CHOCOLATE CRANBERRY APPLESAUCE.

Can’t think, brain numb, inspiration won’t come. My destiny for today.

I worked apples yesterday, putting up bags of apples in the freezer for later use. Since I had a bag of frozen cranberries I thought I’d make cranberry sauce. With a sink full of apples, the combination intrigued me so I put them together and found it very tasty. After dinner, I thought about the ways I’d used cranberries. I remember putting them still frozen in the brownie mix  just before putting them in the oven.  A huge success. In the market, cranberries, cherries, ginger, nuts of all kinds and pomegranate seeds are paired with chocolate.  I decided to have a dish of warmed cranberry applesauce with chocolate.  It was okay. Not great, just okay. I guess I could experiment with the amount and type of chocolate and come up with a better result. A chocolate sauce instead of grated. Or perhaps chocolate chips. Maybe a bit of brandy? You know, some things are just best left alone. I like chocolate and I liked the sauce.   Nuff said.

THERE ARE BEARS OUT THERE.

Yesterday, in excerpts from Bill Dryson’s book, I learned that getting ready for the trail can be very expensive. Today, I want to impart information about bears in the woods. Dryson writes:
“Imagine, if you will, lying in the dark alone in a little tent, nothing but a few microns of trembling nylon between you and the chill night air, listening to a 400 pound bear moving around your campsite. Now, imagine reading a nonfiction book packed with stories…soberly related, just before setting off alone on a camping trip of your own into the American wilderness. …David Anderson, aged twelve, at 3:30 a.m. his tent was abruptly rent with a swipe of claw and the bear, driven to distraction by the rich, unfixable, everywhere aroma of hamburger, bit hard into a flinching limb and dragged him shouting and flailing through the camp and into the woods.”  (Before his fellow campers could give chase, David was dead.)
“…while my wife slumbered peacefully beside me, I lay saucer eyed in bed reading clinically precise accounts of people gnawed pulpy in their sleeping bags, plucked whimpering from trees, noiselessly stalked as they sauntered unawares down leafy paths. People whose one fatal mistake was to smooth their hair with a dab of gel, or eat juicy meat, or tuck a Snickers in their shirt pocket for later, or have sex, or even, menstruate, or in some small way, pique the olfactory properties of the hungry bear. Or inadvertently round a bend and find a moody male bear blocking the path.”

Herrero (the author of the book Dryson is reading entitled Bear Attacks: Their Causes And Avoidance) recounts the indestructibility of grizzly. But, Dryson also learns that if he is to be pawed and chewed by a bear it would be Ursus americanus.  Black bears, with as many as 700,000 in North America,  are agile cunning, immensely strong and always hungry. Herrero researched and found only twenty-three black bear killing of humans  from 1900 to 1980. But, there were twenty-five non-fatal attacks per year from 1960 to 1980. (Black bear picture from People-First website, no attribution given for photographer.)

Herrero then outlines the avoidance strategies for black bears that are just the opposite from grizzly.  Playing dead is futile, a grizzly will lose interest in a limp form, but a black will continue chewing . It is foolish to climb a tree because black bears are adroit climbers and you will simply end up fighting the bear in a tree. To ward off an aggressive black bear, Herrero suggests making a lot of noise, banging pots and pans, throwing sticks and rocks and “running AT the bear”.  Then adds, of course this could merely provoke the bear. Dryson concludes that no one can tell you what to do. Bears are unpredictable.

I have had two encounters with bears in my native Michigan woods, as a child. Scared hell out of me. Three of us slept with our sugar and milk for our cereal near us, food  planned for the next morning’s breakfast. The bear mowed over our improvised log structure for that bit of cereal and sugar. I learned how fast I could run.
The second encounter was a bear standing and looking into the window of our cabin while we slept. It woke us instantly and wildly awake. A male, he went from window to window, seemingly unruffled by the presence of humans on the inside with a gun. We were ruffled.

