the idea being that fiber slows down weight-gain-inducing blood sugar spikes. Quinoa is a tad more virtuous than brown rice, and is much less sticky, hence I've been experimenting with a variety of quinoa salads inspired, in part, by a recipe from Two Peas and Their Pod. The quinoa salad recipe below is about one part quinoa to three parts veggies, fruit and nuts. It tastes divine and, with all the veggies, is relatively low carb.

Just two cups of quinoa (one cup uncooked) and piles of veggies and fruit dressed in lime, mint, cumin and olive oil make enough salad to please a potluck crowd.

Quinoa, Avocado, and Nectarine Salad

• 1 cup uncooked quinoa. I like the nuttier flavor of red or black, but white is OK
• 2 cups water
• Pinch of salt

Cooking the quinoa

I've learned that most quinoa sold in the USA is already rinsed, but just in case, I rinse it anyway. Dump it into a fine strainer and swish it around in a bowl of water. Transfer into a pot with a lid, add the 2 cups of water and a dash of salt, heat covered over medium to a gentle boil, turn the heat to low, and cook for 15 minutes, or until water has disappeared. (If you start on high heat, the quinoa boils up and sticks to the side of the pan. you won't like it.) Remove lid and fluff with a fork. It works well to cook the quinoa ahead and let it cool before adding all the stuff below.

Warning: This recipe is designed for a crowd—it'll feed up to 12 people. Cut by a half or two-thirds for four servings or less. Most quinoa salads will keep well for a few days, but the avocados and nectarines give this salad a shorter life. 
Don't be scared off by all the ingredients, and do NOT run to the store if you're missing something. (Running to the garden is permitted.) You really can't go wrong. Substitute what you have on hand, or leave things out.  

Ingredients

• 3 medium to large ripe nectarines or peaches, cut into chunks. They should be ripe but not soft. Mangoes are a great alternative in this salad. Add these and the avocados last.
• 2 large red, yellow or orange sweet peppers, or enough small sweet peppers to equal 1 1/2 to 2 cups chopped into medium-sized pieces.
• 1 medium sweet onion or four or five green onions, diced.
• large handful of fresh pea pods, cut into pieces. (I used these only because they're going crazy in the garden. If you don't have them, no worries.) 
• 2-3 medium avocados, cut into chunks and drizzled with lime juice. Set aside and add last. Slice a half of an avocado to decorate the top, if you want a jazzy presentation. Be sure to sluice slices with lime so they don't turn blackish and look like turds.
• 1/2 cup slivered almonds
• 6 or 7 chard leaves, center stem removed. Roll and slice into thin strips, then cut strips in half.
• 
• 1-2 tablespoons fresh spearmint, minced. Cilantro or basil are good substitutes.
• 1-2 tablespoons fresh  flat Italian parsley, minced.

Dressing

• 1/3 cup fresh lime juice
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• salt and pepper to taste

Mid-June Garden is Messy. But Good

These cabbage plants were started from seed in the solarium months ago. I wish I had a photo of when they were transplanted because they looked sick, sad and saggy and I feared for their survival. After a month of clinging to life, I gave them a good shot of organic fertilizer, the sun decided to help out, and now they're prize specimens, despite the weeds nipping at their heels. We already have enough homemade sauerkraut to create gas for the entire neighborhood, so we'll likely eat these in salads and soups. They'll stay crisp and pretty in the garage refrigerator for a few months. In the background, peppers cry out for sun and heat, which we haven't had much of for several days.  

This is a mess of perennials. The yellow flowers were planted at least 25 years ago. The lilies, just emerging, are more recent, maybe 10 years. So much of what's out there has its own life, its own mind, its own mess. Especially the pernicious weeds, which are currently overcome by the perennials. Despite the appearance that the flowers are victorious over the weeds, I spend several hours a year beating back the invaders. 

Oh the joy! The first zukes create a big culinary

hot flash, but it's over quickly—as soon as 

production outpaces pent-up demand. This 

happens quickly.

We planted five or six onions varieties, some sweets to eat right away

and keepers that will last until next spring. Garlic is in the background.

Blueberries planted five years ago are coming on strong. The
challenge is keeping them picked before the birds swoop in. 

The first raspberries of 2013. Goldens are super sweet, the best!

