You just can't take a bad picture of crater lake. It's not possible.
Such a pristine and beautiful place. Cold, clear water. Fresh snow.
This little squirrel isn't worried about anything other than where his next frito is coming from.
I don't think his buddy can read.
I told them not to do the bailout. But these people don't listen to me. These people who keep throwing more good money after bad. And more good money. And then some. Yet still, a seven day (so far) drop in the stock market.
Well.
We may not have much of a 401k left. We may not be able to borrow to get that new old car that we need. In the end, we may not have a pot to piss in, but we will still have this:
Infact, it's all we've ever really had.
A couple of weeks ago the Wyrd family escaped into the wilderness of central and eastern Oregon. We packed up the cooler, a few bags, tossed the kid into the back seat with several pillows and a blankey and headed for the hills.
We stopped occasionally to behold the pretty water.
And to fight over the camera.
And to soak our feet and drink cold stuff out of the cooler. I forgot just how cold and clear and lovely looking the water is in this part of Oregon. It makes a person just want to jump in and drink it all up.
Which it was. Yesterday it rained briefly for the first time in FOREVER. Which was good.
I was busy all week. Busy taking care of a family member who has become ill. Busy setting up for my summerly garage sale. Busy getting yet another rental ready. Busy watering plants, cooking mass amounts of food for the weekend, (nine loaves of bread, two kinds of cookies, macaroni salad, and a partridge in a pear treeeee).
Too busy to post to you about the 4.2 earthquake that Oregon had the day before yesterday. Or the 5.4 earthquake that occured in L.A., California yesterday (among several somewhat smaller others). Or about the forked horn, still in the velvet that greeted my husband at the mail box. Or about the young doe I saw trapsing about libby.
Yet not too busy to take a picture of this young granny smith in my backyard. I probably should have been doing something constructive instead, like washing the wall to wall dirty dishes that had accumulated. Or putting up the groceries so you could walk through the kitchen. I'll have to think about it a little longer before I jump to any hasty conclusions.
It's hot folks. H-O-T. My middle name is now, water-the-garden. And the garden thanks me. With tons of smelly, pretty flowers. Carnations, Oswego Tea, snapdragons that smell like jolly ranchers, roses, lillies, lobelia, crimson mullien. Everything is blooming, even the little hostas. And herbs galore. Greens. Mint for my juleps. If I had juleps. Is juleps a body part? Wait. Am I missing something?
I worked on transplanting my lemon cucumbers yesterday. They are my cucumber favorite. My husband requested they be grown in our garden last year, because his paternal grandfather always grew them. So I did, thinking they wouldn't amount to much. NOT TRUE. They were huge little globes of delightfully fresh, crisp watery cucumberness that grew wonderfully, even when I stuck them in too-little of pots. One of the nice things about transplanting these cukes is that as you repot them you smell this wonderful fresh cucumber fragrance. And it will make you happy. Honest.
It could be a week long beach event. One that has been, on second thought, changed from "blast" to "fest". To defer from it's true meaning, which is a description of the weather at this point in the summer. SAND. BLAST. Ninety something temperatures and gusts of about 80. And not short, cool bursts, more like big, hot sustained bellows.
I did not go myself, having participated in the past I regard it as not fun but more like "days in a hellish environment". Days with tons of drunken 4-wheeler riding tourists and blowing hot sand just really aren't the kinds of things that make me happy.
And don't even think of making a trip to the emergency room if you want back out this year. The hospital is full of 4-wheeler drivers. Mostly kids.
No Sirreee, I shall stay at the farm, watch my jalapenos grow, perfect my chai tea popsicle recipe and entertain my visitors.
Instead of going camping around in the State in search of beautiful scenery and fireworks (which in Coos County and along the coast are staggered so that onlookers may participate in several gatherings), we opted to stay close to home and celebrate.
We ventured over to the parental home for a nice family gathering and huge fire-pit barbeque. Where else could we enjoy a private party with a view of Charleston, the bay, the bar, and south slough. Plus the family is rich with wonderful cooks who bring many fine ass-fattening dishes. I myself was instructed to bring "something chocolate". And so I did. Chocolate cheesecake with an oreo crust. I melted a bag of caramels with a half a cup of heavy cream, added a cup of chopped walnuts, and poured it over the crust. On top of that went the cheesecake. Frosted with a dark chocolate ganache. Had I been blessed with more time and a higher pan I would have added more layers. Which was unnecessary. Totally.
Also, Mr Wyrd took a few days extra off to work on the new greenhouse he is building me. So in between planting more beans and peas outside and watering, I was repotting my greenhouse babies for the trip to their new house.
On the actual day of the 4th, there were not as many people around and about as is usual. Also, local neighborhood firework activity was down by about 90%. It could be because our drunken neighbor has left for Alaska for work for several months. Or it could be the $600 something fine that has been layed upon those who have fireworks that shoot more than 3 feet off the ground, (like all of them). Which the police insisted they were going to inforce.
