Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday: Tuesday Edition

Spring + pollen + allergies = hard to focus on writing. Picture of log mill taken in southern Washington, old-timey effect done in Photoshop.

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Remember When?

I come from an era of party lines and operator assisted long distance. Rotary phones that, if you were clever, you could dial by depressing the hang-up button the required number of times for every digit. There even used to be a code you could dial to ring back your own phone number, an endless source of entertainment for us kids on a boring evening at home with the family. Phone numbers began with letters instead of numbers. When someone asked for your number, you didn’t say “123-446-0944”; it was Hillcrest 60944, or Sycamore 53477, Atlantic 62222, the first two letters designating the numbers to be dialed. And area codes? Only if you wanted to call long distance, and you didn’t dial that yourself. With entire counties and states all having the same area code, they were irrelevant for daily use. And the phone company owned your equipment, not you. I can still remember having to hide extensions when the phone repairman came out because you weren’t supposed to have any phones in the house that they had not provided you with, and extensions cost extra.

My wooden hanger collection. Love those old phone numbers, eh?

Things changed a lot as we grew up. Area codes came into play eventually, and party lines went
the way of the dodo bird. Then touch tone phones came out, and finally, you could buy your own
(as many as you wanted!) instead of being restricted to the one "Ma Bell" gave you. Long
distance got easier and cheaper, and then along came cell phones. In the last few years before
our move from the suburbs of California to the boonies of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, the
population explosion down there actually had the effect of causing the phone companies to run
out of numbers to give out. Pretty scary stuff to think that so many people could live in one place
that they didn’t have enough phone numbers to go around. The situation was remedied by area
code splits and all of a sudden, you didn’t just have to remember 7 digit telephone numbers, but
the corresponding area code as well, making it very confusing in a lot of neighborhoods.

Then we moved up here, and when I called the phone company for a new number, I about
dropped my teeth when the customer service rep asked me “Which number would you like?” I had to ask her to repeat herself. It was like a step back in time. Not only can we choose our last 4 digits (within reason), but we’re back to several counties all having the same area code. And when you ask someone for a phone number? All you get is the last four digits because we all have the same first three.

Just another one of my favorite things about living in Podunk, Nowhere.

Do you have a old phone number story to share? Leave a comment and let's hear it!

Dear Son,

As I sat down at my computer to write my daily blog post, the phone rang. It was your dad, letting me know that you were leaving. Now, all I can think about is you. I'm so glad you and Buttercup got to come and spend a day with Dad, your sister and The Mouth. They've missed you so much; 3000 miles is a long ways away when it's that far between you and someone you love. I wish I could have been there.

I forgive you for not calling me to tell me yourself. I hate saying goodbye, and know how difficult it is for you and me. I could hardly stand it the first time you left, and it never really gets any easier. You take a part of me with you every time you go. I was looking at old pictures of you just today, and found the ones from when you graduated, right before you moved away. We were so proud of you then, and are even more so now; you are such a good man. It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyways: Be careful. You said you'd be back in a couple of months. I'm going to hold you to that.

Godspeed Bubby.

Love, Mom

Sky Watch Friday

I just recently found out about Sky Watch Fridays, and am happy to be a participant. I do love a beautiful sky, and have more posted here, here, here, here, here, and here. (Wow, more than I thought.) Enjoy!

Knitting, by Simplicity

I love to do all sorts of handiwork: embroidery, crochet, beading, sewing, but none of them turn my crank quite like knitting. I’ve done it for so long, I honestly can’t remember anymore who taught me how. My aunt and grandmother did their best to make sure I learned everything a young lady of my generation needed to know how to do, and good thing too, because my darling mother was clueless. She could sing, play piano, and was a whiz at Scrabble, but use a sewing machine or make a doily? Wasn’t happening. To her credit, she made sure I was supplied with materials and instruction books for all the needlecrafts from age four on, and that I learned from Grandma and Aunt what I could not learn on my own.

Knitting took a backseat to other pursuits for many years, and then someone named the Yarn Harlot came along and the rest is history. My passion for knitting quickly took on proportions heretofore unknown, even to me. Grandma’s specialty was baby sweaters, but with a trunk full of them still perfectly serviceable 50 years later, I took on hats, scarves, and the final frontier, socks. If I’m not wearing something I knitted, I’m carrying around something I’m working on, or both.