I hadn’t given much thought to bears since then, even though one has recently been on my property robbing the garbage cans of my tenants. I explained to them they have to quit leaving cat food out at night in an automatic feeder. And, not to toss any food garbage out until the bear quits coming back. It worked after four visits. I’ve taken to freezing my meaty garbage and only put it out on dump day. I’m beginning to rethink walking the Appalachian Trail. I’ve re-arranged goals before. I guess I could be called Greenhorn, Buttercup, sissy. Yup!  But, I have yet to contact Hilda. Gotta do that!  If other people survive…surely I will too.

ODE TO A TRUCK, FROG PURSE AND SPICE TINS.

No one ever had a  yard sale where everything sold.  And, when you retire, there is no such thing as a day off. We fill up every day like there is no tomorrow, considering ourselves lucky that we can.  I figured it out, a garage sale sounds profitable, but in terms of preparation, moving every thing at once, then dealing with the aftermath, it was not worth the work.  At least not for me,  living out on a rural road without the benefit of “walk in” traffic.

But the people who came were infinitely interesting. This customer had an unusual frog purse and I photographed her. She told me everyone makes a fuss over that purse and wants one, but she can’t remember the catalog  she ordered it from, and it isn’t stamped with a company name.
I had one customer who insisted I should sell him my truck. He kept offering me a hundred dollars and the keys to his van. Then he’d up the amount of money. So, I tried to sell him an exercise machine for $2.  (He looked like he needed one.)  He claimed he was bored. He goes to garage and yard sales for something to do. I told him, throw out your television set and you won’t be bored.

The last  I looked my truck was still there. It served as my desk, lunch table, and gathering spot for the neighbors who pulled up the lawn chairs and chatted. Late in the day, we broke out the chips and wine. Jim brought out his portable fire pit that kept us warm during the morning chill.
My daughter claims, you offer everything you didn’t sell  free. We did that and got rid of a few  items. One man gave me a donation for some free stuff. The donation came to more than I was originally charging for some old spice cans. Go figure?
Others sat and chatted with us, enjoying the yard regaled us with tales of their own yard sales. One woman drove away and said yes I want that file cabinet (it was a freebie) but not today. Will she come back?  Was she serious? Only time will tell.

By the end of the day, Karen, Jan, Jim and I felt just like this-deserving a rest. The clean-up is still ahead of us.

ONE LAST DAY

Yard sales are a regular business for some folks. They gather  stuff  DELIBERATELY and do this!!  It takes fortitude. One nice thing, I met neighbors I haven’t visited  in a long time. Several stopped in for a bit of chit-chat.
The other bright spot is watching my partner, Jimmy the Huckster. If it wasn’t for his salesmanship, half of what we did sell would still be  in the yard.  He has a great philosophy,” If you put it in the sale, you want it gone, unless you like hauling all this stuff back where you got it from.”  Kind of puts a thing in perspective. I’ve had an old rear truck bumper someone left at my house in the garden like an ornament around the plants. Jim hauled that out, we cleaned it off, and several people were interested. It will sell today, I’m sure. If someone even looked interested, he would give a spiel and knock the price down. Help them load it and send them on their way.

Jimmy the parking lot attendant ran out and showed people venturing up my long driveway  where and how to park so no one got jammed up in the yard.

Then, Jimmy the good Samaritan,  helped one woman test her power steering fluid, and helped another with her gas additive. He looked up items on the internet previous to the sale for an idea of what various items were worth.

We had  a steady stream of customers all day. Even so,  people are not parting with their dollars easily. One guy let his dog run around for a while. He said, “Don’t worry, he won’t get lost. We feed him. I call him glue.  Here, Glue! Here, Glue!”
We started this sale with Neighbor Jan across the road and one customer said to me:  “You have one hour to bring that lady across the road a cocktail!”  When I had a break I managed to bounce over with a bloody Mary, and a stick of celery in exchange for a hug and some laughter. One of her customers asked:  “Where’s the  bar!”
Today, it will end. Hospice will pick up what we didn’t sell. The wallet a bit fatter and the good feeling of ridding myself of un-needed items someone else can use. Ahh!   All in a day’s yard sale!   (But, never again!)