Whatever.
And that's why you are being subjected to one more kitty picture. Kitty ala carte (without cone). She is frisky and severely underfoot. And thusly she has been stepped on twice so far today. I think wearing the cone for a week distorted her depth perception. Or else just made her way too brave.
She is used to sticking to me like glue, crippled by the big blue cone made for kitties with longer legs. She couldn't always eat without help, or walk, or clean herself. It made her very insecure and dependent, much like a two year old. Now she's back to her bratty teenager self. Pretty much.
In other news, it's still cool and drizzly. According to the always wrong weather forecasts, it should be that way until NEXT Friday. Which actually makes me happy. It's perfect transplanting weather for the garden. So don't sit on your couch and mope about the weather the whole holiday. Get out and do some planting.
After the sun started to go down, it cooled to 90 degrees on the porch. I have been watering constantly today. Not only is this heat dangerous for plants, but it also poses a massive threat to us used-to-cool-weather coastal beings. Thank goodness I have trees and plants, it turns my zone into a balmy jungle region instead of a desert wasteland.
I kept the house closed up today, (mostly because kitty got herself in another scrap and had an abscess, requiring her to have a drain put in, meaning no outside), and the ceiling fan on. Everytime I thought I was going to die from the heat, I just went outside, where it was 20 degrees hotter. I cannot imagine that tomorrow will be even hotter. Is this possible?
It's a perfect evening for that walk on Sunset Beach.
Because it's my last of two real workdays. I'm exceedingly lucky however, even my work is fun. And it's not the only REAL work I do. Just the part of work which I actually have to leave home for.
Anyway.
Mother's day recap: I got a truckload of gorgeous compost. I also sent a truckload of compost to my mommy. Derek's present to us both was to unload said compost. Considering the tropical weather we are having, the dirt came just in time. Soon you will be seeing pictures of my gardening antics. And that's not a lie, like it was the last time, when I said I would give you my bread recipe later in the week and I did not. But don't worry. You will get that too. Promise.
And just to show you I mean business, here's a pretty picture for you.
I have no idea who any of these people are.
Speed gardening is what happens when you get 2 nice days in a whole month instead of the 10-20 that are typical of the month of April on the Oregon coast. After weeks of cold and windy and snowy and hailing weather we were blessed with a few warm and wonderful days.
Mr. Wyrd and I weeded and composted and moved around the many plant beings that inhabit our yard. I transplanted Heinz tomatoes and night blooming jasmine and dwarf snapdragons and Siam basil and marigolds, about 300 plants in all. My greenhouse, once stuffed full, is now an echoey mess of dirt and containers.
Which means, of course, I have to start more stuff.
A perfect, warm summer's day. In the middle of winter weather. Only it isn't summer, and it isn't winter. I blame it on the ever continuing earthquakes. We made the news! Hundreds of earthquakes off the Oregon coast, indicative of volcanic activity. Only there is no volcano. Or so they say. But there probably is molten lava movement. On the off shore fault. Whee?
I am right at this moment watching a fox news clip that is blah blahing about our Oregon beaches and wrecks. They are talking about how efforts are being made to save the wrecks. I don't see any of those efforts being made myself.
Last weekend we stuffed the parents in the 4-wheel drive and took them to behold the George L. Olsen. This was our third trip. Each time we go, we see more damage to the ship. Chunks of the outer hull are missing, revealing the unbleached wood underneath. I would suspect people are taking souvenirs, which is rather sad.
The ocean is taking its toll as well.
This is a previous picture I took of the shipwreck.
This is the same side of the boat as the previous picture. I took this last weekend. You can see how close the sand is to covering up the portholes now. As for the back of the boat, which is still partially buried in the sand, people are being allowed to climb all over it, up and down the sea wall. And trust me, everyone is touching the boat. Oh sure, the cops are there, but they only seem to be interested in people who are going over 25 miles an hour. No effort is being made WHATSOEVER to keep people from touching/climbing on/destroying the wreck. And don't even get me started about the stupidity of destroying the New Carissa.
A reef for fish, a perch for the birds, and a wondrous site for human beings. What's not to love? Can our city fathers/mothers actually make a decision that makes sense? Why tear up something that has attracted so much attention, that has provided so much entertainment. Not to mention how much money destroying the Carissa would cost. I just don't get it.
My daddy took this picture. The eclipse the one of the most fantastic sites I have ever seen. At the peak of the eclipse, the moon was just a boiling dark red. I can see why an ancient type person might have thought the world was going to end.
On our way towards the George L. Olsen and the New Carrisa, we pause briefly by the old Coast Guard barracks for a picture.
Sometimes, the people at the boat, are every bit as interesting as the boat itself.