When my friend Bonnie came to me with a knitting related question the other day, I was only too happy to talk shop. Her sister is looking for a pattern for a wrap sweater, and I mentioned that I had two or three I could recommend. And she said, “Where do you get those from, like, Simplicity?” Dead silence. You could have knocked me over with a feather. And then seeing the look on my face, she hesitantly added, “You make those by laying out the tissue on the fabric and cutting them out, right?”

Mom, I’m sorry you never got to meet Bonnie. She can't sing, but she plays a mean game of scrabble.

Counting My Blessings

As I approach the two month mark with this blog, I can't believe how far I've come in such a relatively short period of time. Everyday, it seems that I have more and more visitors and a higher ranking, but best of all, I get to meet the nicest people. Whenever I have one of those days when I just can't come up with anything worth saying, I think about how I wouldn't want any of my regular readers to pay a visit and find that I couldn't come up with something, anything, that might put a smile on someone's face.

More than a few fellow bloggers have become frequent commenters, and I find myself blown away by their kindness and generosity time and again. Today, I'd like to take the time to thank some of them.

So, to Rob at The Cottage Chronicles, Will at Healthy Living, Lynne at The Sewing Mom, Ann at A Nice Place In the Sun, and Shellmo at Building a Log Cabin, I'm happy to be able to say that you are not my only readers, but you are the ones who are always doing or saying something to put a smile on my face. For favoriting me at Technorati, including me on your blogrolls, leaving the nicest comments, passing out awards, and shamelessly plugging my blog at yours,

Wordless Wednesday

Nature Versus Man

I mentioned here a couple weeks ago that a marauding bear had been spotted near where I live. Seeing bears around here, especially spring through autumn, is not that unusual. What was different about this bear was that it seemed to have lost its fear of humans, a “normal” part of a black bear’s temperament. They typically avoid interacting with humans, and are usually quite easy to scare off if necessary, requiring extra caution usually only when dealing with a mother and her cubs. This bear broke into someone’s trailer and raided their refrigerator. Sounds kind of humorous, I know, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be the unfortunate person huddled in the corner while a quite large black bear stood between me and the only available exit, checking out the groceries.

Photo from Port Townsend Leader

Fish and Game was called, a live trap set, and one unwelcome intruder was moved to another location in the forest. Happy ending? Maybe. I’ve got mixed emotions about it, even if the bear’s behavior was out of the ordinary. I think it’s inevitable that eventually, they’re going to evolve and become accustomed to sharing this wilderness with us human beings, get a little less skittish and then what do we do? Relocate them all? We’re not talking about the suburbs here. The population density out here on this peninsula is barely a blip in the census. There are more deer than people living here, and almost as many bears, not to mention a substantial number of wild cats like bobcat and cougar.

Here’s where the story gets a little messy. The same week the black bear "crossed the line”, a cougar (mountain lion, same thing) helped itself to a sheep. According to Fish and Game, cougars and humans have peacefully coexisted for a long time out here, the cougar typically preying on deer and smaller animals for food. It’s a healthy balance, the cougar keeping the deer population in check, part of Nature’s perfect plan for this quiet wilderness environment.

On this day, however, this unfortunate cat made the fatal mistake of wanting lamb for dinner instead of venison. The owners of the missing sheep, upon discovering it featured as the catch of the day at the wildlife buffet during their morning rounds (which implies they left it out unguarded all night) called 911. Am I missing something here? Even more surprising to me, Fish and Game came out with their houndsman, tracked the big cat, and killed it. Now why, you say, couldn’t they relocate the cougar the same way they did the bear? Because according to the F&G officer, once a cougar kills domestic livestock, it will continue to do so. You don’t say. Gee, didn’t his mommy teach him when he was a cub to tell the difference between a fawn and a ewe? I find this disturbing on so many levels that it is difficult to even articulate. I know nothing of the people who owned the sheep other than their general location and the interview they gave to the newspaper, and I'd like to give them the benefit of the doubt, but first of all, when you make a decision to move someplace where there’s more wild animals than people by a longshot, (and that’s not likely to change out here anytime soon) you have a responsibility to figure out a way to peacefully coexist with said wildlife, and that doesn’t include calling 911 for a slaughtered sheep that ended up that way because it seems you forgot to put it in the barn last night!