Lowly chard protected from evil finches with wire fencing AND wire mesh. We've left the poor beets uncovered, and they're being ravaged by those little bastards. Early chard is a miracle of tender sweetness and super productivity. This small patch can be harvested every other day!

 We eat it all in salads, stir fries and smoothies. Yes, smoothies. 

The peas have passed their peak and I noticed some yellowing leaves today as I was picking. (I also noticed slugs. See below) We planted too many peas. I quit freezing them because they just don't taste that good. But residents and caregivers at my mom's assisted living place love em fresh from the garden. The ability to give produce away is part of the fun of gardening. Did I say "fun"? Hmmm. Not quite. Let's say pleasure, satisfaction, gratification. What is fun? Dancing.

I rustled these juicy slugs from beneath the peas after today's rain 

flushed them out of hiding. They're about to die. No salt. 

Garden shears do the deed quickly. 

Every plant in this photo is a volunteer or a perennial. The birds "plant" sunflowers all around, perhaps in thanks for all the sunflower seeds they devour in their fall frenzy. 

A lot more labor intensive than the flower bed is the main garden: peppers, onions, peas, beans, tomatoes, eggplants, zucchinis, winter squash, melons, potatoes, cabbage, kale, chard, cucumbers. Weeds.

My second favorite volunteer after sunflowers—cosmos. I give them

 an assist by relocating them into clusters. 

We're having a cool wet spell, which is fine for the garden. When summer returns it will explode with growth, and ripe tomatoes will soon appear. I can't wait for the first Caprese salad. The basil and tomatoes are going to quiver with juiciness and joy, ecstatic when the sun comes back. Me too, as on my way to harvest tomatoes and basil, the lilies and poppies will shimmer with light and we will all smile in our own way.

Camp Cooking on the River

This simple but delicious camp meal was a breeze. I marinated the London broil and made the quinoa, avocado and mango salad at home. Our garden peas were stir fried tender crisp with butter and spring onions. 

I wasn't always a food Nazi, but now that I am, kinda, I see no reason to eat anything camping that I wouldn't ordinarily consume. PK and I are moving toward "later life", but we still sleep on the ground in a tent, stumble outside in the dark seeking nighttime bladder relief, and cook under what some might consider primitive conditions so we can spend a few days rafting and camping on the banks of Oregon's Wild and Scenic Rogue River, which is literally in our backyard. We've also done self-guided trips on the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon, on the Snake River between Oregon and Idaho, and on Idaho's Middle Fork of the Salmon through the Frank Church Wilderness. Every trip, we have to cook, and, most often, enjoy (or endure) the cooking of our companions. 
 A few of you may have read a post I wrote in August 2009 in which I declared a hiatus from river trips. Obviously I have come around. I thoroughly enjoyed the trip described here. Of course, we had benevolent weather and there were just four of us. It was heaven. It will be my one river trip this year. More than that, and I could get sick of river trips for the reasons described in the earlier post.

But back to camp cooking. We do not suffer. Through the years we've developed a proper kitchen that weighs a ton and is getting harder to sling around as the years accumulate. However, once it's set up, it's deluxe.

This custom-made aluminum box holds enough cookware, cutlery and

dinnerware for preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner for about 16 people. 

But eeeuuwww. I don't like those big groups anymore.

Fellow camper and friend of 30-some years, Linda Shonk, is up at the crack heating water for our morning beverages in the camp kitchen. The rectangular thing on the ground by the camp chairs is a fire pan, a mandated piece of equipment to save beaches from fire rings. We barbecued our London broil over it, using a portable grill. The small boat between the rafts got away from another group. We secured it on the beach for them to find. Hope they did!

We haul a giant cooler packed with anything we want to eat or drink. And I mean anything. On one trip, another couple prepared a salt-encrusted prime rib roast on a 100-degree day! (They later divorced, and that may have been the reason.) We've had stuffed cornish game hens, eggs Benedict with hollandaise made from scratch, pork roast, lasagna, cherry cobbler, chocolate cake—whatever will fit into a Dutch oven, over a grill or into industrial-sized cooking pots or fry pans.

The homemade table folds up as does the muslin utensil organizer.

As usual, rocks become part of the kitchen. 

Here's PK, always ready to ply his companions with quality tequila.
After the big rapids, of course. 

