Return to Silver Falls

It doesn't seem like over two years since this post, but it is indeed. 

The question begs, how many times can one blog about the same place before it becomes tedious?

Don't answer that, unless you can be complimentary.

You know, like Sue, it's always fascinating and amusing when you're writing about it.

The day before Sam and Charlie went back to California, we hiked the eight miles of Silver Falls State Park. There are ten spectacular waterfalls along the trail. The falls tumble over thick, basalt lava flows which rest on soft, older rock. Over time, erosion of the softer rock has created natural pathways behind the waterfalls, which feels like heaven on a hot day. Imagine being all sweaty and hot and tired, then walking into the deep shade behind a waterfall and feeling the misty spray on your face. 

Ahhhhh.

Last time Jeff and I hiked the trail it was late winter and a very different place. Branches were bare of leaves and the ground had very little green cover. This time the air resonated with the songs of birds and the understory was thick with vines and flowers and shrubs. 

This picture I love.

We were also being led by an active Marine, which doesn't leave much time for lolly-gagging. The pace was much faster than when my old Coastie leads the way. 
Less time for photos and nibbling on snacks.
I arose early on this fine Tuesday morning to make some healthy banana muffins, which sustained us on our quest. I didn't get many photos taken (see two lines above) so photos of my fellow hikers are few and far between.
So, Sam, there's this one, in which you look mean (even though you weren't, at all!) :

Or this one, contemplating the banana muffin:

Neither of which are very satisfactory, but it's all I've got to prove you were there!

It was a great day.

Well, half a day.

You know, Marine's pace and all. 

We were in and out in a little over three hours.

But it was gorgeous.

And I got to have the kids to myself for a spell, which was kinda nice after sharing them with all of their fans for the last two weeks.

And then we went home.

Pommes d'amour

The tomato is a member of the nightshade family, as Jon is fond of telling me, and is a berry fruit, even though we use it as a vegetable. It originated in South America (think Aztecs) and was taken back to Spain by the conquistadors. The Spanish very logically considered it to be poisonous, as are other nightshade plants. 

The history of the tomato has many twists and turns, which you can read here if you are curious. The French thought it was an aphrodisiac, hence the name pomme d'amour, or love apple. And in 1883, the US Congress levied a 10% tax on all imported vegetables and decided to reclassify the tomato as a vegetable. This was contested by a botanist in 1893, who argued that the tomato was a berry fruit. He lost his case and the tomato has been legally classified as a vegetable ever since. 

Kinda reminds me of the political shennanigans of today!

This year, I intend to have an awesome tomato crop. 

Because of our wet and cold spring, my tomato plants are growing profusely, but are weeks behind normal development. Which is a problem, because even in a good year we always end up with lots of green tomatoes at the end of the season.

Information accumulation seemed to be in order, so I did a Google and found a great website that pretty much tells all you need to know about growing your basic love apple. Apparently, staking or caging your tomato plants is good for more than keeping the slugs from eating the fruit. It also promotes larger fruit that ripen sooner, are more free of disease, and are easier to pick. 

Well, I know how to take a hint! I have bulldozed through my share of flimsy tomato cages that only last a season or two and topple to the ground at the first sign of actual ripening fruit. Being too cheap frugal to pay the exorbitant amounts of money that sturdier cages cost, I decided to make my own.

From salvaged materials.

So here are the wondrous results.

First, a little number that uses some old canopy poles that have, in past lives, been tripods for cucumbers and runner beans. Some old nylon cord that probably came from the same canopy completes the job.

This baby is constructed with small branches that I saved from the old mimosa tree. 

Plastic ties from nerf gun packaging tie the sticks together.

It's a bit rickety, but by the time Jeff pounded it into the ground, I think it will hold up.

It has a certain rustic charm, don't you think.

Another three-sided cage using the rest of the canopy poles. 

This one has wire instead of string. 

Apparently, we have a plethora of gardening wire.

I had to recruit Jeff for the last one, as a hammer and nails and saw were involved.

I used to wield a hammer with the best of them, but arthritis in my wrists and hands has turned me into a wimp.

So I smile nicely and cajole a little and thank him profusely.

Voila! A cage made of old fence wood for the straggly tomato plant that has been living in the shade of the overgrown kiwi vine. Which is now severely pruned, with strict instructions to produce fruit next year, or else!

Strangely, this plant is the only one that has yet produced any babies.

