Another boring garden post

I love to walk around my garden, which is not perfectly tidy but is interesting (just like me) and observe the progress of the vegetables and blooming things.

Let's start in the vegetable garden. 

This is my second batch of cucumber seedlings. I planted the first seeds directly in the ground and they did not germinate. I resorted to planting some in my milk bottle bottoms and got better results. I'm a bit worried about leaving them in there while we are gone, but I think they have a better chance of survival if I wait to transplant them till we get back.

I had a lot of potato starts this year, thanks to some serendipitous acquisitions. They are in several beds and pots and even bags.

Lots of little lettuces are ready to be added to salad plates. I pick the larger, outer leaves and let the inner leaves keep growing and producing. The plants will last for several weeks this way. I'm also going to transplant some to a pot so that I can keep them going when the summer heat finally arrives.

New Zealand spinach is growing nicely. It is unaffected by heat, so we should have a good supply for smoothies and salads all summer. 

I was rapturous over a dozen-or-so baby kiwi fruit that were hanging on the vine last week. Then, in the evening of the first hot day, I went to gaze on them and more than half had dropped.

I was ticked!

There are still five or six left on the vine.

I started a couple of dozen tomato plants this year, all from seeds I saved from last year. I traded most of them for things like raw milk and other plants. I kept five and I'm hoping they have an enormous growth spurt soon.

Now on to the flower beds, where I have inserted some tiny kale plants this year. Hopefully, they will grow into big kale plants and I will learn to like kale!

The penstemon is blooming like crazy and making the hummingbirds and bees very happy indeed.

On the north side of the house is one of my favourite places. The ferns and hostas have filled in now that the violets, hellebores, and spring bulbs have died down.

Next to that, in a slightly more sunny spot, is a little raised bed with this lovely salmon-hued huechera.

If anyone can instruct me on the proper pronunciation of the latter, I would be greatly obliged.

Lori rooted this lovely miniature rose. 

Yes, that Lori. 

Is there anything the woman cannot do?

Rooted roses are the best. They can live for a hundred years.

My front flowerbeds still haven't been cleaned up from the spring bulb mess so we shall close our eyes tightly as we saunter past them. This sweet little thing is in a concrete planter by the front door. It wintered over and made me happy.

Remember Harvey? The poor thing has lost his nose. Several times. Grandchildren have disclaimed all responsibility for said nose decapitation, but I am dubious.

It sits between his feet until I can come up with a better solution.

Come to think of it, his feathers are looking decidedly worse for wear too. Maybe he needs a makeover.

Next to the path up to the front door is a jasmine vine, growing over a metal headboard. It is just starting to bloom. Walking up to our front door can be a heady experience during the several weeks of the jasmine bloom.

There's the door. Come on in, there's bound to be something yummy to eat.

♪ ♫ ♩ ♬ These are a few of my favourite things ♩♬ ♪ ♫

Sam and I went strawberry picking this morning. I was happy to have a collaborator, but I think I may have overdone it. Twenty-seven point five pounds, which I now have to either eat or squeeze into my overflowing freezer. 

One of the best things about living in Oregon is the bounty of fruit and produce that is available throughout the summer. The worst thing about strawberries is that they ripen right at the height of my allergy season. Apparently, the acupuncture is not working significantly on the allergies, because I have been confined to the house since arriving home late this morning.

Oh, but these little beauties were worth all the sneezing and sniffling.

California strawberries they ain't. I love their funky shapes and their tender juiciness. As I told Sam, I was a great strawberry picker when I was young because I didn't like them. All my berries went into the bucket. Even now, they have to be really good berries to tempt me, but I do love them for smoothies and *strawberry shortcake*, which we will be eating for Father's Day tomorrow. With lots of whipping cream, to offset the healthiness.

♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  

Peace roses remind me of my Dad, who used to grow them. The scent is divine and the flowers are prettily blushed with pink. These are in a lovely artisan vase. Jeff cleverly noticed me admiring it at Newberg Art Walk a few years ago and he went back to the shop and gave it to me for my birthday.

Most of the roses are covered in black spot and suffering from rain damage right now, but there are a few perfect blooms if I brave the pollens and search a bit.

♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  

A few weeks ago, I noticed that bees had built a nest in an old bird house that Jeff built and attached to a log trim. It leans against the cherry tree. It has housed chickadees in years past and we loved to watch them flying in and out, feeding their chicks. 

I like bees too, even though Jonnie says they are not honeybees.

I stood under the cherry tree for some time on Thursday afternoon, trying to get a photo of a bee leaving or entering the box. Of course, while I held the camera, perfectly focused and ready for the shot, nothing happened. As soon as my arm tired and I lowered the camera, up would fly a bee. 

They're crafty little beggars.

I managed to capture this fuzzy shot and then the camera battery died.

C'est la vie.

♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  

Here's a thing.

I have pledged to myself to desist from buying cookies at the store. They are too easy a snack upon which to overindulge and they are full of artificial ingredients, so I thought I'd narrow the list a little.

It has been helpful.

But then I bought a few loaves of Texas toast bread for 50cents each from G.O. and, at the same, opened up a new bucket of honey.

Oh my!

I've never been a great fan of honey; I mostly use it in my bread-making habit. But there's something about this honey that has me hooked. It is creamy and thick and mild and I LOVE IT!!!!

So I've replaced the cookie habit with toast and honey.

Yup.
It's that good.
My next pledge may have to be desisting from buying Texas toast bread.

Happy Father's Day to all of the dedicated dads out there.
The world needs you more than ever.

♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  ♬ ♪ ♫  

The big burn

We rarely drive the northern road from our town to Tillamook, so we had never before noticed the Tillamook Forest Center. It looked enticing, so we decided it would be a good place to stop on the way home. 

And stop we did.

The house on stilts is a fire watchtower. I have been fascinated by these ever since finding out that some dear friends spent their first summer together living in one, over forty years ago. You can actually rent some of these during the summer, although they are at remote locations and you have to hike in. 

Someday, maybe.

The day was very warm, so we spent some time hanging out inside the air-conditioned centre, watching the film about the Tillamook Burn and exploring the displays. The Burn is an important part of Oregon state history.

There were four fires. The first was in 1933 and it started when a logging chain rubbed against a snag, causing it to burst in to flames. The fire burned from August 14th and was extinguished by rain on Sept 5th. The wildfire burned 240,000 acres of forest. It was a serious loss to the Oregon timber industry and to a nation already struggling in the Great Depression. 

Three other fires followed, at six-year intervals, but none were as destructive as the first. 

Salvage operations began before the embers had completely cooled, but the question was what to do with the land, which was at that time owned by Tillamoook and Clatsop counties. A deal was brokered that the counties would deed the land to the state, which would in turn take care of the reforestation. The counties would then get money when the wood was harvested. This deal pretty much guaranteed a continuing tug-of-war between forest-products industry and counties, who want more logging, and environmentalists, who want very little logging. 

There were many attempts at reforestation, including scattering 36 tons of Douglas Fir seeds by helicopter and airplane. There was no precedent for replanting a forest on such a large scale. It was eventually discovered that planting by hand was the most effective way and forestry crews planted 72 million two-year-old seedlings. 

After ingesting all that information and also enduring a personal first-grade-level demo by an eager volunteer on how to fire-proof the outside of your home (including fake flames and movable shrubs) we escaped outside and had a little snack.

No, silly, not the ladybird!

I was just slightly impressed that my camera could get that close a shot.

After snacking, we walked around the building to the other side and soaked in some of the now lush and thick forest. 

Warning: more fern photos!

A river runs behind it.

Did I mention that I really love ferns?

And then we went home.

The end.

Great expectations (and small disappointments)

One thing I forgot to mention in my last post: The weather was gorgeous and I wanted to keep the window of our room open.

But I couldn't.

The cows. 

They smell.

Maybe it was the direction of the breeze, but the odour was pungent and continuous.

We started our morning on Saturday by perusing some flea markets and shops in downtown Tillamook. It's a quiet, quaint little town without the kitschy tourist traps that often accompany beach venues. We worked up an appetite even though we kept our dollars in our pockets, so we found a little restaurant that served clam chowder and it was delicious.

The clam chowder.

Not the restaurant.

Usually, when we go on a weekend adventure, we like to do a good-sized hike in the forest. I sabotaged any such plans ahead of time by incurring a stress injury in my left foot. 

