Stephanie says

Henry shimmers with the pure energy of a two-year old.     He hops and dances, wiggling shoulders and waving arms,  all in the same instant, a flurry of absolute glee, giggling in delight.     Until not.     Then a frown creases his brow.     His eyebrows scrunch together in a solid line.  Out comes the lower lip, an expression of outrage, indignity, and exasp eration.     The moment passes.     Off he races in exploration of something that just now caught his eye.     All goes quiet.   Better check on Henry.             

The continual rainfall since New Years has stopped; the temperature warmed providing grass with optimum growing conditions.  It's mowing season.  I took off early on Friday and have been gardening ever since - something my mid-region achingly reminds me.  But it's a good kind of sore. I did a hard prune on a climbing rose, (I have a theory about roses:  If you try and cultivate them, they'll die.  If you want to get rid of them, they'll never die until you dig out that persistent root grown so thick a power tool is required to cut it off after a deep hole was shoveled.  Which probably still isn't enough.  We'll see.  I'll likely have a scar on my knee from this encounter.  Bastard.  I hate roses.) So in other words, I've been in complete bliss this weekend.  This morning, clad in shorts, Tee, and work boots (yes, a Pacific Northwest fashionista,) pleasantly organizing my gardening day, visions of tidying the potting shed, planting...

I built this timber dynasty from sheer will, parlaying a small inheritance and a driving thirst for timber land into the purchase of that first parcel of virgin forest.   We logged Bear Creek Mountain by hand, a man on either side of a standing tree, muscling the teeth of a crosscut-saw blade back and forth through the bark, then pith, then heartwood, out the other side, until the weight of the tree above the widening cut broke free with a mighty crack, and the tree toppled.   Timber.     Ernie was the ancestor. Ernie Whipple.   He came here with a vision and a bankroll and enough drive to amass 20,000 acres of forest land.   Old growth timber.   It was all virgin timber then.   He acquired a rock quarry, later a lumber mill.   He backed into a blade at that mill, severing his left arm just below the elbow. There was no one about so he fashioned a tourniquet with his belt, holding one end in his mouth and cinching the buckle end ...

Yep, it's official.  Had cake and ice cream in celebration yesterday after learning the secret handshake.  (Just kidding about the handshake.)      I learned a lot and have very optimistic hopes for this seasons vegetables and flowers.   It was hard work and a lot of fun with a great group of fellow garden enthusiasts.  Now comes the practical experience answering questions on the phone Plant Hot-line. Questions anyone?

Billie Reynolds had the neighboring place to our Sitkum home, just off the Coos Bay Wagon Trail road.   I was intrigued with her fascinating stories and exotic tales about her early life.   This was so long ago I don’t recall if she actually told me her stories, or if I overheard adult conversations, (my dad always said I had the hearing of a bat.) Her parents divorced in the mid 1920s – seemingly sharing custody.   Her father lived in Portland OR and her mother in Billings Montana – so when they switched-off, they’d put Billie on the train from around age three onward, in the care of the conductor for the entire journey. Just Billie. She remembered being well cared for by the train staff, and these solo trips seemed quite unremarkable to her in the telling.   She moved to San Francisco after high school, during the Depression, and had a job as a money courier,transporting cash from her employer’s place of business to the bank.   The money was packed in...

I happened across the app before a trip to Baja. It promised a fast track through US Customs and had great reviews so I downloaded it prior to leaving. It was easy to install on my phone, very systematic.  There was only one issue.  I was startled when all of a sudden a woman appeared on my screen - first impression she was of a certain age - and I realized she was me when she gave a little "ackkk" the exact moment I did.  Damn I look old.  That's right, I am old (by some standards anyway...) I booked all my flight information on my phone so on the return flight I completed the standard US Customs Declaration questions (and didn't complete the paper form handed out on the flight!) from my seat while the plane taxied into San Francisco.  Pushed "Submit" and I was done. Quite a line had queued when I reached Customs.  An airline employee was walking alongside the queue asking "Mobile Passport?" and I was on my way, the only one,   whisked ...

After loading up grocery shopping at Eugene’s Grocery Outlet, I had to search for pantry space.   Everything is overflowing, from the freezers to the dry goods storage.   Maybe it’s subconscious preparation for a weather emergency or the Cascadian Fault Line quaking us the big one.   Even with that in mind, it’s absurd to keep buying food, because everything in the freezers would require cooking or rot.   But that store had so many new organic products I just couldn’t resist. I hereby vow not to buy anything else until I’ve cooked up what’s here.   The exception being some hypothetical missing ingredient desperately needed for a recipe on the menu and in the works. In an inspired moment I came up with a totally new recipe:   Chicken, gnocchi, and marinated artichokes.   I typed those ingredients into a search engine, and guess what?   It was not an original thought.   Okay, new to me works.   I’ll name this after it come...