I bought this next specimen from the high school plant sale. Its tag stated that it would do well in a pot. The leaves and stems are unusually sturdy, so a single stake will do the trick on this one, I think. Unfortunately, the flowers keep dropping off, even though they set little tiny fruit. My research tells me that it could be from too much fertilizer or heat. It hasn't been terribly hot yet, so I'm hoping that my industrious fertilizing will be mitigated as some good watering dilutes the fertilizer.

Ah, the learning curve of an aspiring gardener.

So there you go.

Four-and-a-half tomato cages.

Cost: Nil. Zilch. Nada.

Satisfaction quotient: absurdly high.

My Dad would be so proud.

Kenzie's hero

Charlie and Sam have been home for a couple of weeks.
The nieces and nephews all love Charlie to death.
He takes them on pretend safaris, narrating in his faux-English accent.
He throws them up in the air.

And catches them, every time!

He gives them piggy-back rides.
And carries them on his shoulders.
And builds awesome forts.

On the 4th, as Kenzie and I were walking to the toilets at Champoeg Park, she was trying to figure out how long it is going to be until Charlie and Sam move up to Oregon. After asking me questions about how long he was going to be training, then deployed, and then finishing up his Marine duty, she came to the number eleven.
Eleven months.
Seven of those months will be in Afghanistan.

Nana, when Charlie is in Afghanistan, Sam will be worried for him, won't she?
She sure will, Kenz. We all will, every day that he is gone.
But when he comes home, people will be grateful that he served his country.
Yes, they will.
And then he can be one of those people that marches in parades.
You mean veterans?
Yes, one of those.

Hoo boy, I can't wait for him to be one of those!
Be still, my heart.

The countdown begins.

We love our Charlie.
'Bye.

In Defense of Faith

This is for my friend, a scientist and professed atheist, who is waiting (with bated breath, I am sure) for my insights on faith. We had a written conversation a few weeks ago on the topic and I have been waiting for some middle-of-the-night inspiration before I completed my chain of thought. By chance, around the same time I was also asked to speak about having the faith to live righteously in church, so it caused me to do some intense soul-searching. 


About four o'clock this morning it came to me. Hopefully, the ideas are all as brilliant as they seemed at that ungodly hour.


First of all, my friend, let me say that I have many of the same qualms as you. The inequity in the world and inconsistencies in church leadership (and sometimes doctrine) disturb me. I often long for some honest discussion in Sunday School and other church classes rather than the "pat" answers, or just a simple admission that we don't have all the answers yet and that it is okay. I strive every day to understand my place in this world and to define the responsibility that I feel for being born into such a privileged situation. As my life has become less encumbered with financial struggles and raising children, I am looking outside my immediate situation to see what I can do to lessen the burdens of others. Hence, my involvement in Haiti and our recent decision to help sponsor a child of lepers in India. Small steps, but steps in the right direction, I think.


I talked to my son, Jon, who is both a scientist and a philosopher, about your science-fueled skepticism. I asked him how he reconciles his belief in evolution and other scientific theories with his faith. I got an earful, but when I pressed him to tell me WHY he had taken this path of faithfulness, rather than the secular scientific path, he said that he supposed it was because of his whole life experience. He was lucky enough to be guided in his scientific journey by brilliant professors at BYU, but he also recognizes God’s hand in his life. I think this is the key. Jon is also aware of the same scientific discoveries and studies that have added to your doubts. He says that the difference is that, as a church member and a scientist, he has to keep an open mind for all truth. It is erroneous to say that only religion or only science can be correct. He fully believes that science and religion are compatible and that we should not teach our children that they must choose between the two.


I also defer to Jeff, who is a biblical scholar and historian. His studies of ancient myths, scriptures, and archaeological findings constantly affirm his faith. He also acknowledges God's hand throughout his life. Next time you wend your way to our door, I would love you to exchange ideas with Jon and Jeff. It would be a true meeting of the minds.


I believe that the light of Christ within us allows us to have an affinity for the truth, so that we recognize it when we hear it. I also think that the things of the world, such as addiction, the pursuit of knowledge or wealth or prestige, can cause us to leave the path of faithfulness. We need to recognize God’s hand in our lives and keep our minds open so that we can receive his guidance and be willing to learn his truths.


So, in my life, I choose to have faith. As I see my children choosing the same path, the goodness in their lives confirms my resolution. I recognize that my understanding of truth is not perfect and I try to remain open to learning new truth. As I recognize the hand of the Lord in my life every day, it strengthens my faith and overcomes my natural tendency towards cynicism.