It is my opinion that this action by Fish and Game sets a disturbing precedence. Can I call them every time the coyotes kill one of my cats or the raccoons do away with the chickens and have those pesky critters done away with? My educated guess is that this is far from being the first item of domestic livestock to be killed by a cougar out here. When you live in the woods, and a hungry beast kills one of your animals, you ask yourself, "What can I do to protect my livestock/pets better and keep them out of harms way?" You sure as heck don't go around killing off the indigenous wildlife for their infractions.

Photo from Port Townsend Leader

We have some fairly inaccessible acreage in our woods, areas where the wildlife thrives undisturbed. Everytime I walk through these areas, I carry a whistle, cell phone, and depending on the time of year, a gun. Yes, a gun, despite my aversion to needless slaughter, because my young granddaughter spends the summer with us, and walking the mile or two down to her beach requires going through areas frequented by bear and cougar and unguarded, she is potentially as tempting a target as any domestic livestock. It is not unusual at all to find cougar tracks on the beach at low tide, and considering that high tide pretty much covers our whole beach, that means that big guy was there right before us. It’s called nature, and our unspoken agreement is that the wildlife skidaddles when they hear us coming, but it doesn’t always work that way. Now, if that cougar last week had attacked a human child, I could feel differently about is dispensation. But an unguarded sheep?

Read the links, sound off, and let me know how you feel about this. No need to be mean or get nasty if you disagree, but I’d like to hear your opinions. Meanwhile, that mountain lion that leaves tracks all over my back yard and beach would do well to stick to the wildlife for now.

Wordless Wednesday: Tuesday Edition

bookMobile Monday

This weeks featured author is Robert Fulghum, best known for his phenomenally popular "Everything I Know I Learned in Kindergarten". After a lengthy hiatus from writing, "What on Earth Have I Done" was released in September of 2007. I had just about given up on seeing anything new from this favorite author of mine, and look forward to reading this latest collection of essays. While you're at it, check out any other of his titles you may have missed, as well as the rerelease of "Everything I Know I Learned In Kindergarten", the 15th Anniversary Edition with 25 new essays!

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My Heart Lies in Brantford

One of the best parts of blogging is seeing where people who read your blog live. I have quite a contingent in Canada, and the other day I noticed that one of my readers is from a town only 10 miles from where I was born. Since my mother died a couple years ago (and my father threw out her family's addresses and phone numbers), I have waxed nostalgic about relatives I haven't seen or heard from in decades. Seeing that I had a reader so close to Brantford got me fantasizing about how wonderful it would be if someone who knew my mother and her parents were to be reading this. It's funny how a place you have no desire to live as an adult can mean so much. I used to dream of going back and buying that house on Ada Ave. I'm not sure what I would have done with it, but it was part of me, and I wanted it to be mine forever.

My mother and her parents, 1952.

Some of my fondest childhood memories are wrapped up in images of my mother's family in Brantford, the houses they lived in, and my mother's unwavering love for them. Even though my father moved us to the states, my mum made sure that I kept in contact with her favorite aunt, Iola, my Grandma and Grandpa, and grandpa's cousin Marty Pearl; my relationship with them was memorable and enduring. Sadly, they all rest in a graveyard in Vanessa, almost 3000 miles away from me. I may not have bought the house, but I never stop hoping that someday, somehow, I have more than just old pictures to remember them by.

Round Robin Photo Challenge: Variety Show

I'm a nut about vintage little girl's dresses. With love, wear, and tincture of time, the fabrics fade beautifully into a tapestry of texture and watercolor softness. I did this print in black and white to enhance the dreamlike quality evoked by this display of memories of another era.

Links to other participants in the Round Robin Photo Challenge are here. Be sure and check them out too!

Now, Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

Several things have happened in the past few days that have really got me thinking about my love for books and passion for reading. I talked to a young friend the other day that I hadn't heard from in quite a long time, and happen to have a lot in common with. The conversation had the effect of renewing my interest in getting involved actively with our local library, so I called another friend who is on the library's board of directors, and started the ball rolling on it.

