Yakima Valley

Marilyn suggested a drive to get out of the house and we stopped alongside the Yakima River, which looked cool, wonderful and ready for dogs and people to jump in.  It seems that hordes do when it gets hot there:  small put ins allow all sorts of strange floatiing paraphernalia and teens, as well as some bodies you wish would cover up, to get cool and float down the river.  The parks in this remote (evidently not so remote) canyon were busting with floatables and people.  Overflow parking couldn't contain the hordes of teena nd post teens out for a mini rafting adventure.  In one way, in the heat, I was envious - but the music that was played at earsplitting levels was unintelligible, thumping dirges.  I felt old.

A bridge let us go beyond the mob(s) to a pathway along the stream that added to the river - through meadows and  aspens.  Marilyn and Robert were able to get across this rocking, unstable footbridge, while I had to waddle from one board to the next.  Koa floated across - the motion of the bridge was bounce, bounce, ooops, bounce ---not fun.

One of the meadows way back in the valley had been someone's homestead and all that was left were some posts and ancient apple trees.  The creek alongside was not too deep so it was obvious they got their water from the river.  After reading about the homesteaders, emigrants and 49rs at Marilyn's, we were in awe at the idea of women who could travel across the prairies and mountains  from Missouri in wagons and arrive to a new place in November and try to feed families off the land that hadn't been cultivated.  We were standing where someone struggled to live, and while there was lots of summer grass for the animals, winters in this country are fierce.

Dick and Jane's house in Ellensburg.  The man who lived here, with his wife, collected all sorts of materials to make his art, and evidently he was discovered and is now famous and has been shown in museums.  The whole house outside is covered with the inventions which obviously were done with a lot of humor.  Yet the art world talkes him seriously. We giggled a lot while wandering around the yard.

Many Rivers.......

Linda Lebow (sp?) a friend of Bridget and Dave's, took us on a tour of Lodi, and to a fun street fair:  music, great fruit and veggies and later Mexican food.  Robert and I biked and played at tennis in the cool of the mornings there.  Lodi is a great town, remembered in a great song.

LA to Linda's to Lodi  to get our mail to Brookings to Bend to get our computer charger found areas of beauty that we didn't know about when we used to race down the coast to visit friends and family.  From Brookings to Bend was through Six Rivers Park, from fog to heat , from grey to teal green pools in the rivers as well as white rapids.  We wanted to jump in, but Margie and the Deschutes River  was waiting .  Cousin Margie is the daughter of my Aunt Dorothy who with Uncle Lewis, walked down the aisle with us when Robert and I got married.  Aunt Dorothy is the sister to my father.  Margie investigated the Hamerquists, McBeans and a few others who are part of who we are - and wrote about it so vividly that I got to know my ancestors, while crying and laughing through it all.  What a gift to find parts of the past that had been missing.  From Bend to Yakima, over the Columbia and along the Yakima River was another gift of beauty - green against the gold of the hills around Yakima.  And being with Marilyn, and the memories we share about Hawaii.  Yakima is truly a garden area with fruit stands just about in every neighborhood, wineries ( 680 wineries in Washington, oh my) and hop fields alongside expaliered apple trees.  Now that is different.

A pool on the Smith River - signs say that there is river access, but those Oregonians have to climb down through all sorts of shrubbery or drive on rocks to get to the swimming holes.  Five miles in from the coast, it is hot enough to attract a lot of people.

The newcomer in Brookings, named Susan, who was fascinated with Koa's tail.  At one point, Koa dragged her across the living room, with the white critter hanging on for dear life.  Koa loves cats and most dogs, but he seemed mostly mortified by the tail drag.

The Smith River - we have a favorite camp site along the river that we stumbled on in the year of family drama:  peaceful, wonderful and out of the fog.  We camp the van in a rock meadow alongside some alders and look across the river to a hill covered in evergreens.  We are a long way from PV.

