Day 1: Groggy in Glasgow

My first view of Scotland was breathtaking. It was through the window of our Icelandair Boeing 757 and the veil of grittiness in my eyes from watching movies all night. 

I loved Glasgow airport, it's not too big and customs was easy-peasy. As in, do you have anything to declare? No? Off you go then!

But drama happens.

In the weeks before we left on this trip, I spent countless hours preparing a folder containing a detailed itinerary, tickets to various attractions, receipts, and maps. I had rented a little Fiat 500 from Europcar through a third party company called Auto Europe and I had double-checked that everything was covered in the rental price, including insurance, because we had been taken by surprise by added charges in previous travels. Imagine my horror when the lady behind the Europcar desk refused to let me take the car unless I paid twenty pounds a day for insurance coverage. That would have more than doubled the cost of the car. It took about 30 minutes on the phone to Auto Europe to find out that for an extra $30 we could be fully covered by them for the whole trip. Win for me, especially considering that I managed to remain polite to the Europcar person throughout the encounter. 

And. 

This was the car we paid for:

And this was the car we got. It might look the same, but it's a Kia diesel and has four doors. It is still very maneuverable and easy to park. We have decided that we probably wouldn't have fit our luggage in the back of the Fiat.

It was an uncertain day weather-wise, which, as we have learned, is the norm in Scotland and northern England. 

If you don't know, I always drive when we travel to countries where driving is on the left side of the road. It was how I learned to drive so, theoretically, it comes back to me fairly easily. So here I was, twenty-four hours without sleep, driving on the wrong side of the road with a manual gear shift, getting lost every time we got to a roundabout because Jeff was trying to navigate for me using my Mapquest printouts and failing miserably, trying to decipher all of the unfamiliar road signs in a city that does its best to hide street names on the sides of the buildings, and having small and frequent moments of panic. It was with much joy that the person who was renting her flat to us through airbnb was able to talk us (over the phone) into her road. It was with great gratitude that I parked the car in a very small space between two other cars.

This street, known as Pollockshaws, was a short walk from the flat and later we found a wonderful organic bakery and several good restaurants on it.

We took a short nap and then I dared to take to the streets again. We visited the Botanic Gardens and, it being Saturday, lots of families were out taking in some fresh air and enjoying the gardens.

We have been to better botanical gardens, but the greenhouses were pretty spectacular. There was a whole chain of greenhouses attached to each other, all with different themes. I found a little bit of New Zealand in one of them.

And these pitcher plants were in the "killer plants" greenhouse, which was the best show of carnivorous plants I've ever seen.

Proof that we were there.

On the way back to where we had parked the car, we heard bagpipes. 

Bagpipes are like honey to our ears, so we followed the sound to this school.

And this young man was piping his heart out by the front door. I think it was a back-to-school night or some such thing. He gave Jeff permission to take his photo.

We drove back to Torrisdale Street and ate dinner at Buddy's BBQ and Burgers, where I ate poutine for the first time. It was delicious, and there was enough for dinner the next night. Jeff had a burger. Of course. 

I had pre-paid for tickets that evening to the Scottish Fiddle Orchestra, which was to be at the Royal Glasgow Concert Hall in the middle of downtown Glasgow. We nixed the car and took the train into downtown. The station was just across the wall from the flat, so it was a short walk on that end. Which was just as well, because after the five-minute train ride, we couldn't seem to get our bearings in the downtown area and find the concert hall. Most people that we asked didn't know where it was, and the ones that gave us directions were wrong. After walking hither and yon for about 30 minutes we finally arrived, hot and sweaty, just in the nick of time.

It was a perfect concert, the audience was well-behaved, and the icing on the cake was that Princess Anne, who is the royal patron of the orchestra, was attending the concert. My first time ever in the presence of royalty! I'm not much of a royalty-chaser, but I like Anne for several reasons. She is thrifty, and actually wears outfits more than once. This website has an interesting look at some of them. She is patron to over 200 organizations and carries out over 700 royal engagements and public appearances every year. She has been known to be grumpy in public, but also has a sense of humour. Apparently, she hasn't changed her hairstyle in several decades. What's not to like, I say. This is a fun little article about her.

But I digress.

Many of the numbers were foot-stomping and hand-clapping kinds of songs. Some were sentimental melodies and I'm pretty sure the old gentleman next to me wiped tears from his eyes a time or two. A mezzo-soprano and a tenor joined the orchestra for some songs. But the best part was when the First Troon Boys Brigade Piper Band joined in.

The photos stink, but I have included a YouTube video of the two performing together a few years ago.

There were six piano accordions in the back row. 

And two Scottish dancing sisters.

And sometimes the accent of the announcer was so broad that we couldn't understand a word he was saying. But we understood most of this poem when he recited it from memory:

McAllister Dances Before the King

Clansmen, the peats are burning bright,

Sit round them in a ring.

