Girlfriends' Getaway to the Oregon Coast

Sunshine at the gorgeous Oregon coast with women who have shared decades of friendship celebrate birthdays (3 turn 60 this year) and the joy of life. Left to right, Nancy Fleischman, Marcy Landis, Paula Stone, Joanne Costantino, Gail Frank, Mary Walgrave, Dawn Welch, Chris Costantino, Pat Bange. In case you're wondering, I was behind the camera. But happily!

Girlfriends can be the healing balm for life's cruel wounds. Sob. They can provide shoulders for weeping, hands for holding, and ears for floods of feelings and fears. They will listen to your bitching, commiserate when you have woes, and nod in agreement when you need holding up. We need each other.

On the other hand, girlfriends can also be fantastic, crazy, epic FUN! I am so blessed with friendships, many of 30, even 40 years, duration. Too many girlfriends are far far away: Susan(s), Grace, Bev, Laurie, Patty, Terry, Jeanne, JoAnn, Michele, Margo—but I wish they all could have been along for the friendship ride the past weekend. Below are a few of way-too-many photos. If you want more, links to albums follow.

Making our way from our fantastic oceanfront rental near Bandon to our private beach. Actually, there's  no such thing as a private beach in Oregon because some long-ago visionaries, to whom we are forever grateful, went to the trouble to make sure nobody can "own" one. But access to this beach is limited, hence it was ours alone. The 30-second video below tells the tale. I haven't learned to edit videos, but most of it is lovely.

The HuffPost ran a recent blog entitled Five Reasons Why Every Woman Needs a Girls' Weekend.  The woman who wrote it is a lot younger, apparently, than our group as she included "boy talk" as a reason. We don't need no stinkin' men to have a great time, and we don't need to talk about them, either. (Ironically, many of us became friends because of our husbands' annual men's trip, going now on for 30 years! The same 10 guys. Remarkable, I think. I am so happy for PK that he has these long-term lifeline friendships. Just like most women I know.)

Friendship and fun. That's the story for the female flock pictured above. We had a couple new faces and were missing several regulars. (Don't worry. We toasted you all. More than once, I'm sure.) Speaking of toasting, we drink a lot of wine. One friend told about girl trips she's taken where the mostly retired-teacher participants drink very little. Instead they smoke pot. Ha!

Historically, this groups heads over to Mt. Bachelor near Bend, Oregon, to ski for a few spring days. But over the years, skiing became less attractive to some, and we shook out into two groups: skiers and shoppers. A coast trip brought us together. And then some.

Paula enjoys a little solitude.

Patty, Mary and Nancy yuck it up.

The Rental. Even better than it looks, and with a stunning ocean view.

Shore Acres state park is just down the road . We enjoyed the formal gardens and
the wave-lashed cliffs.

It was a jungle gym with little girls cavorting. Little girls ages 50-something to almost 70.

Gail had the idea for us to catch some Dungeness crabs with hopes of having a great appetizer, but no such luck. Lucky, however, for the two crabs of legal size that we  ended up liberating. 

Waiting to pull up the crab pots on a pier in the port of Charleston. A little beer and some really terrible but tasty junk food—jalapeno cheese crunchy thingies—helped pass the time. 

Patty's eye beams penetrate her sunglasses as she clutches her beer
and calls forth the crabs.

The Stone sisters check out the latest crabby bunch hauled up from the bay bottom. 

Just one steep slippery patch required we accept assistance at the bottom of the trail to the beach. Alpha women do not like to accept assistance. But it seemed preferable to a red-dirt butt.

Tossing a baci ball onto the beach for our upcoming game.

Throwing into the wind on a beach sloping to the sea complicated baci ball accuracy.

About 10 minutes of relaxation before moving on to the next fun thing. I think it was shopping.

Yes, we are women and we do shop. A group feeding frenzy in a chic boutique made for a happy shop owner and heated-up credit cards. There's something about trying on a garment that costs way too much, then parading before your friends to a chorus of ooooohhhhs and aaaaahhhhhs. Anyway. I have three new tops. I think I need to revisit the year during which I bought nothing new, except, of course, for food and sanitary supplies.

We made a haul shopping on a blustery afternoon at Devon's Boutique 
in Bandon, a surprisingly classy shop for a tiny coastal burg.

Learning the electric slide, one more time.

Gourmet meals are part of the deal in a take-turns cooking plan where two-person teams each plan and make one meal. This is a French fish stew called bouride. Fabulous. Thanks, Dawn and Patty.