Cousin Margie and Robert and Koa - Margie walks miles every day and we were puffing in the heat.  The mountains are very close and still covered with snow.  Bend is a very pretty town with the mountain backdrop, but as Margie said, without water, it would be desert.  Pines and firs are all over to cool the town.,

the great before and after......

Ian's front door in Los Angeles, on the edge of Marnia del Rey and Venice, needed a bit of an overhaul according to his frustrated architect.  Those are his words, not mine - he could tell his friends that his mom and Robert were working on it but he used the terms frustrated architect.  I was not frustrated, but having a great time getting my hands dirty.  We returned to LA as Ian said he had pneumonia.  We found out it was the type that allowed him to go to parties and that we didn't have to play parent, however, we did anyway, with laundry and food and cleaning.  If that wasn't enough, we decided to redo the front of the house - we have been watching too much HGTV and DIY and tore out the lawn, sketched some ideas on a scratch pad and went to Home Depot.  Several times.  And Ace hardware, which is called B & B here, one of our favorite stores.   Several times.



Robert framed the "engawa" - deck to you haoles, while I worked under the apricot tree in the back, on some paintings that had been giving me trouble. Robert was having fun, the neighbors were having fun, the youth in the house was having fun - so I decided to join him after he framed the deck and to dig holes, clean out the front garden and visit Home Depot Garden Center.  We got muddy, as we had to soak the ground to get the grass out, or even dig the holes for the plants.  Ian was given the decision to make between a "sophisticated" design or cottage style with a bunch of white roses and lavendar.  He chose sophisticated, despite saying that he wasn't and neither was the house. 
Robert also beefed up the 4 x 4 on the porch, which wasn't really, as well as build a small "trellis" to frame the opening.  Ian said it all looked sort of Oriental - my comment was unprintable.



Paving stones with bark, a lot of left over river rock that had been stashed at the side of the house, some lavendar, festcue(?) along the fake stream, and other plants to blend in with the wild front garden of ferns and banana palm.  We manged to do the whole thing, while building up his compost with garden junk, for a small amount.  The neighbors kept stopping by - probably wanting to be part of the mud act when we were taking out the grass at the garden area.  Robert and I slept ten hours after the project was done, and are back on the road tomorrow, heading north again, singing along with Willie Nelson.



The best camp ever.......



Bridget and Dave had to leave and found out that their jeep would not  stay on while going downhill, so we followed them down to Huntington Lake. As most of the trip down to Hwy 99 is downhill, they had a challenge - then they found out it wouldn't stay on while stopped, so the trip got more exciting.   They sped off to Lodi while we camped at 6,800' with the rest of the hordes along the lake and decided to head back  up to the high country.  Florence Lake was all slabs of granite, great rushing waters along the road, and a flooded campsite. We had given a Berkeley couple a ride from the ranger station, and they managed to squeeze in with their packs were in awe at how different the landscape was from Lake Edison.  We looked at various campsites but were  not thrilled with mosquitos, lack of water, (close water) and went to our old campsite at the creek at Edison.  That lasted one night - more mosquitos, the creek having become a raging river with angry trout - I got a strike that shook my arm.  I don't want a fish that big!  My son commented something like one uses a knife to fit the fish in the pan - but you have to catch the monsters first.  They were not cooperating.  We moved camp to above the lake, with some grumbling - but were rewarded with fewer bugs and a view you could not buy for any amount of money.



Koa was in heaven, looking for squirrels and chipmunks, who caught on to his game right away.  The lake at this point is over a mile or so across to the creek where everyone seems to catch fish.  I kayaked over one morning  didn't find any bites, no matter what I threw in to intice a bite.



We unzip the tent - comfortable sleeping on the futon, and this is what we see when we are sipping our morning brew.



The wildflowers were just beginning to show - Indian paintbrush.  There was an astonishing wall of white azealeas at 8000' off the road, on the way down, and meadows were covered with blue lupines.  Magic time in the high country.