Books and libraries have always figured prominently in my life. As a child, I don't remember ever not reading. My mother took me to the local library every week, and we both always checked out as many books as were allowed. I guess old habits die hard, because most everyone in our library here knows me by name, and I don't even go into the branch itself more than once or twice a year, it being almost 30 miles from where I live. The bookmobile is a priceless resource for this spread out rural county, and I for one would be bereft without them, and so I am now looking for a way to give back.

In exploring the blogosphere, I am appalled at how many people freely admit they haven't picked up a book in longer than they can remember. I know we all lead busy lives these days, but what kind of example is being set for future generations? And if items like Kindle are the future of reading, what will happen to the printed word? I can't imagine reading without the feel of the paper the book is printed on, the soft whisk of each page as it is turned, the evocative bouquet of the stacks in a library full of well worn books. Yes, books have a scent, and it's one you'll never forget, especially if you were raised around old books.

So, thank you Jane, for reminding me just what a precious gift a love for reading is. Sadly, I don't recall ever thanking my mother for her influence when she was alive. I can only hope that somehow, somewhere, she sees me carting armloads of books to and fro, and knows that her legacy lives on.

Freedom Isn't Free

You stay up for 16 hours
He stays up for days on end.

You take a warm shower to help you wake up.
He goes days or weeks without running water.

You complain of a ‘headache’, and call in sick.
He gets shot at as others are hit, and keeps moving forward.

You put on your anti war/don’t support the troops shirt, and go meet
up with your friends.
He still fights for your right to wear that shirt.

You make sure you’re cell phone is in your pocket.
He clutches the cross hanging on his chain next to his
dog tags.

You talk trash about your ‘buddies’ that aren’t with you.
He knows he may not see some of his buddies again.

You walk down the beach, staring at all the pretty girls.
He patrols the streets, searching for insurgents and terrorists.

You complain about how hot it is.
He wears his heavy gear, not daring to
take off his helmet to wipe his brow.

You go out to lunch, and complain because the restaurant got your
order wrong.
He doesn’t get to eat today.

Your maid makes your bed and washes your clothes.
He wears the same things for weeks, but makes sure his
weapons are clean.

You go to the mall and get your hair redone.
He doesn’t have time to brush his teeth today.

You’re angry because your class ran 5 minutes over.
He’s told he will be held over an extra 2 months.

You call your girlfriend and set a date for tonight.
He waits for the mail to see if there is a letter from home.

You hug and kiss your girlfriend, like you do everyday.
He holds his letter close and smells his love’s perfume.

You roll your eyes as a baby cries.
He gets a letter with pictures of his
new child, and wonders if they’ll ever meet.

You criticize your government, and say that war
never solves anything.
He sees the innocent tortured and killed by their
own people and remembers why he is fighting.

You hear the jokes about the war, and make fun
of men like him.
He hears the gunfire, bombs and screams of the wounded.

You see only what the media wants you to see.
He sees the broken bodies lying around him.

You are asked to go to the store by your parents.
You don’t.
He does exactly what he is told even if it puts his life in
danger.

You stay at home and watch TV.
He takes whatever time he is given to call, write home, sleep, and eat.

You crawl into your soft bed, with down pillows, and get comfortable.
He tries to sleep but gets woken by mortars and helicopters all night long.

Thank you to Cindy at Kaleidoscope for passing this along. I took the liberty of removing the "chain letter" element at the bottom because I don't normally participate in this kind of thing and I'm not posting this to make any kind of political statement, but simply because our son is in the Navy and reading this made me cry. Our family has sustained so many losses "over there" in these past few years, it hurts to even think about. I don't care if you're anti war or all for it or somewhere in between; this is about respect for the fact that there are people in this world willing to pay the cost of their lives for our freedom. Freedom really isn't free.

Wordless Wednesday

These are for you, Janie.

Sunrise, Sunset

I don't know how I ever survived living in the suburbs. Twice in the past few days, I have had the opportunity to take a walk through the woods with friends in the early evening hours, as the sun is not setting until 8 pm now. Granted, there are points further north of us that get even longer days than we do here, but it is such a delightful change to live somewhere where the daylight lasts for an hour or two longer than it did where we used to.