The birthday girls in a blurry shot. Only a few days, weeks, or months
remain for them to enjoy being 50-something. Someone else is enjoying her last
months of separation from being 70. Moi. 

Frenetic game of pass-the-paddle ping pong. 

Gail was one of three birthday girls during the "year of the horse." 

Group dance to Mustang Sally made for lots of trotting action to Wilson Pickett's beat.

Wanna see more pics? Here you go.  And more? They just keep going. One more?  Clearly, I was out of control. 

Kale and Garlic Frittata Starring Yoga Eggs

Note: If you're reading this on email, everything looks better if you click on the blog headline to get to the website. Also, if you could care less about my ramblings and just want the recipe, scroll down about 10 inches and you're there: Kale and Garlic Frittata.

I didn't realize how much I missed my yoga teacher's eggs until I opened her egg carton this morning and cracked a smile that lit up the kitchen. Yes! A rainbow of farm-fresh eggs from Shanti's clutch of quirky hens fresh out of their winter slump. A couple years ago, when I first scored eggs from Shanti, she was selling them for $2 a dozen. What?! Too cheap, I told her. She said $2 was enough to almost break even, and that wasn't counting the hens' entertainment value. She finally came around to $3 a dozen, still a major bargain considering that hers are truly cage-free happy hens wandering her little farm hunting bugs and greens and eating organic feed and enjoying Shanti's admiration. Despite our recent cold, wet weather, her "girls" have responded favorably to longer daylight and are pumping out the protein. Cluck, cluck, such luck.

Shanti Chagnon, unconventional yoga teacher and
keeper of hens. This is what she
wears to teach kick-ass power yoga. Love her.

To show off the difference between eggs laid two days ago by happy hens and one that came in a $5 carton claiming it to be "all natural, vegetarian fed, produced without hormones or antibiotics, containing 350 mg of Omega 3." In addition to the paler yolk, the store-bought egg white is runnier. Even with the one anemic loser, these eggs made a fine frittata. (Yoga eggs are nice, but not required.)

Kale and Garlic Frittata

4 large eggs, beaten

5 ounces of fresh chopped kale (about three large handfuls, chopped. The kale, not the hands.)

3-4 medium-sized garlic cloves, minced

1/4 large onion, chopped

3 T olive oil, butter or coconut oil

1/3 cup shredded Parmesan, cheddar or other cheese (or more)

salt and pepper to taste

Two servings, low-carb, gluten-free.

Directions

Heat the oil in a small frying pan, if you're cooking for two. Add the chopped onion and saute over medium heat until translucent. Add the minced garlic and stir fry until fragrant, about a minute. Add the chopped kale, stir with onions and garlic and cover. Steam over medium-low heat for about 10 minutes, or until the kale has wilted. NOTE: I used Trader Joe's. kale-for-cooking, about half of a 10-ounce bag. It had some nasty chunks of thick kale stems, which I picked out and bestowed upon the compost pile.

Kale, onions, and garlic before steaming.

Beaten eggs setting up. At this point, it's good to gently turn them over. 

After turning, cook until the eggs are set, a minute or two, season with salt and pepper,

then add cheese. Turn heat to low and cover for a few minutes to melt the cheese. NOTE: I used a great product, chipotle finishing salt, from Salinity LLC. Check it out. They have lots of natural flavors. Made in Southern Oregon.

If you eat this nutrient-packed kale frittata, you might be able to do this!

At Sundance Healing Arts Studio.

Or this!

Shanti on the farm tractor, hens foraging nearby.

And now, what you've been waiting for, a cold frame update! I can bend over to work in the cold frame and lift its heavy cover more easily because of yoga.

Russian kale is starting to surge in the center while endive lettuce and puny spinach are wondering

if I forgot to add enough compost when I planted seeds in October. 

My favorite kale variety, lacinato, AKA dinosaur kale, is emerging in pots where seeds were planted a week ago. Yeah! Seedlings will be thinned to one per pot and transplanted to the garden in late March, early April.

 BE BRAVE ABOUT WINTER. SPRING IS ON ITS WAY. IN THE MEANTIME, DO YOGA. 

EAT KALE.  MAKE A NICE FRITTATA. 

Winter gardening? Not a lot of action...but some fun.

The resident wildlife enjoying his own shadow as he strolls past the cold frame.

