Tuesday, August 17, 2010

My summer vacay, part 1: BEARS!

When I mentioned to my auntie Ellen that PK and I were headed to Glacier National Park before going to what turned out to be a fabulous five-day wedding (vacay, part 2, coming soon), she wrote back in ALL CAPS that GRIZZLIES had been EATING and MAULING people in Montana just LAST MONTH and to WATCH OUT!

I paid scant attention, as my auntie is more cautious than most people, and besides, I hadn't seen the news accounts of the bear attacks and for some reason, I brushed the information aside as I packed my hiking shoes. Then we got to the park and around every corner we were confronted by GREAT BIG BEAR WARNINGS.The photo above is the cover of a brochure distributed at all the entries to Glacier NP. You probably can't see on this reproduction, but this bear has BLOOD around its ferocious human-devouring mouth! And this is just the beginning. The national parks have a major fear campaign going on, and I must admit, it worked on me. 

We went first to the Many Glaciers area on the east side of the park to pursue hikes recommended by Glacier-Park-frequenting friends. However, about half the trails, including the major ones, were closed due to BEAR DANGER. This danger, we were told, was because not only had bears been seen on or near the closed trails during recent park ranger sweeps, but bears had actually charged people. We were congregated in a ranger station with numerous other would-be hikers when we got this news,  and I asked: Which area would we be least likely to encounter bears?  The ranger, accustomed to clueless tourists and their stupid questions, responded, "All the trails have been closed due to bears at some time this year. There's no guarantee." In other words, around any corner of any trail, we could run into the very bear depicted on the brochure—a vicious tourist-charging blood-stained bear just itching to crush neck bones.

We discovered that this warning was at all trailheads.
We considered our options and bought some bear spray, which, incidentally, costs $47 + tax a pop. We would not have time to attend a Bear Spray Clinic, which is encouraged by another brochure with an even more ferocious bear on its cover. The sales clerk who sold the spray admitted she hadn't invested, as she was uncertain that, if confronted by an attacking bear, she would possess the presence of mind to deploy the spray without compromising her own position. Given seconds to respond, could she factor wind velocity and direction to avoid spraying herself and prevent turning into pitiful bear bait writhing on the trail? She thought not.
I had the same concern, but PK didn't share it. He thought that a bear attack would be slow in coming and he could figure out how to take the safety from the spray can and shoot the bear in the snout. Self confidence is a good quality in a man, and I think he could figure it out. But I don't believe bears are leisurely in their approach to charging. It didn't seem like a good time to argue, however, and PK carried the bear spray.

Our first hike was unsatisfactory. We headed toward a destination six miles away as we reviewed what we had just learned about bears. They like trails. They hang out by water and prefer heavy vegetation. This trail was along a lake and cut through major brush. Armed with our bear spray, we followed the directive to SHOUT OUT! frequently, and MAKE A LOT OF NOISE!  We felt really stupid doing this. We turned around after a couple miles. The next day, we had much better luck. And we came close to seeing a sow bear and her two cubs. A photo album and more about our almost-saw-a-bear-and weren't-very-scared experience follows. 

Friday, July 16, 2010

Tourist territory 3 - Southern Oregon coast, and getting there

My niece Lisa feeling the power of a Pacific Ocean sunset on her first visit to the Oregon coast.
 My sister, niece, mother and I spent two days and one night traveling to the ocean from Grants Pass and back in early May. This post is by no means an exhaustive list of what to do and see. But it's what we did and what we saw and it was good. Very good.

First, traveling from Grants Pass, let's stop at It's A Burl in Kerbyville, which for the first three decades of trips en route from the Rogue Valley to the Oregon coast, I dismissed as "too tacky."
The owners live in this house, which is behind the store fronting the Redwood Hwy.
 When entertaining visitors a few years ago, however, we stopped and marveled for more than an hour. It's a Burl is worth your time no matter who you are.
Visitors can also see the "factory" and the burl storage area, and tour several fantastical tree houses and so on. It's free. Stop there. I'm not kidding. It's worth an hour, at least. Moving on, we reach the redwoods...

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Today's take

You're not looking at radishes amidst all that green, but beets. Big fist-sized beets. The traditional magenta-colored ones are on the right and the scarlet harlots on the left. Having eaten both varieties two days running, I vote for the traditional. They're still saturated with color after cooking and oh-so-dripping-with beety sweetness—earthy. dense. stick-to-your-teeth beet-sugar flavor. The bright red beets turn pale and yellowish with cooking, although still delicious. But I'll go for the color and all those antioxidants purportedly stashed in deeply colored veggies and fruits.