Running was suddenly not my friend and, rather than a visit to the doctor and possibly end up wearing an orthopedic boot, I opted for a pronounced limp in order to not bend my foot.

Yeah, that worked like a charm. Suddenly, my whole body hurt! But I was determined to make the best of it so I toted along my hiking poles and my cane, saved from the days of the broken leg.

With our plans tempered by my limitations, we chose some easy walks for our Saturday itinerary. The first one was to Oregon's largest Sitka Spruce. It can be accessed along the Three Capes Scenic Route, so off we set. 

The smell of cows was in the air.

Ahh!

The tree is located near the entrance to Cape Meares State Scenic Viewpoint. Hiking poles in hand, we set off along the soft trail.

The woods were in fine form.

I am a great fan of ferns, as you will see, especially in their embryonic stage.

No photograph can do this tree justice. It towers above the rest and those branches that you see about halfway up the tree are as big as trees themselves.

Also in this state park is Cape Meares lighthouse. At 38 feet in height, it is the state's shortest lighthouse.

I dunno....that's probably the flimsiest claim to fame I've heard in a long time! 

It is also a wildlife refuge and bird enthusiasts were everywhere. 

They were a little too fervent even for Jeff!

We followed the trail, which was luckily punctuated with many benches for resting sore bodies (namely, mine!) along the top of the cliffs.

And so we came to the Octopus Tree.

We took a little break after all this excitement and paid a visit to the Tillamook Cheese Factory. Not to do the tour, but to use our coupons for a free ice cream cone.

No visit to Oregon can be complete without paying homage to all things milk-related at the Cheese Factory.

Feeling somewhat refreshed, we soldiered onward to Munson Creek Falls. It lies a few miles south of Tillamook and the brochures promised an easy hike of half-a-mile to the base of the falls and a more strenuous hike to the top. I figured I still had half-a-mile in me, so off we set.

It was a nice stroll and I was feeling pretty perky, although Jeff laughed every time I stopped to take a photo.

This tantalizing glimpse of the waterfall did not prepare us for what was to come.

The trail was closed off and this was as far as we could go.

One of the hazards of hiking in the forests of Oregon in spring is the trees that fell in winter storms. Trails are often closed until later in summer when they can be cleared of debris.

I was seriously ticked. If they could go to the trouble of barricading the trail, you would think they could erect a sign announcing that fact at the beginning of the trail! 

Sheesh!

And did I try to get around the barricade?

You know I did!

It was the big old tree across the trail just beyond it that stopped me!

So back we traipsed.

It was a pleasant walk, but without fulfilling the expectation of the rushing waterfall.

If you want to see a photo of this 266-foot, spectacular waterfall, go here. 

We stopped at the Blue Heron French Cheese company (are we sensing a theme here?) to see if we could nab a bite to eat, as the afternoon was waning. Just our luck, it closed as we pulled in. So we wandered around, admiring the motley assortment of animals and vintage vehicles that adorn the property.

We never quite figured out the purpose of this one.

Here's a sight for sore eyes: a London double-decker in the outskirts of Tillamook.

Right about then, I was done. 

We picked up a Subway sandwich for Jeff for dinner and spent a relaxing evening in our room.

On Sunday, we stopped at the Tillamook Forest Centre on the way home.

But that is a story for tomorrow.

Expect more fern fotos.

What became of my foot? you ask.

Why, how kind of you to care!

I have babied it for a month now and it is healing. I've started running small distances, very gingerly, and it seems to be holding up. I have high hopes for my future.

The greenest place on earth

Last month we escaped to the coast for the weekend. My Groupon of choice was to the Ashley Inn and Suites in Tillamook. 

We wended our way around the back country roads and feasted our eyes on the brilliant sunshine and the green fields and hills.

This is the Tillamook National Forest, a place of history and hills and lush green landscapes. There are places where the forest is in states of clear-cut and regrowth, but most of the road looks like this.

As beautiful as the scenery was that rolled past our view, we were glad to see signs that we were nearing the town of Tillamook.

Cows, my dear. 

Cows.

Tillamook is the home of the best dairy cows in world.
Or so we Oregonians like to think.