And I will tell of that great night

I danced before the king.

For as a dancer in my youth,

So great was my renown,

The king himself invited me,

To visit London town.

My brand new presentation kilt

And ornaments I wore;

And with my skein dhu,

I rapped upon the door.

Soon I heard a Lord or Duke

Come running down the stairs,

And to the keyhole put his mouth,

Demanding who was there!

"Open the door!" I sternly cried,

"As quickly as you can.

Is this the way that you receive

A Scottish gentleman?"

The door was opened; word went round,

"McAllister is here."

And with the news, the palace rang

With one tremendous cheer.

The King was sitting on his throne,

But down the steps he came.

Immediately the waiting Lord

Pronounced my magic name.

And all the ladies of the court

With pearls and jewels bedecked,

Did blush and tremble as I bowed

To them with due respect.

Slowly at first, with hands on hips,

I danced with ease and grace.

Then raised my hands above my head

And swifter grew my pace.

At last no human eye could see

My step so light and quick.

And from the floor great clouds of dust

Came rising fast and thick.

The Kind was greatly moved and shook

My hand in friendship true.

"Alas," he said, "Although a king,

I cannot dance like you." 

And the the gracious Queen herself

Came shyly o'er to me,

And pinned a medal on my breast

For everyone to see.

Her whisper I shall ne'er forget,

Nor how her eyes grew dim.

"Ach, where were you, McAllister,

The day I married him!"

But the best part was Auld Lang Syne at the end when the whole audience crossed arms and held hands and sang along. It was a fitting finale. 

One curious thing was that no one gave a standing ovation at the end. I have often thought that audiences in the US have devalued standing ovations by giving them too readily, when one should be reserved for a special honour after an outstanding performance. This audience of reserved Scottish men and women were obviously beyond moved by the performance, but only stood to sing the final song. I tend to relate to that reserve even now, after living most of my life outside of the UK. 

And one final photo of the railway station as we waited for our late train.

There's something that I really like about railway stations late at night.

Hello world

Hello world.
Yes, I still live.
It's been a busy summer.
Papa took the grandkids to free fishing day at Champoeg.

I had surgery on my toe.

Now I can wear shoes again.

You're welcome.

We seemed to have grandkids to stay quite often.

It was fantabulous.

The summer was hot and everything ripened early. 

Fruit prices were down.

Jeff actually helped me prepare cherries for drying.

It was fantabulous.

And unexpected.

The garden grew.

Little Jeff got baptised and his Peruvian abuelitos were there.

I got to spend a couple of weeks visiting faraway grandchildren.

And grand-dogs.

It was fantabulous.

More fun in the sun.

Moe and Shirley still hang out in the back garden.

Their existence hangs by a thread unless they start laying more eggs.

Mere cuteness does not constitute a reason for living.

Nana Camp happened.

Bubbles were blown.

And popped with glee.

Squishy balls were made.

On the second night, Madelyn woke up and threw up all over herself and Josh squished in beside me in the wee hours and had asthma attacks for the rest of the night. It was glorious.

And now summer is over.

In just over a week, we will be Scotland-bound.

Stay tuned.

Attila the Hen

Time for a little nostalgia, with the story of our first chicken.

When Jonnie was in first grade, a student of the fantabulous Mrs. Schroeder, the class hatched eggs in an incubator. It was an annual tradition in Mrs Schroeder's class. 

Annie was a about four at the time, and I often took her with me to help out in the classroom. We watched the eggs as they were hatching, which was fascinating for us as we had never seen it before. And then we watched the chickies every time we visited the classroom and found our favourite. It was a docile little chick and when it was a couple of weeks old we got to take it home. 

We assumed it was a girl (experience makes me amazed that it worked out that way) and called her Attila the Hen. Because Jeff jokingly called her our attack chicken, when she was really the sweetest chicken you could ever wish to meet.

We kept Tillie in the house for as long as we could. She liked to roost on the back of the couch and on our heads.

One day, not long after she came to stay with us, Annie and Tillie were outside by the front door. Suddenly, I heard Annie screaming, so I ran outside and she was crying that a cat had taken Tillie. I ran around the house looking for her and heard my neighbour out on her back porch scolding her cat. It was playing with Tillie, a prelude to the eating of her, but luckily she was rescued and handed over the back fence, traumatized but alive.

Tillie was a small bird. She had a wonderful summer, following us around as we dug in the garden...

...and going for walks and the occasional bike ride. Every time we passed a likely scratching spot she would jump off, have a good scratch in the dirt and then I would lift her back onto the handlebars and off we would go.

We didn't think she was laying eggs until one of the kids found a big pile of little brown eggs in some long grass.

Oops.

I was so ignorant that I didn't know anything about the proper food or egg-laying schedules or anything else about raising chickens. I missed Google more than I knew.

She spent the winter in the garage, roosting on top of the freezer and pooping all over everything.