I hope this has given you some food for thought, my friend. And that I wasn't preachy. Heaven forbid I ever get preachy! Perhaps some of my other illustrious friends will chime in on the conversation in the comments section. I certainly do not have the monopoly around here on deep thinking! 

For the Pirate

Here's what I woke up to this morning.

She doesn't love me yet....

...but she will.

Oh yes, she will!

The Mad Matter, added upon

I noticed, the other day, that I don't have much respect for mats. 

I look at them in their pristine state and I am dissatisfied.

This is the first mat upon which I let loose my doodling fingers.

I wanted to personalize the Costco frame for Bethany. She loved bears, so I copied some Winnie-the-Pooh illustrations in the margins. I outlined the drawings in ink and filled in with coloured pencils. So far, the copyright police have stayed away from my door.

I would like it to stay that way, so don't you tell them!

I became so enamoured of the idea that I created a frame for each of the kids around the time of their 18th birthdays. 

Jon's theme was easy.

Critters!

He has since spent considerable time critiquing the accuracy of my drawings, but I tell him nobody cares!

My plan is to finish each frame with a bride and groom kissing, so you can see I am woefully behind.

Annie, I need a photo of you guys kissing!

Annie was all about the dance and the music.

Sam, I need a picture of you and Charlie K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

I think I need to add some variety to that one. A guitar, maybe, and a cowboy hat.

~~~~~~~~~~0~0~0~~~~~~~~~~

When we repainted the living room, I framed these photos that I took on one of my NZ jaunts. The stark white mat seemed jarring against the warm browns and blues of the room, so I did some gradated shading around the openings in the mat. Once again, regular coloured pencils did the trick, along with a little finger smudging to smooth it out.

I learned this trick while shading maps in Third Form geography class.

I found this print in Mum's house. It is part of a set of three musically themed prints, one of which she had already given me in a frame. I didn't want to spend too much on the frame, so I found one that almost worked and had a friend cut the mat down to fit. Once again, it was white and looked very stark against the picture and black frame, so I used pastels in two shades, blue and black, and smudged the two colours on the mat.

I'm not totally happy with it, but I like it better than the white.

And I thought you might like to see one of the Haitian paintings that I got framed.

Painting: about $12.

Frame: $110.

Me: Happy.

Oops, Bethany reminded me of this one. I got a collage made of Elsie photos and, once again, didn't like the white mat. Bethany very carefully decoupaged some pink tissue paper over the mat. 

I love it!

And that is all.

You'll be glad to know...

...that this is the last of my New Zealand posts. I was debating whether or not to even put this one up, but the gloominess of our Oregon spring and summer has persuaded me.

First, a short lesson on the Maori language. I know that you have been skimming over the Maori place names because they are intimidating. I tried to get my choir at church to sing a Maori hymn and, my goodness, I got such resistance that I gave up!

It's really quite easy, from a little white girl's perspective.

The Maori language has five distinct vowels, the same as in English. When vowels are placed next to each other, both are pronounced. Most vowel sounds are short, with long vowels being designated by a macron.While the vowel pronunciation can vary from one word to another, you should be able to manage a fairly accurate pronunciation by making sure that you pronounce every vowel in a word.

There are ten consonant phonemes in Maori: h, k, m, n, ng, p, r, t, w, and wh. "Ng" is a strange one, articulated at the back of the throat.  "Wh" is pronounced as an "f". So you can imagine the fun that Australian comedians have with names like Whakapapa. 

So, on my last day in Onemana (can you say it now? On-eh-mah-nah) we took a short drive to Whangamata (Fan-ga-mah-tah) and walked on the beach.

It was a glorious morning.

These two were in their element, as usual, and managed to scrounge a thing or two from the tides.

I could have spent all day, paddling in the surf and letting the sun burn my retinas.

Some marine creatures come to a sorry end on this beach.

That one eye is rather disconcerting, eh what?

It's been raining today in Oregon. This seems like such a distant memory already.

All too soon, we had to leave for the airport.

But not before I visited this.

The world's most sophisticated toilet.

It speaks to you.

And plays music.

And flushes automatically.

And locks electronically.

It proved to be too much for me and I couldn't get it to lock.

It kept flushing instead.

I was videotaping the whole thing but it is too embarrassing to post.

And finally, one last view of the Norfolk Pine.

You can tell them by the star at the top.

And then I came home.