I could walk in the woods anytime, but it's so beautiful as dusk approaches, and everything takes on a magical quality that can only be found in the warm, waning light of the day. Sunrise is lovely in it's own right, but is a cooler quality of light and frankly, requires getting up awfully early to fully enjoy.

As I passed this old barn on the way home the other day, I was struck by how the setting sun lit up the trees on the right and rendered them golden instead of just barren and leafless. I had intended to photograph the barn itself for a series of old barn prints I've been wanting to do, but the light was perfect for a landscape shot as well.

If anyone happens to notice the one incongruous item in either photo (and I'm not talking about the copyright watermark), go ahead a give a shout out in the comments. I'd love to hear how many people catch it.

bookMobile Monday

This week's pick is The Shipping News by Annie Proulx. I first saw this novel-turned-movie right after we first bought property where we now live, and was immediately drawn in by the story of Quoyle, and his life in the small maritime harbor town of Killick-Claw, Newfoundland. The quirky town inhabitants and their life in this small fishing village in the story reminded me somewhat of the history of this small town we call home here on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington. As might be expected, the book does differ slightly from the movie, but no matter; both DVD and novel are equally compelling.

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Just Call Me Dr Doolittle

I've mentioned to a few people lately that I miss the environment of studio photography, the constant flow of all those precious babies and toddlers. There's just not a lot of little ones around here, (actually, there's just not a lot of people around here) so I've been trying to stay busy with the local flora and fauna, and the occasional pet.

What it is about the sight of me with a camera that elicits this response from kids and animals alike?

The Cosmic Joke

So, it didn't rain today for a change. I got out the lawn tractor and prepared to do battle with a few acres of grass (which always promises to be an adventure because you never know how many rocks are hiding in it just waiting to sabotage the blades.) Get it out, start it up, make my first pass on the back yard... and get stuck in a rut. Flat tire, and I'm not going anywhere. So I drag several hundred pounds of lawn tractor out of the rut, and take it back to the garage where it will have to wait until hubby can tell me which of the many outbuildings on this property he hid the compressor in. No problem, I'll just do the weed whacking instead. I've got all three batteries freshly charged up and ready to go (battery powered is a must for me; they don't make extension cords that reach 1/4 mile and the gas powered whacker gets awful heavy after carrying it around for a few acres worth of work.) Slide a battery in, start trimming... and the battery dies. Hmm. What do you know, someone unplugged my charger.

The potholes can wait until tomorrow. I need to regroup.

Did Someone Say Potholes. Again?

I admit it; I like to fix potholes. Good thing too, because there’s a few miles of them around here to keep up with, and the rain just keeps making more. In the past two days, I have walked almost every mile of road on our property and then some, and believe me, I got ‘em potholes. Every morning, I look out the window and think “Pothole repair today!” or “Finally, time to mow the grass!” And then it starts to rain. Spring has officially sprung, but I still can’t get diddly done because every time I try to get out with a lawn tractor or load of gravel, here it comes again. Now, I don’t mind being out in the rain; getting wet (as long as it isn’t also freezing cold) just doesn’t bother me. If you live in the Pacific Northwest, it’s part of the deal. Unfortunately, wet grass bogs down the lawn tractor, and gravel just floats out of the potholes when they are boggy wet, so those two chores require a little cooperation from Mother Nature.

On the brighter side of things, the wildlife around here is out in force. On the walk down to our beach, one could see where the herd of elk has set up housekeeping, and fresh evidence of a tussle between a deer and a mountain lion. (One guess who won. Yuck.) We didn’t see any bear, but have been on the look out because a close neighbor got his trailer broken into and refrigerator ransacked by a black bear.

Now, I know you’re waiting for the pictures, and I took them, I promise. It was no small feat hauling 4 pounds of SLR and lens places that normally require two empty hands to navigate, and I got some really good shots, especially the one of a fresh pile of elk scat. I wasn't going to miss the opportunity to share that. (Here comes the embarrassing part.) I forgot to load the flash card in the camera.