I've been fixated on Africa posts, because, as you may have noticed, I gathered so much richness so quickly that I've  focused on digesting the African experiences with words and photos. I'm not finished. But ordinary life does intrude, and it is the predominant reality, and so it goes. While in Africa the lions prowl, the giraffes gambol, the elephants lumber, the springboks bok, and in Southern Oregon the gardeners twiddle their thumbs, mostly.

The January garden looks sad, even on a sunny day. There's no sense in working it until late February or early March. If then. The white cloth near the back protects overwintered chard. Sorta.

But time moves on, and my attention turns, briefly, to the garden. We've had a cold dry winter, despite one storm that blanketed everything with snow then slicked roads with ice for a couple weeks. Still, the seed catalogs arrive in their seasonal flurry and seeds planted in early fall are struggling in the cold frame.

Spinach, lettuce and kale in the cold frame are sulking. At least they survived our unusual single-digit winter temps.We'll be harvesting out of the cold frame in February. The shadow? The cat.

One garden chore that can be tackled in January is digging and separating leek bulbs. Somehow I like the mindlessness, the Zen, of crumbling dirt and pulling apart the bulbs, laying out the plants and separating into bunches, some to replant, most to give away. The earth's heady fragrance, the warmth of the winter sun, the chirruping of the birds at the feeders. All good. All these little starts came from one clump. I'll end up with enough to plant the whole garden in leeks, should I be foolish enough to do so. Separating and replanting the bulbs is tedious but I know what happens in June that makes the work worthwhile.

Here it is. Leeks in action! We eat few leeks, because onions are so much easier, but leek flowers?

They're major bee magnets plus they make great dried and cut flowers and are stunning three-foot tall additions to the garden. I know they're coming back. I can't wait.

In the meanwhile, we consider travel to South America and boogieing at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. We also think about a new roof and replacing a deteriorating living-room rug. And also about leaving resources for our children and theirs. After 40 years of marriage, purchasing a headboard and a dresser for our bedroom also rears up. How boring. How to spend money when it is limited? Always a question, but I'm tending toward South America and away from a new living room rug. But on to January gardening.

  A geranium that loves winter. I almost threw this 15? year-old plant onto the compost, but I'm glad to have it as a mood booster. It is great to having something that loves winter. It lives in the solarium of our semi-solar abode. And we live in in our home of umpteen years in a semi-nomadic mood. 

Serendipity then and now

Serendipity officially means accidental good fortune. When I started this post, I intended to write about January gardening. That took me, somehow, to Africa and travel, and then to discontent with my ordinary life and then to childrearing, marriage, and the march of time. And back again. You'll find no gardening here.

 Serendipity—a pleasurable outcome of  brain exploration translated to fingers on the keyboard.  Writing.

 Ever since returning from Africa in mid-October, I've been discontented with ordinary life. No one is cooking for me. No one is driving me around. No one is concerned minute-to-minute with my entertainment. (Thank you, Kara Blackmore and TIA.) There are no giraffes, elephants, lions, gorillas, rhinos, impalas, springboks, cape buffalos, chimps, hippos, exotic birds or even crocodiles parading or posing for my enjoyment.

Oops. Forgot to mention zebras, who seemed eager to have their picture taken.

There's also a terrible absence of drifts of exotic flowers, and forests consisting of what look like giant houseplants. 

Pincushion proteas, indigenous to the Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden in Cape Town, South Africa, is among 7,000 species thriving in one of the world's great botanic gardens. We spent nearly four hours exploring the eye-blasting magic at the foot of the famous Table Mountain.

Sometimes in Uganda or in South Africa—which I haven't blogged about yet —you can't decide where to look. There's so much to see, so much to do. And the people. Suffice it to say that ordinary life for most Ugandans is different from mine. Their realities make me embarrassed about the luxuries of my privileged never-had-to-think-about-food-or-water ordinary blue-eyed life. Also makes me ponder, what do we really need?

This beautiful Ugandan teenager is making her fifth one-mile round trip from her home to the Nile River balancing 50 pounds of water, which must be boiled at least an hour to be potable. Note that her balance is so good the jerry can lacks a plug. Such are the skills necessary for survival. 

Back in rural Southern Oregon in the dead of winter, I am having to work at being delighted, excited, awed or inspired, as if those are the states-of-being I expect or, more importantly, deserve. That's what Africa did to me. I got accustomed to daily delight, excitement, awe and inspiration. I can tell you, it's not a bad way to live.