I had forgotten this, but the photos tell a story of taking Tillie back to school for a visit, I think it might have been a science fair. The sign says it was two years hence, but I think it was probably one.

The sign reads: Tillie is a "returning student." She was hatched 2 years ago in Mrs. Schroeder's room. At that time we called her Licorice.  She now is the loved pet of the Osborne family.

And she was.

Lower Table Rock

There are two table rocks just out of Medford. One is called Upper Table Rock and the other is Lower Table Rock. I have found no reason why one is upper and the other is lower. The area, which covers 4,864 acres, is managed jointly by the BLM and the Nature Conservancy. Over 50,000 people hike the trails to the top each year. And we were two of them.

We decided to hike the Lower Table Rock because it looked more challenging. 

Of course.

Here is a cool map that gives you an idea of the route we trod. The little zig-zaggy line that goes up the cliff is vastly underestimated.

After reading this in the car park, I decided to go back to the car and retrieve my pepper spray.

It was a perfect day and the wildflowers were in full bloom. Lucky us!

The hike is about 5.4 miles, according to some sources, which includes the walk on top of the plateau.

A row of electricity pylons guards the way, buzzing fiercely at the trespassers.

The first part of the trail was an easy slope and there were lots of trees, especially our favourite madrones.

I wasn't too keen on these little fellows.
In fact, eew.

Pretty soon the gravel trail steepened and I began to have concerns about the stability of my ankles on the way down.

No matter, traipse on!

There were many different wildflowers on the way up the trail, changing with the elevation as we ascended higher and higher. Not all of the flower photos turned out, so this is only about half of what we saw. I had forgotten how difficult it is to focus on some flower colours. Here are the best ones, mostly identified.

Indian paintbrush

Dwarf onion (allium)

Not a flower

Vetch

I wish I knew the name of this, but I have been unable to find it, in spite of it being all over the area as well as out in Central Oregon. Some kind of silverpuff, I think.

Camas lily

These galls were all over the trees at the lower elevation. They can be caused by insects, mites, nematodes, bacteria, or fungi. They damage the tree, which causes the tree to produce larger amounts of growth hormone, which result in galls such as these. An attractive solution to the problem.

Desert parsley

Blue-eyed Mary

Monkey flower

Forktooth Ookow. I kid you not.

Henderson's stars

Western columbine

Lupine

Tolmie's cat's-ears, AKA cat's ear lily, AKA mariposa lily

Wood rose with, I believe, poison oak

I love this twisty madrone.

Right at the top of the trail the path divides and you can catch a view from the edge of the cliff if you go left over a very rocky terrain. The view was breathtaking and you could probably go home happy after going this far, but we wanted to have the whole experience, of course.

Looking over Upper table rock

So on we went.

The plateau is a mounded prairie habitat and has a unique plant community. A thin layer of granular rock covers impermeable volcanic rock, allowing water to collect during the winter in shallow depressions and creating what is known as vernal pools. It is a rare environment and supports a threatened species of fairy shrimp and an endangered plant called dwarf woolly meadowfoam. 

This is a very hot and dry area as soon as the pools dry up, which they already had by the time we were there, and the flowers are very different from the wooded areas on the way up.

Arrow Leafed balsamroot 

Longhorn plectritis

As we walked along this very civilized path, we could see a group of people coming towards us who were moving around in a very curious manner. We wondered what they were doing.

And then we saw for ourselves. Hundreds and hundreds of little tiny frogs were crossing the path. The pools were almost completely gone, just a remnant of dampness left, so they must have been on their way to seek shelter in the trees. I wondered what happens to the fairy shrimp in the summer. Apparently, they die after laying eggs that can withstand extreme heat and arid conditions and the eggs hatch as soon as the pools fill up. Cool.

It was impossible to avoid the little critters, as they were thickly underfoot, but they seemed to avoid our big clompy feet just fine. Which is just as well, because I would have been sad to squash them.

Lizards were also in evidence, basking in the sun.

The ground was thickly covered with grasses and wildflowers.

It seemed like a long mile, especially when we kept getting distracted with things like frogs, but we finally made it to the other side. We were overlooking Kelly Slough, a unique wetland habitat that is home to many aquatic birds.

We walked over to a patch of trees and spent a nice lazy interval sitting in some welcome shade and eating snacks, then wended our way back across the plateau and down the trail, which was just as precarious as I had feared. Why I ever go hiking without my poles I do not know. About halfway down I started to get blisters on all of the toes of my right foot, and by the time we got to the car I could hardly walk on them.

No matter. After a little rest back at the house and donning a pair of sandals, I was good for the rest of the day. 

This is an awesome hike, definitely best done in the spring. In fact, I would do it again in April, as it would be cooler in temperature and the pools would still be in evidence. The wildflowers would also be different and, I suspect, more numerous, so I think we will do this again some year.