BACKTRACK TO MENDOCINO-AND SHORT SHEETED

I’ve become accustomed to people referring to our travels as a trip. Since we live on the road for long periods of time to us, it  seems more a journey than a trip. Probably a meaningless distinction to other than road warriors such as we. Getting ready to leave on any “trip” is a major undertaking and I’ve found that returning home is the same thing. Stuff to unload, and re-orient myself to my “other” kitchen, dresser, and where is my…?  Oh, THAT is in the motorhome…and so on.  But, one thing is certain, there is always a surprise waiting for us when we return to Murphys.
On my table was a singing birthday card, tomatoes from sister Karen’s garden, a funny pumpkin,  a bottle of homemade salsa and canned pie apples made by neighbor Jan from my apple trees.  I smiled, knowing, if Jan is afoot, with even a hint of Halloween, something is bound to happen. We went to climb  wearily into bed and.. aha!!   The bed was short-sheeted. I had always heard of short sheeting someone, but didn’t really know what it was.  After fixing the bed,  I went to sleep with a hearty chuckle, and woke minutes later to a ringing phone. How did she know we’d hit the sack so early?  Jan and I shared a good laugh over the phone. She is such a treat to have as a neighbor. Now, I’ve gotta get her back. (This little tit for tat has been going on for years.)

But, I’ve neglected the course of events as we left Fort Bragg and skipped a few short miles south to Mendocino. Even though I dove in these waters, Fort Ross, Pt. Arena in the late 1950′s, I had never hobnobbed about  the town itself.  We started at the Mendocino headlands, Jim particularly looking for telltale signs of the places where The Russians Are Coming was filmed. I was much more interested in a scuba diver just getting outfitted for a dive on the narrow beach below us.
The town’s people are friendly, laid back. I knew it was so. In fact, most of the shops here, including the visitor’s center, don’t open until 11:00 a.m.

One of two medical marijuana shops in town and a medical marijuana users patients rights union. And, they need a union. I did a rant awhile back about the Dr. Rosado, in Calaveras County,  who refused people treatment who had used marijuana legally.  The first article I read in my hometown paper on Monday past was the resignation of  Dr. Rafael Rosado, the medical director of five family medical centers associated with Mark Twain Hospital.  I’m glad he is practicing elsewhere.

Since the stores weren’t open, it was a lively scene around Moody’s Coffee shop and internet cafe. Soccer moms, with strollers and kids, meeting for a cuppa at the sidewalk tables outside. I had a delicious almond pastry with cappuccino. Loved their sign:

What I didn’t know about Mendocino was how artsy it is. And, I needed an art fix. Jim kind of groans a bit when I get in the arts mood, ’cause I gotta have my fix. At Prentice Gallery, luscious flower paintings, and the exciting work of Hillary Eddy who is especially talented in her portrayal  glass.
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They are stunning.

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This Edward Gordon piece looks like a sunny corner of the gallery instead of a painting.

ACM,  Artists Cooperative  Mendocino,  I discovered quality ceramics by Lynne Butler.

Their  theme of Celebrating Botany,  a number of artists featured botanicals, along with jewelry makers and water colorists. Nice show above the Oceans of Quilts store. I was disappointed in the quilts, though beautiful, they are mechanical with the new techniques. They could have been made in a factory.

The shop The Great Put On featuring wearable art I had planned to skip because it was advertised as a place to buy your travel clothes. Huh! This was fantastic, high quality wearable art and I found wonderful stuff in this shop. It may be kitschy for some people, but if you like this sort of stuff, it is thee place to go outside of San Francisco.
There was much to see and do here and I may get to more of it tomorrow, but we  settled into a back street deli and enjoyed a beer and a spinach puff and samosa for me and a sandwich for Jim. I caught my reflection in his sunglasses. Yes, it was a sunny, fun-filled day.

SAMOA COOKHOUSE.

Surprise to no one, the Pacific Northwest was vigorously logged in the 1800′s and 1900′s. My dad worked in a logging camp as a young man in the upper peninsula of Michigan.  And, on his own Forty, years later, he logged and peeled pulp trees for the paper mills in the 1940′s. He selectively logged those few bigger oaks, pines, cherry and  fir that remained to grow to harvestable size after the big companies had already  raped the virgin forests.

