TIME IS FLEETING.

Closer to leaving Murphys and joining Jim gives me pause to realize how much and how little I got accomplished in my time at home. I didn’t catch up with everyone I wanted to see or everything I wanted to do. Yet, I finished some complicated projects. There is never enough time in our hurried lives. It makes sense to stop and smell the roses.

I took time out to have friends for dinner. We call Paul, The Famous Paul Moeller, because he is known by everyone in the county. He has videotaped every event to the tune of 3 shows a week since 1983. Unstoppable, at 84, we know he has to slow down, but doesn’t. And Pam Quyle, hard-working, involved with everything that is art. She has been in this county the longest, from childhood. She is owner of Quyle Kilns, and meets people from everywhere in the world on their way to Big Trees. She educates everyone who walks in her shop and has this unlimited memory of everyone in the county, especially connected to the old-time families. Always finding a home for someone who needs a place to stay because she has this big  heart and  fields  a steady stream of people  in need of help.

And Margo, the most popular and well-known woman in Murphys. You can’t walk down the street with her because she gets stopped too many times. Everybody knows Margo. She pours wine for Chatom Vineyards and has as many local friends as out-of-town friends, and many from other countries. She speaks German, French and English.  She doesn’t have to work and keeps planning a second retirement.  Chatom doesn’t want her to leave.

I promised cactus to anyone who wants a piece, so Pam took my picture hacking off a hunk for Margo who loves cactus. Still more than half of it to go. Any takers?
As I look at my pictures these past couple weeks from the new camera, they seem mushy and over bright. Slightly out of focus. I’ve got to test it and see if I can discover the problem before the  warranty is up.  And, I ordered plane  tickets for my return to New Mexico , and now the things undone loom larger.  Still, can’t forget the  roses.

AN EVENTFUL DAY

It isn’t everyday you sell a van the very first day you advertise it and to the very first caller.  It was priced right. I bought it in January and here it is, two months later, and its gone. The process took most of the day, between calls from the prospective buyer, then directions from about 90 miles away, and finally, Ahmad and his friend Louis came up, paid me cash and drove away.

Ahmad didn’t look very happy about the purchase, but he definitely wanted it. More likely he didn’t want his picture taken, but I did ask. Normally I wouldn’t take a picture of someone buying my van, but his friend Louis was a much more personable fellow and I wanted to take a picture of his rings.

Louie knows how to smile and he was  sprouting some heavy turquoise.  Though you can’t see it, he wears a long grey ponytail.

He makes his own jewelry. I’m ever surprised by men who wear multiple rings, or earrings, and such;  things once considered the domain of women. Maybe men who wear ponytails and ostentatious jewelry are happier people? After they were gone and I got back from the bank, Karen reminded me it was neighbor Suzy’s birthday.

We walked over and surprised her with a card and a bottle of her favorite “pink” wine.  We tried to call, but the line was busy, busy, busy.

I never remember people’s birthdays. We didn’t celebrate birthdays in our family except to have the choice of our favorite home cooked meal. Little fan fare, and some desert. A cake for those who liked cake, but most of us preferred pie. Karen likes birthdays and it was her idea. She also brought a bowl of chocolate candies with a candle.

Suzy’s goldens, Tucker and Carson,  mobbed Karen. They can always tell an animal lover.

Ron kept the wine glasses filled until, shoot, it was time to call it a day and jump the fence back home for dinner.

THE NU-SHZAY LOUNGE

April 16, 2012

I haven’t been to the Nugget Bar in my home town of Murphys  in many years. It’s a  typical cowboy bar with a local following.  Some years back, a bunch of us began calling it the Nu-Shzay Lounge in fun.  The French affectation didn’t change a thing. When we moved here in 1978, our closest neighbor would take his horse to town many mornings, and tie up at the Nugget to eat breakfast. But, if he went in the afternoon to get the mail, and stopped for a cold one, his wife would know about it before he got home. Hoagie was a Merchant Marine and lived home for three months and sailed for three months. His wife worked a typical 9 to 5.

I don’t remember when the owners had the horseshoes cemented at the entrance.  Horses were not welcome inside the bar, but old traditions die hard and at one time, after a parade or event, the local cowboys would ride their horses into the bar here and at the Murphys Hotel. Fed up with the tradition, the hotel owner had the cops waiting after a parade and arrested my neighbor, Joe Cardoza.  That brought the practice to a sudden end.

The old pool table is still active. That’s Kelly Wright trying his hand. The Nugget holds a pool tournament each year sometime in the summer. I’ve seen the place wax and wane, the clientele changes, but the spirit remains the same. A bit wild. And, I know a few stories and witnessed a few events I shouldn’t have, I expect. When Ballard was Sheriff, his nephew (out of season)  killed a buck and had it slung in the back of his pick-up. He went to the Nugget to quench his thirst and brag a little. When the guys went out to look?  The deer struggled to its feet,  jumped out of the pick-up, and ran away.