Cold Creek in full spate - one fisherman hung a worm on his hook and then added a marshmallow to make it float.  It worked and he was pulling in trout, who ate everything - strange wilderness fish.  Me, I cooked my marshmallows over the fire.  One year, a fisherman told me to use corn - but the trout ate anything I put in the lake - this year, they were fickle.  One day, salmon eggs, the next day, marshmallows.  Go figure.



Koa and one year old Molly, who showed up on our last day.  Molly was so fascinated with Koa, that she would bound up and introduce the leaping and bumping that is great dog play.  It was chase me, big boy and I will catch you.  He misses this sort of thing, but Molly pretty much wore him out.  Their play was like an energetic ballet - so why didn't they huff and puff with the altitude?



Bugs in paradise

Koa at Camp Cleveland, trying to see what the bear was reading.  We left the Clevelands, with plans to meet later this summer in Washington state for some exploration of the Olympic Peninsula.  Spent some time at Linda's, painting and orgainizing the removal of paintings and stored stuff from her house to be taken back to Az.  From Linda's to Vermilion Valley, where we have a cabin with the best view of the lake.  We hung my boat hammock in the pines, Koa wanders though the resort making friends with the other dogs, and we feel we are home.  We have been coming up here for some 20 years, to the 8000' level, either camping or staying in the cabins, fishing for elusive trout, and hating to leave.  We would come over from Hawaii, pick up our van from where  ever it had been left and explore the Sierras.  Finding this valley was a fluke as the road was unpaved, not even a proper forest road way back then, single lanes cut out of the side of the mountains.  Passing an oncoming car is enough to create heart attacks, but the trip is lovely, over Kaiser Pass at 10,000' and dropping down and up to Mono Hot springs, and then further up the Lake Edison.  We bought an apricot/berry pie, had a beer and settled in, to wait for Bridget and Dave to arrive the next day.



These strange red flowers bloom out of snow and are startling to see.  There is so much water and late snow melt up here, that these are still showing up.  The lake is almost full and with snow melt coming down from the higher elevations, filling faster than water can be let out of the dam.  It is magic seeing it like this as the last year we had to drive quite a ways on the beach to launch the kayaks. 



Biscuits and gravy for our first breakfast.  Dave and Bridget came up with their kayaks on the top of their jeep.  They stay in the tent platforms and eat with us as we have a kitchen.  Well, sort of - the dishes on the table are where Robert has to wash them as it turns out the sink in Cabin Four is not installed.  At least we can get water from the bathroom/.



The view from our cabin - a small pontoon ferry brings and delivers hikers from the John Muir trail, (left at the photo) twice a day.  The hikers coming off the trail seem sun blasted and ready for the incredible pies that are made at the small restaurant.  We kayaked out beyond the small island, investigating bays and tried to get back before the afternoon westerly hit.  We had gusts coming back - building muscles.



Bridget at the tent cabin above our area.  Koa sits at the end of  the building to keep an eye on B & D as well as us at our place.  It is hell for a herding dog to have his peeps separated.  I married B & D at Lake Powell quite a few years ago - we all stood on a rock offshore and had the Book of Common Prayer ceremony and we explored Lake Powell for their honeymoon.

Exploring one of the bays, developed with the rise of the lake level.



The creek that drops down from the lake at 9,180', called the Devil's Bathtub.  Robert and I climbed the trail when we were younger - and a difficult trail it is as it disappears a lot.  We got lost coming back one year as heavy snows had wiped out the trail, and we followed the creek to the shoreline and happily back to the resort.  The resort only has four cabins, several tent cabins and camp grounds for hiker, as well as a few places where small rvs can hook up.  The restaurant has outragous prices, but the pies are worth every penny, er, dollars.  There were fishermen all along the entrance to the lake, all day long, from the looks of their coolers, as they had heard there was trout.



Dave in the pareu that Linda bought on the beach in Bali.  He spent a few hours fishing the creek with the hordes, and then he and Bridget hit the afternoon winds to get to camp.  Need strong arms to paddle into the winds as we are all feeling that today.  This is a very quiet 4th of July up here, and we feel blessed to have a few more days here, fighting the mosquitos and flies.  Robert and I went for a hike along one of the high creeks this morning, and were chased back out as we were breathing bugs.  It is a real testament to how much we have loved and still love this place that we return often, despite the bugs in the morning and evening.  Gong to bed smelling like Off is something you get used to.