Except for a couple spectacular days at the Oregon coast in mid-December, (photos here), dullsville is where I'm at now.  Usually, when returning from a "holiday" as vacations are called in South Africa, I am ready to be home. This time, not. I'm restless, resurrecting that irresistible urge to be on the move that spurred me back in the early 1970s, before babies and jobs and house payments tethered us.

 I say "us" because I've been partners with the same man for going on 41 years. We have our own early histories, but at this point, our shared time predominates. We've been together a couple decades longer than the ages we were when we met. Who knows when you commit to someone that this can happen? If you're lucky, it does.

In Mexico 2006

When our first child arrived in 1977, the itchy feet gave way to nesting and to kid-loving to the center of my being and back. The reason most parents can put up with sleepless nights and toddlers screaming in the grocery store, is that kid-love consumes them.

Chris, left, and Quinn Korbulic, 1999

I love our adult sons, but not as viscerally as when they were babies, toddlers, young children, and even despicable (sometimes) teenagers. They're cut loose and my oh my, who they have become pleases me so. How I adore them still. We won't even get into the grandchildren. Another time.

Back in the day, and besotted with kid-love, I was content with camping and rafting and the occasional two-week summer vacation along with the pleasure and pain of raising children, sustaining a marriage, developing a writing/editing career, and getting acquainted with the Earth in our backyard: the garden, the Rogue River and environs.

I often told myself, and others who would listen, that there's more than one way to travel. Explore your life and journey philosophically, if you can't get out there into the world geography. Having two kids, two jobs, little money, and two or three weeks vacation per annum, I embraced the philosophy route. Time flew. It flapped its wings and dive bombed year after year, pecking me on the head, "You're another year older!"

Now time is pecking me in the eyes, dammit. Get away! Slow the hell down!

Still, I don't regret any of it. I would never give up having raised our sons because both are gifts that keep on giving. And life has come full circle with me being the touchstone for my 98-year-old mom who is in assisted living one mile away.

However. I'm now thinking ours would be a great place to be coming back to. Someday. In the meantime, I will continue to appreciate the small things, and large, that have made this piece of ground home for more than 40 years. It won't be long before we'll be on road longterm and so glad to have a piece of the Earth to settle back into, as birds returning from migration.

Ironically, as I was working on this post, I excavated, from the bottom of a trunk, a diary from 1972. Here's something I wrote August 24 of that year... I was 28 years old.

Driving over the Big Horn Mountains. Stoned. Looking at cows through binoculars and talking about time. A little poem:  

I'll travel til there's no wind left in my soul. Then I'll be old. 

Well, now I AM old, so I'll say the same thing today except for one word:

I'll travel til there's no wind left in my soul.

 Then I'll be dead. 

Leeks in all their glory in our garden. What you can't see or hear are the bees. The bees. Hundreds of bees. Maybe as many bees as there are in all of Africa. Right in my own backyard. Just in case.

Oregon's Steens Mountain with Four Wheel Camper

I'm taking a hiatus from my Africa obsession to revisit a trip to the Steens Mountain Wilderness last year. Email subscribers, if you have trouble viewing, click on the blog title. 

The road to  the Pike Creek trailhead into the east side of the Steens Mountain Wilderness. If you go, that yellow grate might help you pick the right road because there are no signs. You'll know you've arrived when you spot the juniper rock after about a mile of rough going. 

It's cold and dank in Southwestern Oregon. Our lonely Four Wheel Camper is balanced on saw horses and drained of fluids for the winter. Sigh. I am missing the freedom it provides for quick get-aways. But of course camping trips close to home are not that desirable November through February so....nostalgia. One of our best trips ever was to Oregon's Steens Mountains in September 2012. 

This camp is close to the Pike Creek trailhead on the east side of the Steens Mountain Wilderness on an unmarked 4 WD road. Perfect! You can find directions to get there, but there is no such thing as a sign. A creek flows behind the rock from which grows a juniper that apparently exists on minerals, scant moisture, and profuse admiration from occasional campers. 

A closer look at that amazing tree, which is the largest hunk of wood I ever saw rooted in rock.
The trunk actually looks like the rock. I couldn't stop admiring it. The tree seems stronger than stone, but will wither and die long before the stone disintegrates, and eons after these admiring eyes are dead and gone. Wilderness/nature is a time gauge. It isn't going to make you feel any younger, but may inspire you to treasure your remaining moments on earth and ponder the mysteries.

PK, long an enemy of invasive species, pulls the evil puncture vine weed from around the juniper tree camp and piles it into a fire pit.