Jim thought I’d like to celebrate my birthday at the only remaining  Lumber Camp Cookhouse still operating in North America, the Samoa Cookhouse near Humboldt Bay.

Open seven days a week, serving breakfast, lunch and dinner, the meals are served family style with soup, bread, salad, vegetables, an entrée. All you can eat. Then followed with desert. It is the type of food the loggers ate, simple but hearty meals for hard-working men.

The old original dining room has been expanded. It now includes a logging museum and gift shop. This famous cookhouse has been continuously serving meals for over 100 years. Quite a feat. Busloads of people from all over stop on their way through Humboldt County.

The old Monitor wood burning range, originally used in the cookhouse, is in the museum.

If these old hobnail boots could speak they would have some interesting stories to tell. The museum floor  has spike marks in the floor boards from the booted “jacks”  that tromped through the old place.

The walls have pictures and artifacts everywhere, in the restaurant, hallways, and the museum.

I own my dad’s saw of this type, shorter, to be sure. In the Pacific they lumbered redwood trees. In one wall photo is displayed several men holding up a 28 ft. long  saw that was used to cut through a 21 foot in diameter redwood giant.  These giants are Sequoia sempervirons, the tallest trees in the world. In Calaveras County where I live we have Calaveras Big Trees State Park where grow the Sequoia gigantea, the biggest trees in the world, heavier and squatter than their cousins.

All tools here are oversized.

And jacks were notoriously big and burly to handle the job.

Or strong and nimble as this fellow, dancing the logs. They were floated down the Mad River into Humboldt Bay during one logging companies control of the mill and town.
Samoa has a great logging history and many interesting photos on the walls. Many are available for purchase.
Because of the storm, (hail expected with heavy rain) we will hold up  a second day in Eureka and head for the Trail of the Redwoods tomorrow.

BLACK MONDAY.

Jim and I left friends in Sixes, Oregon and hopped back onto 101. The winding, twisting highway I remembered from years past has been straightened and widened.  The old road was dangerous, narrow, and complicated by hills, blind bends and heavily laden logging trucks with few pullouts. The new road is an officially designated scenic highway. In some places it diverts you, if you choose to go, to the old road near specific  scenic spots.  The new road has a bike lane with signs to watch for bicyclers.  The weather was gray but the day was black as two girls riding bikes were hit by a car seconds before we came on the scene. It is elk area and I thought  I saw an elk carcass on the road.

People were bailing out of their vehicles to see what they could do to help.  One girl was visible on the road where she flew on impact I’m guessing 30 feet to the left.  The guy from the motor home in front of us,  found the second girl over the embankment in the tall grass. The girls both appeared to be dead, both unmoving not visibly breathing.

One woman in pink claimed to know first aid. She found a pulse and held her jaw up to make sure her breathing passages would remain straight, she explained. The girls jaw was white, her teeth clenched tight. I dug through the girls pack looking for  blankets since they both carried large back packs. What little I remembered of my own first aid was not to move anyone and to cover the person to help prevent shock.  I couldn’t find a blanket in their packs, but put a set of heavy sweats on the girls bare skin. Another guy, I think from the car that hit her brought a blanket for each girl. Jim was looking to find a mile marker to identify our position.

This man found a pulse on this girl who was curled into a fetal position and also unconscious.  She had a serious gash on her leg. We had immediately checked to see if emergency services were contacted and the truck driver traveling north and the motor home in front of us had both called and given positions, though no mile markers were in sight. The girl in the street finally responded, opened her eyes in a blank unseeing stare. The woman in pink kept asking her if she was all right, could she hear.  After what seemed like many minutes, she began taking visible deep breaths and moaning. I couldn’t control my emotions and began to cry.

