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.

<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>

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.

A rose by any other name

Why, oh why, do I end up on a weeding binge every Saturday evening, when I know it will hurt even worse tomorrow than it does tonight?

My fellow church-goers will think that I habitually hobble!

But I did find some serendipitous surprises as I made my way around the garden. These roses clamber towards the sky against the back fence. They have a sweet old-fashioned appearance and a subtle aroma.

We have a snowball bush in the side yard and during the storm yesterday it snowed blossoms all over the ground beneath.

Well, the garden has a few less weeds than it did this afternoon and, after the rain this week, my veggie garden is full of small seedlings and shows great promise for harvest-time. 

Speaking of roses, here are a couple more for your pleasure. These lovely red, almost thorn-less roses were planted in the flowerbeds at church after it was renovated a couple of years ago. 

And here is the sweetest flower of all, getting some Mommy time after that mommy finished her first 5K this morning.

Happy Sunday, lovely readers.

Just like Johnny and June

I sat in a room with a bunch of old fogies (of which I am not one) at the Senior Citizens' Centre for an hour this morning, stuck all over with acupuncture needles (trying to pretend I wasn't), listening to an eclectic mix of music on my shiny blue MP3 player, with my eyes shut and my mind unfettered. I tried to forget all of the ailments that brought me to that place and concentrate on the music.

The man next to me is almost always there at the same time as I am. He has a prosthetic leg and the skin on his other leg is tight and looks uncomfortable. I wonder if he has lost his leg to diabetes, like so many others, and if he worries about his remaining leg. I think how much more difficult life would be for him if he did.

After the acupuncturist takes the needles out of his leg, the man sits and talks to the other patients in the room but I can't hear what they are saying because music fills my head. His wife has been waiting patiently, having conversations of her own. They have a friendship of sorts, the people in this room who sit here, week after week, looking at each other's bare legs and feet and talking about everything in their lives.

The wife takes out a compression stocking and turns it inside out, rolls it up between her fingers the way our mothers used to roll their stockings to put them on their legs, and eases it onto his foot. I watch her as she lovingly pulls it up her husband's leg and then  manoeuvres his shoe onto his foot, smiling and talking to him all the while.

The Oakridge Boys start singing "Absence of Love". I adore The Oakridge Boys. They are not subtle but they sing with devotion unfeigned. 

As the man heaves himself out of his chair and, using a walker, slowly wends his way out of the room with his wife by his side, I think of some other examples of selfless devotion that I have witnessed recently.

One of my frequent joys is facilitating music therapy sessions with Alzheimer's groups. In one care home there was a woman in the late stages of Alzheimer's whom I shall call Sadie. She had been diagnosed over ten years ago and her husband, Charlie, came to the home every morning at 9 o'clock to sit with her and make sure she ate.  At lunchtime, he would go home. He was a lovely man and we often talked a little as I set up or packed up my instruments. His wife didn't know he was there and was unresponsive even to me, but still he showed up every day of the year. She has been absent for a few months and I haven't seen Charlie, but I think about him often.

In my group this morning, a man wheeled in behind everyone else, riding on an electric scooter, and insisted on sitting next to K. I didn't know the man, but K. has been in the group several times before. I want to sit next to my wife, he said, when I suggested he sit in a chair that was vacant. I apologized to him for not knowing they were together. As the hour progressed, he was attentive to his wife and held her hand. I noticed that he got teary during several songs, especially as K. responded to the music. His devotion to her was visibly apparent and very sweet. I don't know their situation, but, although he is physically ailing, he seems to be fully cognizant and may only have been visiting the facility to be with her.

I often ponder love. And the absence of love. What makes some couple stick together like glue and others fall apart on a whim? I don't have any profound answers, other than noticing that commitment and unselfishness play a big part in a long-term love affair. We have several friends that are going through tough times together right now, some of them terminal and others long-term. I have examples of unconditional love everywhere I turn.

I love to see my younger friends proclaiming their anniversaries of nine or ten or more years.
I think back on our thirty-two years and remember the times that I was ready to walk out of the door and never look back.
And Jeff threw things around a few times, but he never gave up on "us".
So here we are today, better than ever.
I really, really, hope that when things get tough, I can be the wife that is patient and kind, instead of sassy and independent, as I usually am.

When I look at this photo, I ask myself Why did Jeff not take his wallet out of his pocket?

And Why is my face so round?

But I know the answer to both questions.

Jeff is a creature of habit.

And I never saw a chocolate that didn't end up in my mouth!

We had time for some quick family photos when everyone was here.

Here they are, our pride and joy. 

They are a little rag-tag.

Just like us.

Swopping with purpose

Adam Smith, the oft-debated Father of Capitalism, once wrote that "The propensity to truck, barter and exchange one thing for another is common to all men, and can be found in no other race of animals."

Well, I have embraced my inner propensity with gusto these last few weeks. A couple of local young mothers set up a "handmade and homegrown barter" group on facebook and I have had tons of fun trading and chatting with the group. I love that these younger ladies are so interested in growing their own food and developing traditional skills, like soap-making and food preservation. They outshine me by far in their commitment to the lifestyle, but I am inspired to up my game.

This afternoon, I exchanged a bag of fresh rhubarb, half a pound of chia seed, and a little pink Himalayan sea salt for a marionberry start,

and nine adorable, squatty Ball canning jars with lids and rings.

I just finished boiling up some beautiful multi-hued home-grown eggs for Jeff's lunches that I exchanged for rhubarb starts.

Look at these little beauties. Don't you want to just EAT them up? After you get done admiring them, of course!

I've also exchanged fresh rhubarb for homemade soap.

Tomorrow, on my way to a music therapy group, I am meeting another lady to swop some tomato starts (mine) for some pint canning jars (hers). 

While I realize that it would be impractical to acquire everything I need by bartering, I think it's a good mind-set to develop. We're accustomed to running to the store every time we need something, which is a pretty commerce-dependent way of running our lives. I have watched members of the bartering group exchange, not only goods, but advice, support, and information as well. I suggested that we add a tool-and-equipment swopping element to the group and the administrators approved. 

But the best thing, the very best thing, about bartering is that two people give up something they don't need and, in return, acquire something they really want. Without any money changing hands. And there is something infinitely satisfying about that. 

P.S. And no, I didn't misspell "swop". It's the Queen's English.