In the meantime, his sandals picked up
numerous punctures.

Something pretty near the juniper tree camp.

After walking for 10 minutes from the juniper tree, we finally know we're on an official
trail into the wilderness.

Pike Creek is an up and down trail with stream crossings as well as slide crossings such as this. We walked for about 2 hours before deciding it was getting late and time to turn back.

Getting there is half the fun, of course. The Steens are an easy day's drive from our home, and a detour onto Hart Mountain to camp and soak in the hot springs was a bonus.

Here PK, lower right,  lounges with a bunch of naked strangers (me too, but I covered up to take photos, as if anyone cared) in the Hart Mountain hot springs. The younger ones were with a tour group studying medicinal high desert plants. Judging from the fun but erratic conversation, I think there had been some medicinal plant sampling before the hot spring soak. After dark, under a full moon, PK and I made our way a short distance to an undeveloped hot spring and slipped into its shallow hotness surrounded by silence. Divine. It was one of those times when I didn't really want to go because it was cold and dark, but was so glad when I was gazing at the moon through the steam and holding hands with my partner of 40+ years.

It's great having a traveling partner who always wants to know

 where he is and where he's going. Then I don't have to navigate.

Where is he now? A hot springs in the Alvord Desert just down the road from our juniper tree camp. 

What the Alvord hot springs enclosure looks like from the road. It's way back at the end of the trail on the right. A private landowner has made it available to the public and even provided a changing room! Traffic is scant out here on the edge of the desert, so I don't think the "public" is much of a bother. I appreciate that rancher, nonetheless. Thank you.

Typical cattle sighting along the East Steens Road, AKA Folly Farm Road.

The blind around the pond at the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge visitor's center. We saw birds on the pond, but not on the refuge, which is reportedly teeming with wildlife at other times. We visited in the fall of a dry year. A bust. Malheur borders the Steens Mountain Wilderness, and more savvy travelers might time a visit when they could enjoy the benefits of both.

Wildhorse Lake as seen from a trail dropping in from the Steens Mountain Loop Road. We walked about 1.5 miles to this point and decided against the steep descent to the lake. 

The Kiger Gorge, carved by a glacier, from the Steens Mountain Loop Road.

Looking east from atop the Steens Mountain Loop Road.

A trail out of the Page Springs Campground, where we camped for two nights, just a few miles from Frenchglen, features immense stands of cattails and teasel along the Wild and Scenic Donner und Blitzen River.  On a late afternoon hike, we met an ecstatic but exhausted trout fisherman who claimed to have just had the best day of his life fishing on this creek, which he has been visiting for 15 years This is his "life place" he tells us. He was radiant, and it wasn't all sunburn. He told of catching and releasing 18 inch to 22-inch redside trout, and taking 45 minutes to revive one trout before releasing it. He'd accomplished seven or eight river crossings in his waders. I don't know if I've ever seen a happier person, so excited to tell his stories that he gave it all up to strangers along the trail. I'm sorry I didn't get a picture. A few minutes after seeing him, we had a wonderful moment spotting a flock of cedar waxwings alighted in a snag near the river, producing at least some lower-wattage radiance on our faces. 

The Alvord Desert outside the camper window looks fine as I prepare food cooked ahead at home.

You can see that although the Four Wheel is small, it has amenities. Next to the stove is a roomy refrigerator with a freezer! Propane powered. The battery-powered electrical system is charged by driving the truck, and we can charge phones and computers, pump water from the storage tank, have lights etc. I know that veteran RVers are accustomed to far greater luxury, but it wasn't that long ago that we were tent camping. The last-straw experience was at high elevation and the low was 16 degrees. The first time we slept in the Four Wheel we about keeled over of happiness. In case you're dying to know, the camper does not have a toilet. But we use a small portable unit to prevent having to exit into the night when nature calls. We don't want a giant RV because we still want to 

use 4WD roads and get away from crowds and explore and have adventures.

I cook. PK cleans up. 

En route home, we scout a potential road biking route out of Klamath Falls. After a few hours, we decide poor road conditions, mediocre scenery, and relentless hills make this route undesirable.  

Still, we need to find a camp. But, hello! It is the night before deer hunting season opens and the campgrounds, the pullouts, the nooks and crannies, are jam-packed with everything from minimal campers to huge RVs. We're able to locate, an hour before dark, this level spot not far off the road. 

Night night in the camper. Lights off. I'm climbing into our cozy queen-sized bed soon.