Friendship, its all about friendship....



Debbie said That Robert's dates were a beanpole, a gimp and a blind woman.  So?  He's in luck with such interesting, fascinating women.  Time spent with us is never boring.



A trip to Denver to see the grandkids - Adam, Timothy and Wendy - and out to dinner to a barbecue joint.  The sky  was filled with ash and smoke from all the fires in front and back of Colorado.  At the barbecue place the boys were in awe over the gravy, as we all took a bath in the ribs and beans.  Wonderful.



Dinner with Bob and Donna and Harold - all from Fountain hills, only we are a block from the cold, cold beach in Ventura at a  fish and chips place that Bob called a dive.  The food was heavenly - so good, we had a hard time having a conversation as we were savoring fresh, wonderful flavors.  Bob and Donna escape from FH in their elegant trailer and spend the summer months surfing and playing on the coast, moving every two weeks.  We tried to stay in their state beach but were told by the beaurocrat from hill that we had to have a 3" hose for our black water, grey water, etc.  We explained that we were fully self contained and didn't need that stuff.  No dice.  We checked into a motel and slept like babies in the ocean air.  Quite a huge contrast from Nuevo.  And wonderul to connect with our friends from "home".  We don't really know wherre home is anymore, but Harold commutes back to FH a couple times a month - as well as flies all over the US.  We realized that our base is the long, lovely  friendship(s) that we have.



Robert in Ojai - We had ;made a fast stop here on our way to Barbara's house in Santa Barbara.  I wanted to check out some galleries and try to find some long sleeved t-shirts for mountain and ocean living.  Huh?  Try $65 for t-shirts.  I didn't want them that bad and managed to be polite in the wonderful botiques.  The paintings in the galleries all seemed to be of a type that was popular in the 30's - the plein aire painters of Calif. but these were done by artists of today.  A few years ago the style was all realism to the point where one would think a photo would do the job.  The town is built around some Spanish style buildings from the turn of the century, with arcades hiding the blilng t-shirt shops.  Just to say we did something there, we visited the old post office and put in a change of address as the IRS sends mail to us in Fountain Hills.  I didn't want to ask Robert what address he put down for a forwarding.





Michael and Scott, to be college sophmores in the fall, and Koa, who remembers when he towered over them.  The boys and their gang were in an out (LA) and brought back memories of the "breakfast club" we didn't know we had in Hawaii.  Robert would bring home a load of groceries and they would disappear and no one seemed to understand why until Robert returned home one morning, having forgotten something.  There was a gang of kids cooking and eating, the refrigerator open, and bacon smells.  When I saw the boys in the  past fall, they were my height.  These are Ian's sons and our little grandsons.



Cafe Sabroso in Nuevo served us a simple dinner onenight, with four great salsas:  the favorite was the mango with hot chilies in vinegar.  We chopped and chopped in LA for the salsa, Ian cooked the pork (which I slathered in garlic and Mexican herbs), and the sweet potatoe fries were saved from an inferno by Alycin, a granddaughter, from severe burning.  Polly, a friend who grew up with my sons in Kailua brought a broccoli salad.  I wanted a photo for the memory, and it seemed everyone else did, too.  There were about seven people surrounding this feast with their cell phones, clicking away.  Mojitos topped the feast which we ate in Ian's back yard, around a fire pit, with us tropical flowers freezing in the LA cool. 