If you click on this photo you will see the bumper sticker on the right. A women And Her Truck, Is A Beautiful Thing. Though the owner of this truck isn’t the type to fisticuff in the bar, there was one woman who would go to fist city with the guys. She was Buggy Bill’s woman, Marian Sly, and I knew her well. She carried two knives, one in her boot and a big Bowie holstered around her waist. She had two rifles and  hand-gun in her pick-up along with her dogs and often her son who spent many nights in that old pick-up. She didn’t take guff from anyone. I’ve seen her haul back and cold-cock a guy over some loud mouthed comment he made.  Which reminds me why I went to the Nugget yesterday. It was Buggy Bill’s watering hole and people came to pay their respects at an informal celebration, as I did.

Tammy Huber knew him for fifteen years. She liked the fact that he never changed. He was always a bit stoic. He did what he liked. He was kind to children and particularly took a young boy in a wheel chair under his wing. He was crusty, but honest and good. I knew him for about thirty years and I don’t ever remember him smiling.

Everyone was having a good time and I was surprised to notice how many long-hairs there were along with cowboy types in the bar. Long-hairs were not welcome at the Nugget in the 1980′s.  My  (long-haired) brother, Norman, left Nevada, drove down Highway 4 and stopped at the Nugget just to use the bathroom. It was eleven p.m. and the bar was filled with the usual  tobacco chewing cowboys,  short haired and oiled. By the time Norman got out of the bathroom, they were laying for him. He escaped out a side door and got away losing only a small handful of hair.

Paul came over the hill from Mountain Ranch with a pot of beans, Bill’s favorite, mine too. All of his friends brought something to eat. Paul has a wonderful apple tree on his land and his niece used to make pies for the local restaurants from her home during apple season. The law doesn’t allow that to happen anymore.

And you can’t smoke in a bar anymore. I’m grateful for that law. On the right, you can see where people park their cigs on a  2 x 4 next to the door.

The Nugget has many windows. The doors were wide open. It was difficult to get good pictures. I arrived late, many people had come and gone. I didn’t know very many people.

I’ve seen this lady around town for many years, and couldn’t remember her name.

This cowboy was playfully policing the doors and not letting anyone outside with a glass, or bottle. A gentle giant who reminded me of another Nugget customer from the infamous fighting Bardsley family. The father, and his sons were ever whooping it up at various bars around the county.  Renowned for their strength and viciousness, no one messed with them deliberately.
My husband once convinced the Nugget owner to open up his then closed kitchen to our square dance group to sit around long tables and enjoy a few drinks on Saturday nights after the dances. George Bardsley  tried to pick a fight with my husband because he called the female bartender, “Honey!”  We didn’t know George’s girlfriend was the bartender, nor did we know about the family reputation, then. My husband ignored him and went back to the restaurant part and sat down with our group of about ten couples.  George went on to  be arrested for murder in another state not long after that. We had a close call and didn’t know it.

I knew Bill well enough that he wouldn’t be insulted by my intrigue with the bar,  his friends, and old memories. I signed his card and bid him adieu.

If the walls of the place could talk…I’d be there every Saturday night.

ACROSS THE RIVER

I crossed over  the Stanislaus river to sign my taxes  for e-filing, and to pick up my paperwork, an especially beautiful drive at this time of year. No traffic to speak of.  I could stop in the middle of the road and take pictures.  After descending into the canyon, the bridge is in front of me.

Here I got out and aimed for that bright patch of green on the opposite bank.

The rain has given the wild flowers a boost.

Roadside lupines taller than I’ve ever seen them.

Mosses thick and lush.

Redbud blooming everywhere.

A bit of bright orange caught my eye.  Though I couldn’t identify it, I admire its tenacity as it seems to choose inhospitable rocky places to grow and show off some color.

The weather was supposed to be sunny yesterday. Instead it was drear, but it didn’t affect my pleasure in my trip across the river. The foothills of Calaveras and Tuolumne County are beautiful in the spring. (You can click on these photos to make them bigger.)

TALK ABOUT THE WEATHER

Murphys had another bout of that thick rain, yesterday. Stockton, two days ago, experienced two mini tornadoes. Copperopolis had a thunderstorm with heavy winds during the night while Valley Springs had a heavy hail storm.  What is happening?

My oldest daughter, who grew up here, wondered why it has snowed so many times in Murphys?  I didn’t count. Her comment made me realize we’ve had more snow days this season than any  previous  time in my memory, which probably means nothing at 34 years. But, my old pal, Buster Riedell, an old rancher who died in his nineties, could tell you exactly what the weather would be like throughout the year. He warned about planting your tomatoes too early, never before the second week in May. Weather then seemed to follow a predictable pattern.
Though hardly measurable, the stuff hung around until 2:00 on the hillsides and patches in the woods. We don’t like to complain when the reservoirs are below normal, and we are thankful for any moisture we get. But, it is unsettling that  the weather pattern is off. It makes me wonder what climate change has in store for all of us. If this is a predictor,  it doesn’t bode well.

Guess we should just enjoy the flowers.  Those who believe in man caused climate change, raise your hand.  Mine is up!

BUGGY BILL

Most people didn’t know his last name. They fondly called him Buggy Bill.  He died unexpectedly at age 63. Murphys has lost an icon.