In the basket, what's left of the spring broccoli and peas. In the background, a big wad of chard, with much more to come and a lot already in the freezer. Tonight we devoured all that chard for dinner. We had a little help from son, Chris, who showed up unexpectedly, as is his wont.

Chard recipe alert!
First, chop some of the colorful stalks. Saute in butter. Five minutes later, add the ripped-up (or chopped, if you must) leaves, then some minced garlic and sweet onion. Cook in olive oil and butter until the chard is soft but not mushy. About five minutes. Salt, pepper, and pepper flakes to taste.

And in the foreground,  sweet onions thinned from rows planted too closely.  Not far from this lawn scene, grow baby zukes, ripe cherry tomatoes, tiny cucumbers, bean shoots wrapping around anything that gets too close—weeds, onions, your ankles, if you linger. And then summer's later glories - tomatoes, eggplants, and peppers, gathering strength from the finally-here warmth. More garden photos, if you choose.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Portland Blues Fest extravaganza

Dawn Welch and her son, Josh, rockin' out to Little Feat, Portland Blues Fest, July 5, 2010.
Click on the photo to see it full-sized.
Yahoo! Four days of music, dancing, and carrying on. In the meantime. My mind wanders to home. To my mother, age 93, who, I hear, has called my sister five times in one day to inquire about my whereabouts. To our sons, one a proud new and sleep-deprived father, the other an insane kayaker who appears to be on the cusp of making a living as a professional athlete. To the new (one and only) grandchild, Mr. Noah. To the garden, the cat, and the summer that is half gone. Even deep into a separate reality, the mind wanders.
Percussion and bass are at the heart of Little Feat. Here's one of the ban's two drummers rockin' out.
But great music, as usual,  takes me away and twirls me around and around and around. I'm not at all alone. Portland is vibrating with great dancers,  and they have inundated the Blues Fest, especially the Front Porch stage, which is pretty much devoted to dance. For the first time ever, I lose confidence in my own dancing and become self conscious—a shocking development.  I learn that Portland has a rich dance culture. Not "on the stage" dancing, but people who go to clubs or to dance classes or music festivals to do their spectacular thing. They have arrived en mass and are a joy to watch. (I actually got to dance with two fancy dancers. I guess they sensed my longing.)
I regret I didn't get photos. I was too in awe. Too jealous. Too old. And not in possession of the camera or the will or the ability to capture the moment. These were magnificent young people (for the most part) full of intricate rhythm and fancy moves and throbbing with life.
I soon got over it. Great bands like Little Feat and Galatic and Curtis Salgado (wow!) restore life force, and I was soon one with the musical moment. Isn't that what live music is all about? I'm am restored now, back to the elderly mother and writing deadlines and the overripe peas and the blueberry plants stripped of fruit by a "well meaning" neighbor, and the bigamist cat that has deserted us for his other home and more accommodating mother, who lets him sleep on her pillow and lick her hair.
I'm way better off for having been immersed in rhythm and dancing and friendships for a brief but renewing getaway.
A few more photos from the weekend.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Roses and rental hell

Summer finally kicked in, and the rose bush in front of the house responded exceedingly well to the long wet cold spell that passed for spring and early summer. With the exception of the pinkish blooms on the right, all these roses are on one bush. Eye candy indeed, and it also pumps out the perfume like a room full of Red Hats. It is good to have this, and other garden delights, to enjoy because right down the road is our one and only rental property that looks like this—and be glad you can't smell it.
Inside and out, a stinking filthy mess. Long story short. We're inept landlords. Too nice. Let them stay too long after failure to pay rent. Gave them 30 days, knowing they had tons of stuff to move that we didn't want to deal with. They didn't budge. Extended a week, after court mediation. They're still roosting. Finally cut over the sheriff's department to order eviction. Another seven or eight days and a pile of $$. Finally, they're outta there! PK's has spent several days dragging and sorting and making piles for give-away, hazardous waste disposal, and the dump. Then comes all the renovation and maybe in a couple of months, it'll be ready for other tenants. Or to sell. If rented again, one thing's for sure: we'll be contracting with a property manager!