I leave you with a pretty shot from a couple weeks ago. We have this great little cove just down the road, and while it poured on us on the walk there, the weather did cooperate for a few minutes and I was able to capture a fleeting glance of blue sky. Enjoy.

This Old Trunk

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I have a lot of old trunks. It started with one my hubby bought me in the early years of our marriage, and then somehow, people got the idea that I collected them. Big, green, old fashioned steamer trunks, in varying states of decrepitude. Next thing I knew, the house was overrun with them. At one point, there were eight of them scattered around our home, performing various functions as makeshift pieces of furniture.

One old trunk stands out from the rest by virtue of it’s contents. It came to us locked, from the estate of a wealthy man. The curiosity of what might be inside was just about more than we could stand. Hubby finally figured out a way to open the lock without defacing it, and the adventure began. Hours later, we sat on the floor, surrounded by the evidence of one man’s fascinating life. It seems the owner had been a financier, Harvard graduate, and playboy who traveled around the world on various passenger liners more times than we have been able to determine for certain, but at least three of those trips were during the Great Depression.

He kept a journal of his college days, activities, and conquests in a tiny Harvard Handbook (not much bigger than the picture here), and had a drawer full of letters from a few relatives and a lot of women.

It seems hard to imagine that so much of one person’s life could fit into relatively so little space. The contents of the trunk were extensive: letters, layouts of various cruise ships in every passenger line imaginable, menus from ship’s dining rooms, hotel bills, passports, photos, postcards, souvenirs, the list goes on.

Evidence showed that he married a woman named Gertrude for her money and honeymooned extensively all over the world, but kept up a long distance affair with the lovely and captivating “Mary” (in the framed portrait below) and other women even after his marriage to the unfortunate Gertrude.

From time to time, we open the trunk and read a little more, look at the ship memorabilia, and stare at the hauntingly beautiful portrait of Mary, wondering who she was and what became of her.

Wordless Wednesday: More Junk

The Witch of Pungo

It's no secret that I love old junk and abandoned buildings. I've got a collection of photographs of old buildings that I have taken over the years from various locations in the US, but one of them really stands out.

When we were in Virginia in 2001, several people told me that I should go see the Witch of Pungo's house if I liked creepy, dilapidated old buildings. It didn't take much to get me in a car and on my way to see what the fascination with this old place was. We drove to Pungo, having no directions as to exactly where the house might be located, but, Pungo being a very small town, it would've been hard to miss. It was a stormy day and the house lived up to it's spooky reputation, so I cranked off a couple shots and hightailed it out of there.

Fast forward 7 years. I gifted a friend who likes abandoned buildings with a print of the Witch of Pungo's house. I really didn't know much of the story behind it, so we looked it up. It turns out that the story of the Witch of Pungo, Grace Sherwood, is not only infamous Princess Anne County folklore and the title of a popular children's book, she was exonerated of being a witch in July 2006 on the 300th anniversary of her ducking.

Here's the question. In one of the articles we read, it said that all that remained of Grace Sherwood's house was the chimneys, and they had been had been torn down in 1998 due to safety issues. If that is true, then who's house is this that I photographed in Pungo in 2001?

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bookMobile Monday

This week's pick was inspired by Nan over at Life is Like a Lunchbox. Her life as a pastor's wife brings to mind the novels featured here today. Home to Holly Springs is the first in a new series by famed author Jan Karon, and is a take-off of her popular Mitford series. This poignant tale told primarily through flashbacks delves into Father Tim's life and helps the reader understand how he became the man he is. If you've read the rest of the Mitford books and were left wanting more, read Home to Holly Springs. You won't be disappointed.





If anyone has missed out on the Mitford phenomenon, all 9 titles are available right here. I highly recommend any and all of them, and of course, they are best enjoyed in the order in which they were published. Be prepared to get addicted to Mitford!

Dear Princess Cupcake,

You’re growing up so fast, and another school year will be over before we know it. I can’t wait for you to come visit me this summer. I know you are already counting down the days on your calendar, and I have a list of a few other things you need to do to get ready before Papa brings you up here. We only have 2 months left to go.

1. Eat at home everyday from now until it is time to leave. Remember, there’s no In and Out Burger in Washington and I don’t need you having fast food withdrawals when you get here.