When I first met him, about 30 years ago, his horse and buggy was just a dream.  He had just arrived in town with an acquaintance from Nevada where he worked driving a chemical truck. They set up housekeeping on her property way out on Ponderosa road where there was no electricity or running water. He loved horses, the leather, the times. He would say, “I was born too late.”  He went to work mending fences for  John Davies Ranch, at first.

He was visible in town with the same battered hat and an old battered pick-up. Over the years, he built his dream. He bought horses,  broken down buggies that he lovingly fixed. He didn’t  deck himself out like a cowboy. Bill looked the same in this picture from 2009 as when I first met him all those years ago.

He liked it when little kids rode in his buggy and petted the horses. For a long time, he had a white  horse  named  Pepper,  half blind with only one eye.  It amazed him that  some  kids had never seen a horse up close enough to touch one. He didn’t make much money, but it was what he loved doing. Some years, during fair time, he was hired to taxi dignitaries around the steep grounds in a larger buggy with a team of horses. If he was hired to do a wedding, he decked out the buggy with white ribbons to carry the  bride to the hotel, or Kautz winery to meet the groom.  I can’t imagine how many rides he has given over the years. And, he had his problems. For many years he parked in front of the Murphys Hotel. A new owner wanted him gone and considered him a nuisance. He appealed to the Board of Supervisors and they designated his business as a cab,  and provided a parking place away from the hotel’s main entrance, for cabs only. After three years, the owner put dining tables in the garden adjacent to the hotel, then claimed the horse drew flies.  Bill was again relocated in front of the water company building.

Like everyone else, I’ll miss Bill. It  won’t seem right  without  him on the streets of Murphys on weekends, giving rides to tourists.  His son Zac lived with his dad and went to Bret Harte High School for one year in the 1980′s. He and my daughter became good friends. We will get together on Sunday at the Nugget,  Bill’s favorite watering hole,  and hoist a warm beer, (his favorite drink) and salute his long tenure as the last remaining remnant of a past life. If he were still with us I would tell him,  YOU WERE NOT BORN TOO LATE.

WE DON'T MELT

Rain is part of the forecast for two more days. My oldest sister visits from Sonoma, and we decided not to let the rain discourage us when it is badly needed by the plants we cherish and depend upon.

Living in a tourist town, I go about my business and don’t become a tourist until someone visits. Something I hadn’t noticed until yesterday?  New murals, cleverly covering the wall in front of Murphys Grille where people eat outside. Flirty feet.

In fact, the feet are what you would be seeing if the wall wasn’t there.

Clever and fun; a little wink of whimsical art in my own town. Makes me think about how un-quaint Murphys used to be. But, I won’t go there. We had lunch at Cactus Jacks. For a truly delicious sandwich, chicken pesto on foccacia bread with Cactus Jack’s special salsa which contains cactus in the mix, you can’t go wrong.

We peeked into shops and between raindrops, I caught some pretty faces, kind of wishing I’d planted pansies at home.

Changing lifestyles doesn’t allow much time for gardening. I’ll enjoy other’s gardens instead.

Later, brother Will braved hail and rain to share a light supper with us. A nicoise salad and a bowl of soup.

My taxes finished; a nice relaxing day. None of us melted. April rain brings May flowers. I hope the same is true of New Mexico where I”m headed later this month, back to the Motor Home.

MEET MY FAMILY?

Most of us have several families, children, siblings, cousins, or pets.  I have a family of plants. I didn’t start out to name them, but  each one is a story. This is Kristanne, who had me baby-sit her plants when she was moving out of her apartment. It almost created a border incident as we traveled to Southern California, picked up her houseplants, with a much smaller version of this giant, returned home by way of Arizona, and re-entered California. The border guard wanted to know what all those plants were sticking out of the windows in the back seat,  and poking out of an uncloseable trunk.  After a suspicious examination he said:  “Do you always take your plants with you on vacation?”
Now, what to do with it?  Damaged by frost while the tile floor was redone after a flood in December, it has lost some of its beauty. It is full of sharp, points. Nearly impossible to move. It needs re-potting. Its gotta go.

Uncle Charlie is a split leaf philodendron, given to my best friend, Betty, (now deceased). She named it and lovingly cared for it, split it,  and shared it many times in defiance of her husband’s family who rejected and ostracized his gay brother Charlie.  I need to nourish that statement for Betty.

My mother-in-law Alta, gave me many plants, and two survive, this soft begonia…

…and this very fitting mother-in-laws tongue. It is twisted and woody and old and should be tossed. But, Alta has been with me for so many years. How can I do that to her, no matter how sharp her tongue was?

My mother had a black thumb, so she often bought plants for me so she could enjoy them at my house. This lipstick plant is about three feet long, and very plain when not in bloom. Do I really need to keep it?

Then there’s moses-in -a-boat from my dear friend Anne.

And a rosary plant from Aunt Kathleen.

My Jeannie, hoya, I’ve had for 51 years.

And, a fiddle-leaf philodendron that is nine feet tall and spreads another seven feet along my dining room ceiling. It, too, struggles with a too small pot and neglect. It’s time. But…they’re family!