This  bike was crushed. You can see the wheel marks and gravel where the driver braked.  It is hard to tell how and why he hit them. Both girls were close together as there were two deep indentations in the safety glass were the two girls hit the windshield at the same time, one on the driver’s side, one on the passenger side.  This bike belonged to the girl in the grass.
The amount of damage done to these bikes reminded me that my youngest daughter has ridden her bike during commute hours from Davis to Sacramento literally putting over a thousand miles on her bike and I shuddered and couldn’t keep from shaking and lapsing into tears after we got into the motor home to leave. I couldn’t get over the devastation, how the impact removed one shoe from each girl’s feet;  the blank stare from this girl’s beautiful blue eyes, the swelling on her leg pushing one leg higher off the ground than the other as we watched. It was horrific and left me dazed and weak.  The girl over the edge never regained consciousness while we were there.
It seemed way too long before emergency services arrived.  People on the road took charge and helped direct traffic around to get the first responders through to the girls. So brutal. As Jim and I talked about it, we realized that on the highways in every country of the world, a similar scene takes place many times a day. It just seems so incomprehensible.  We felt such deep sadness for these young girls, the drivers too,  who will live with this accident the rest of their lives. All of their families are affected. The words, please drive safely seem so inadequate to the consequences.

PORTLAND, OREGON, VIBRANT CITY

I’ve been escorted into very active, interesting neighborhoods in Portland during my real estate search.  The street art alone is a reason to visit this city. Portland reminds me of Berkeley on College Ave. Ethnic restaurants, book stores, sidewalk cafes, coffee houses, students with back packs, bicyclers, walkers, green space.  Recycling receptacles at every park and grocer. A wonderful sense of community. Besides, they have
Jakes Resturant.
I didn’t get to take pictures while condo shopping, but I did when I visited in 2009.  These pictures were taken around the old Courthouse Square.

The sign was in the trash. Guess he gave up or got enough money to get on the bus.

Fountains, water fall, sculpture.

One of several beautiful old churches around town.

Beautiful buildings, but no too many.

An architect with a sense of humor and history.

A famous rose garden.

And a city surrounded by green space. What more can you ask?
I got it. A competent, honest, efficient Real Estate Agent in Jessica Christopherson of Soldera Properties. Solid.

TAKING NOTE OF FALL.

Yesterday was moving day, South to Chehalis, back into a park.  Stocking up the larder, getting a  haircut, the usual mundane things we all must do, no matter where we live.
Chehalis Thousand Trails is another heavily wooded park with beautiful hiking trails, and a pool. It was warm enough to say, “summer at last” knowing that the first official day of fall had passed.  We took a short walk to the pool through the woods and then read until dinner.
Some days I feel I’ve earned a respite from blogging, (especially when the signal is slow and vexing), but like a moth to a flame, at 5:00 a.m, I sit before the computer, with brain numb,  a cup of tea, sifting through pictures and smile over many miles of grand and lesser experiences and am glad for the joy and yes, the work of  relentless travel; the opportunity to see in detail  this grand country of ours; and to mimic The Bard, to blog or not to blog, that is the question. 
Like a kid I’ve been going through the woods picking up fallen leaves and making bouquets. I placed them on a table in front of the motor home so everyone walking by could see them. They lasted a day before drying up and blowing away.

BOB CAT, COUGAR AND BEAR GULCH TRAILS.

Thousand Trails Thunderbird at Monroe has several woodsy trails. Though wet from rain the previous night, we decided to take advantage of a sunny afternoon and try the steep, somewhat muddy Bear Gulch Trail.

Walking under moss-covered branches, stepping over downed logs, seeking out areas disturbed by animals and guessing whether it was a fox or ring tail cat, or bob cat temporarily gives you the feeling of being miles away from civilization.

A small animal burrow. Oh, that I had my biologist daughter with me.  She would know in an instant what animal created this distinctive hole. She is more fun than anyone I know to take a walk with  in the woods.

Two  slugs were the only creatures we saw. At two inches long  when tightly snugged this slug was a real curiosity to me. I had never seen one like this before. Wikipedia tells me it is an Arion Slug. When disturbed, it stretched out by another inch.

Damp mosses cover everything that doesn’t move.

Old growth giants provide the deep shade.

Trees struggle to reach the sun.

Giant ferns make up the under-story.
Where ever sunlight filtered through, a  plant with leaves  resembling maple  overwhelmed the ferns.

We walked every trail in the woods and reluctantly returned to civilization again.