The Ashley Inn and Suites is part of a national chain and it, along with a Shiloh Inn, is about the only accommodation in Tillamook.
Our room was large, with a sitting area, two televisions, and a nice welcome basket filled with Tillamook Cheese Factory goodies. The bed was comfortable and, as usual, I didn't care about the pillows because I carried my own.

The hotel lacked something, though. I couldn't help comparing it to the lovely Garibaldi House that we visited over New Year's weekend. There were so many extra little touches that made the Garibaldi House unique, welcoming, and comfortable, which I covered in this blog post. The Ashley, in contrast, had no ocean view, as it is slightly inland. The breakfast was mediocre compared to the chef-prepared morning fare in Garibaldi. The towels were unexceptional, the toiletries minimal. The lobby had none of the homey features like snacks and drinks and evening vittles and a puzzle by the elevator. It was, in short, lacking personality.

The strangest thing of all is that rooms at the Ashley run around $130 a night in the summer, compared to $109 to $139 in Garibaldi, depending on ocean view and number of beds. This is very puzzling to me. 

Garibaldi, however, is almost completely devoid of interesting activity, which is a bit of a handicap. 

So here's what I would do if I were you and I wanted to spend a weekend on the northern end of the Oregon coast. I would stay at the Garibaldi House, which is a mere eight miles north of Tillamook. Then I would drive down to Tillamook for the day and visit the natural wonders that I will tell you about tomorrow.

I know.

Bated breath.

Hold on, my lovelies!

Moving on

Just a little brag to begin.

Remember this post?

The flower bed by the mailboxes is finally looking how I have imagined it should look. It has taken several years, but the perennials are filling in and there will be colour all summer long.

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In breaking news, guess who was eating unmentionables at my kitchen counter at eleven o'clock last night?

They're incognito, due to the nature of the food being consumed!

Charlie and Sam drove up from Southern California on Wednesday in a car packed to the brim and got here at about 5am yesterday.

It reminded me of our move in 1984. We had two small children and I was eight months pregnant with Annie. We had set our sights on Oregon ever since my first visit the year we married. We scrimped and saved and lived on air, it seemed at times, and as soon as Jeff graduated from Junior College we were ready. It was a crazy time to move, but I desperately wanted my midwife to deliver my baby and she had moved to Oregon some time earlier. So we assessed our finances, rented a truck, and off we went. Minus our bed, which was the last to be loaded and missed the boat truck.

You'd be surprised how much hand-me-down furniture a poor young family can fit in a two-bedroom apartment! The old ugly metal hutch where I had once found cockroaches I didn't mind leaving behind. Ditto the ugly greenish-gold velour couch that stubbed my toes every time I got near it. But I would have liked, in my swollen state, to have had a bed upon which to lay my body.

You should have seen us on the day we left. Jeff drove the rental truck with Jonnie, who was two, perched in a booster seat beside him. It was such a cute picture, his little face poking up above the big dashboard. Bethany, three, was traveling with me in our tiny Toyota Starlet that did not have one more cubic inch of empty space.

 My lovely Aunty Joan had given Bethany and Jon little bags of goodies to help them pass the time. I think of my aunty and Uncle Charlie waving goodbye to us that day and I am sure that Uncle Charlie's heart must have been breaking, but he never said a word. And I, in my excitement and selfish youth, hardly gave it a thought. Uncle Charlie was exceptionally close to my kids and he must have hated seeing us leave.

We left in the late afternoon and in my memory it was raining. Driving through L.A. in our tiny car was scary; every time a truck passed I thought we would get blown off the road. Jeff drove behind us, ever the protector, and as the hours went by he got concerned as he saw me starting to weave back and forth in the lane. He finally got me to pull over by flashing his lights and insisted that we find somewhere to sleep for the night. We had only made about five hours, but we found an exit where there was supposedly a motel and we took the chance. The motel was about 15 miles off the freeway! We thought we would never find it in the dark, but were glad for the rest once we did.

The next morning we drove to San Francisco and visited with some dear friends and stayed with them for the second night. We arrived at our destination, my midwife's house, on the evening of the third day. I often chuckle when we drive down to SoCal in one day, remembering our three-day journey.

We stayed with my midwife for a week while Jeff looked for a house in his family's old town.
And we have been living here happily ever since.