2. For that matter, you can scratch McDonalds, Burger King, and your favorite Mexican food off the list too. The closest ice cream is 25 miles away, and Pizza Hut does not deliver. You’re just going to have to get used to home cooking again.

3. Remember to pack a hat and hair clips unless you like eating your hair when we ride the ferry.

4. Remember to pack a hat and hair clips because I don’t like you eating your hair at the dinner table.

5. Don’t pack toys. Nana has plenty and besides, rocks, sticks and clamshells are fun.

6. Don’t pack books. See #5 for why.

7. Bring your camera. It’s time to learn a trade so you can help pay the taxes on this place.

8. Stop bugging your mom for a dog now. You won’t be there this summer to help take care of it and you can’t bring it with you; Lloyd and Spike won’t play with it.

9. Think of more names for the deer. We’ve got a bunch more new ones this year and they get confused when you call them all Lloyd and Spike, especially the does.

10. Take half the stuff in that suitcase your mommy packs for you and put it back in your drawers. You don’t need 25 t-shirts, 17 pairs of pants and 43 pairs of socks and underwear. Nana might live in the boonies, but she has a washer and dryer.

I guess that’ll cover it for now. We can argue about which one of the 3 restaurants in town you want your birthday dinner at when you get here, and no, the tavern with the chicken gizzards is not an option. See you in June. The clams are waiting for you.

Love, Nana

P.S. You still are, and always will be “The Mouth” to your Papa and me.

Round Robin Photo Challenge: One Perfect Scene

Robin's Woods

It doesn't get much more perfect than this scene for me. These are the woods where I live. Links to other entries in the Round Robin Photo Challenge can be found here. Check them out too!

Snug as a Bug in a Rug

We have had one of the most... interesting winter/spring seasons. Sunny, clear, blue sky days alternate with snow, mild days and freezing nights. No complaints here, I love the variety, but winter weather is by far my favorite of all. Today was my kind of day, cold and rainy, a day to snuggle in and spend time on indoor pursuits. Come evening, I like to fire up my woodstove and get really cozy. I don't rely on my woodstove for heat, but there's nothing like it when the house seems chilly despite the heat pump running. There's something very elemental about warming oneself by a wood fire, especially when you have to cut the logs, split it into stove sized pieces, stack it in the wood shed,


then finally haul it in the house as needed, and build the fire, all as opposed to simply flipping a switch or pushing a button on a thermostat. Crackling, glowing, radiant heat from a stove on a huge stone hearth that fills the room and warms everything in it to the core. Nothing says comfort quite like it.

The Muse

I miss portrait photography. It's not that there aren't children and people around me to photograph; it's just a different demographic here, and the environment (outdoors) is totally different than being in a studio. I've had to adjust, and find my muse wherever I can. Today I got out and around for a bit, and took some quick shots of friend's animals because the light was so nice. Rose here has the prettiest eyes I've ever seen,

but she really just wanted to play. Do you think she gave me this look on purpose?

Big dog Colter was awfully happy to see me and it took a bit to get him settled down,

and then he gave me the look too.

Was it something I said?

The Best of Both Worlds

I’ve waxed poetic about the woods and the weather here where we live, but I haven’t said much about the beach, and it's possibly the best part. Raw, wild, and frequently windswept, it’s not your typical sandy, barefoot friendly beach. It is, however, one of the most diverse beaches I’ve ever been on, and one of the biggest perks of peninsula life. Oysters, clams, crabs, shrimp, salmon, driftwood…the list goes on. Three football fields worth of it, and that’s just the part that’s ours. At low tide, you can walk for miles and sometimes never see another person. When hubby and I got married 30years ago, we dreamed of living someplace where the forest met the beach, the best of our two favorite places to be. Sometimes, wishes really do come true.

Wordless Wednesday

Idyllwild Sunset

Not Everybody's Cup of Tea

Like I've said before, people where I used to live thought I was nuts for wanting to move here. Pictures like the following would probably convince them that I must be certifiable. I think it's one of the coolest things about this area. I love junk. Not necessarily in my yard, but here and there, out and around, it's actually pretty interesting.








And not unlike my wooden coat hangers and canning jars, some of it could even be considered art.