Barbara, a friend from so far back that we can't remember, on her Rocky Mountain horse, Lucy.  Lucy is a gaited horse who likes to graze along the way, and I don't have the strength in my arms to keep her from snacking so Barb changed horses with me to teach her a lesson.  She grabbed a mouthful as I was trying to take photos, having gotten on Chamois to try to get a good  photo of Barb and Lucy. I couldn't handle the new horse, the reins and a camera at the same time and kept hearing the beep of the camera taking photos of the ground, the sky and whatever.  Lucky to just get this shot.  Lucy had green grunge around her mouth from the weeds and we just laughed. I had forgotten that English riding ( among a lot of other things)  was two handed and earlier was trying to neck rein her.  Barbara and I met when I lived in Bremerton, (another life) and I kept telling her to go to Hawaii.  She did, and the boys and I later stayed with her when we moved there.  My son Ian cut down her papaya tree when he was five years old, and when chastised, told her that he wanted to give her the flowers on top, and that he would marry her when he grew up.  Silver tongued sweetie that he is.



Me, on  Lucy.  We rode along what I felt was a cliff - but really a high trail.  I didn't get nervous until Barbara said we would head down a trail that looked as if it fell straight down into the valley - but the way to fight acrophobia is to go for it, and the trail really just gently, well, sort of, turned and we could see the lovely valley called Birnum Wood, back of Montecito.



Me, on Chamois - or Shammy, we didn't know.  The gait she would break into is a fast walk that is very comfortable and typical of Rocky Mountain horses.  Good thing we didn't go beyond that as my legs were spaghetti.  Rocovery took a couple of days, and am in training as Barb promised a ride when we return in the Fall.



A bowl of stars..........

On the edge of the Mogollon Rim, Az. - we had been gone a week to smoky Colorado and the sky had been filled with smoke from a huge fire NE of where we are, with smoke and ash going north of Denver and east of Chicago.  Skinny Minnie cannot look down. 



Another great dining room on the Mogollon Rim.  You breathe pine essence up here and the air at 8000' is cool and windy.  We are in an area where we cross country ski - used to - and it gets several feet of snow. Notice that the wilderness behind seems groomed - not like real wilderness where you are are aware there are critters in the bushes.  No real ground cover here except something that looks suspiciously like poison oak. This area is two hours from our Az. house, which is not our home any more.  Good thing.  As we are free to roam.




The Rio Grande Gorge  below where we spent the night  - as far from the Gorge as I could convince Robert to park.  He told the ranger that I was nervous.  Damn straight.  This land is in New Mexico, across from theTaol ski valley, and is full of juniper and pine trees.  The sky at night is beyond awe inspiring, with more stars than can be counted, cool air and a sense that we were alone in the universe.  The camp ground was so clean, and only two other campers were around.  The road, which gives hiccups to one's breath, follows the cliff edge with the river  full of silt from the spring run off- has camp sites in some beautiful green trees below.  My knees consider the hike down, and my brain considers the fear of falling out of the top campsites into the gorge.  We stay on top, as close to the middle of the plateau as we can get.  I'm no dummy.



King of the Mogollon Rim - back in Az.  We hated to return to Az so soon as rumour has it that it is heating up.  But we get to sleep in the best bed in the world at Eileen's house, fall in the pool, enjoy the cats and eat out with friends.  After camping with a bowl of stars, it is ok.  Not too shabby.  I fell in love with New Mexico again, and even Robert said it was "kind of fun".  Yup.  I had remembered a driveway to the Taos Pueblo, from a trip years ago and kept talking about the white liliacs along the side of the road and the bridge over a small creek.  Now, there is a parking lot, a building wanting $10 per person, and $6 for a camera permit.  We went into town for lunch instead.  It always felt a bit intrusive going through the pueblo in the past, as you can see inside some of the houses and how they live.  It was all free then.  Now, no lilacs and more unsmiling faces.  Pay up, gringas.



Harold and Robert, who might be saying something like, "get that damn camera out of my face"......We had held a Christmas sale a few years ago, of our jewelry and Debbie and I left to put out flyers.  Harold and Robert were alone in our house, sitting on the couch working on some jewelry when two ladies came in to check out the jewelry.  Harold and Debbie's dogs, small fluffy critters were there and the ladies made some assumptions about the relationship between the guys.  . These two lost an opportunity to be the sales guys from hell.