Cocktail hour after a tough day of floating class 2 and 3 rapids. Linda and I also hiked several miles on the Rogue River Trail. Note the crowds. For an appetizer we made fresh guacamole with plenty of lime, salt and chopped sweet onion eaten with blue corn chips. 

Our home for the night in our vintage Moss tent. Ahhhh.

PK packing up the kitchen on day two as we prepare to move downstream.

Here I am at our second and last camp enjoying a cold drink and cool river on a hot day.
My bikini days are long over, by the way. I'm now a cover-up girl.

Poems for Ordinary People - guest blog

I love the book Poems for Ordinary People by Carol Allis. So does my sister, Monette Johnson, who turned me on to Carol's poetry a year ago, at least, when Carol's book was published. She offered then to write a guest blog, but I said, oh no, I love Carol's  poetry, and poetry in general, and I will do it. Well. I didn't. My feelings about poetry are complicated. I have a long history with it. I love it. I hate it. I want it. Anyway. Here's a lovely piece written by my dear sister. I hope you enjoy, and that you consider installing Carol Allis' book in your library. Mary K. 

By Monette Johnson

If you're like me and mostly avoid poetry because you find much of it esoteric, pretentious, bewildering and just plain don't get it, meet Carol Allis. 

Carol writes "Poems for Ordinary People" as her first book title announces, and there's not an esoteric, pretentious or bewildering line to be found. Her poems speak to ordinary folks like most of us --

ordinary poets

Is there poetry for ordinary people
You know
Waitresses and nurses
People who clean floors and fix roads
And string cable and make sandwiches
And sing good-night songs
And go off to work every day
To pay for groceries and bicycles
Just ordinary people
Who hear the rhythm and music
Of ordinary life every day
Who don't have time
To ponder navels
Dissect complex phrases
Or analyze a line to death
People who think in poetry every day
But don’t have time to write it down
And not much time to read
Catching lines on the fly
That kind of poetry

Carol Allis

Carol grew up in a household where poems were read regularly at her grandmother's dinner table. She started writing them herself after her father gave her a manual typewriter when she was seven, teaching herself to type using both index fingers (a method that serves her well to this day).

I've known Carol since the 1980s when I hired her to work as a writer in the hospital Public Relations Department I headed. She was a late applicant because of a bureaucratic screw-up by the County Personnel (before we all became human resources) Department which had informed her she failed the writing test.

Testament to her persistence, she challenged their results ("I've never failed a test in my life.") and sure enough, they'd made a mistake. I knew within two minutes of starting her interview that she was the right person for the job. What I didn't know until reading her inscription in my copy of her book ("Thank you for mentoring me in my first writing job; you helped me believe in myself.") is that, well, it was her first writing job.

Didn't matter a bit.  Not only was she the best writer I ever hired, she was the fastest and most productive. I believe she invented multi-tasking before it became a catchword.

Even though we worked together for five years, I didn't know she wrote poetry until a year or so before her book was published when I read some of her poems online. My first thought was damn, these are good, hope she finds a publisher.

Fortunately the North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc., St. Cloud, Minnesota, came through and published the book late last year. Readings at area bookstores and book clubs ensued with the books selling out at each location. (She began taking more copies to each reading.)

Her book is divided into topics: Ordinary Poets, Outrage, Love, Family, Thinking too Much, Hurting, Hooked, Loss, Respite, Reflections, and The Light Side. When I started writing this, I paged through and re-read a number of poems at random. Despite having read them before, I found myself choking up over several, smiling at more.  Here's one of the smilers:

body parts

Write a poem

About a body part

(the assignent was)

I thought and thought

Which part?

Which one is my favorite?

Some of mine

Haven't been used lately . . .

Tennis muscles

Racquetball ligaments

Torn hamstrings

Hairline-fractured ankles

And . . . other parts . . .

Parts that go unused

When love is on the skids . . . 

Well, one thing's functioning

The heart beats on

Despite the varied struggles

Of injured, aching, waning

Body parts

And the brain, of course

But here are all these other body parts

Waiting for jump starts

Carol retired a couple of months ago from her job as a public information officer "translating governmentalize into words ordinary people can understand."  Now she can spend more time translating life experience into the kind of poetry ordinary people can understand.

For more poems:  PoemsforOrdinaryPeople.com
The book is available at Amazon.com.

Read one of my favorites from Carol's book. MK