My Guest Author today is my youngest granddaughter. She is almost five years old.
This looks like. a house that Wolf might like to blow down. Be careful Goldilocks!
Once upon a time there was a little girl named Goldilocks. She was always soooo embarrassed but she always wanted to have friends. And she met one.
His name was Wolfie and he started to be her friend. So whenever she went to play with him, he was out of sight.
And when she came back he was here — (with a swish of her arm) but he wasn’t here the other days. But when he was here, he sat up and then….(said in a whisper)he had magic in his ears — magic in his hands –and his cheeks are red and blue…(said in a whisper)and gray.
And I forgot he was … (said in a whisper)red and blue and gray — (fingers curled like claws)Wolf Monster! And she screamed really loud and she had a powerful scream that throwed him away and he would be dead… and then —– SURPRISE!
The emerald waters of the Pacific pounded the cliffs of the Southern Oregon coast. I had only seen pictures of the rugged Pacific coastline. We had seen the golden sands of Southern California beaches made famous in song, and I lost nothing at the seashore filled with masses of kelp monsters washing onto the shore (though time with family was priceless). Not being a thalassophile, I had no problem leaving that behind. The rough coastline of southern Oregon was more to my liking. The jagged cliffs and rocky formations consumed the shoreline that separated land from ocean. They took on their own unique characteristics and offered a perch to sit and look out over the mesmerizing watery expanse that surged with the tide. We stopped and watched the fog dissipate as the cool salty breeze washed over us. The masses of people were left far behind and we relished in the solitude and the unobstructed view.
Though there were not hordes of people, there were other inhabitants in this domain. We visited one such place and it was very noisy. The Sea Lion Caves was an entertaining stop. Sea lions of all sizes applauded us and honked and grunted. Their flippers flipped out like appendages as they waddled across rocks and disappeared beneath the incoming waves. They weren’t like the performing Orcas or trained seals we had seen show off at Marineland. I guess if someone had thrown the sea lions a ball, we would have been spectators of a good game. They were fun to visit and barked “come back again,” when we left.
When we got closer to Portland, snowy Mt. Hood glistened in the distance. The air was cool and clear which offered quite a view. We continued into Washington and drove through Mt. Rainier National Park. As we rode up and down the winding road, we got a closer view of the mountain. The mountainsides wept as waterfalls spilled over the edges and merged with streams that bounded into the valleys below. Mt. Rainier was gorgeous. I only have one photo of the mountain from that trip. That was my kind of country! You can have the sandy beaches. I’ll take the mountains!
Mt. Rainier
Uncle George
Our mountaintop experience came to an end as we descended into the valley. Kent was our next stop. We arrived at Uncle George’s house. Some might think it odd that two young girls traveling across the country would choose to stay with their 82-year-old great uncle for a few days. We had grown up with tales of our family history and knew that uncles were special. He lived within walking distance of a little café. We had several meals there during our stay with him. At first, we were a bit intimidated. He was a crusty bachelor with a dry humor. I studied him a bit to determine the best way to approach him. He had some similar personality traits of his sister, my Grandmother, so soon we had him buttered up. He took us various places and we had a blast. I have a suspicion that he did, too. I’m so glad we spent time with him and feel much richer for having done it. He died the next year. One of my greatest possessions is a teacup and saucer that belonged to Uncle George. It was special to share hot tea at his table and I am reminded of it when I drink from his cup.
One of our side trips was to Seattle. For anyone who has been there, you know that the Space Needle is a city landmark and icon of Seattle. It was built in 1962 for the World’s Fair. The needle was once the tallest structure west of the Mississippi River. It was built to withstand 200 mph winds and earthquakes of 9.0 magnitude. The Space Needle opened in 1962 along with the monorail that was built at the same time. We went in the heart of the city and boarded the monorail, along with many other visitors, for the ride to the Space Needle. Big windows on the elevated train and the Space Needle allowed wonderful views of the city, the Pacific waters and the mountains beyond. We also visited the Government Locks and made a stop at REI where we gathered a few camping supplies. I think we could have stayed in REI for days.
One thing my Mother taught through word and deed was that no matter what comes your way, you must go on. She faced many trials, made ends meet with meager supplies, managed a tribe of kids, wore many hats, and encouraged our individualism. She also taught us the principle of priorities. Each day I am reminded that life is short.
This is a true story, written in verse, of an event in her young life that spoke of staunch survivalism on the open prairies of Montana. I believe that God called her name that day and gave her the determination to survive the storm. “You must go on!” – and she did time and again….
My Aunt & my Mother
Bundled against the wind, they sent her on her way. She headed off to school on that blustery day.
Braced against the onslaught, wind whipped the blinding snow. No longer did she see her way – her distance she did not know.
Icy fingers beckoned her, drawing her from the path. She heard voices in the wind, but ‘twas only the blizzard’s wrath.
She wanted to turn aside, tired from the storm. Yet she knew that just over the hill she would find a fire warm.
Guided by an unseen hand, urged by a rising voice, “You must not stop, you must go on.” There was no other choice.
Pressed to the wind she turned to see the one who spoke her name. It was her father’s face she sought – she thought the storm he’d tame.
“I was not with you child,” he said as he heard her tale. He took her in his arms and stroked her face, so pale.
“A miracle from heaven,” is all that I can say for it was her father’s voice that led her on that day.
Guided by an unseen hand, urged by a rising voice, “You must not stop, you must go on.” Let that be your choice.
sa 2012
Urged by her father’s voice that she heard on the wind, she made it to the neighbor’s house. It was there he found her warm and safe from the storm.
There is nothing quite like visiting an area with a local as your tour guide, especially when the guide is Cousin Donna who likes to go hiking and camping and likes adventures. She lived in Brookings, Oregon. I’ve already told you about Cousin Donna in a previous post. Her story actually goes right here in the Cross Country series.
Brookings is just north of the California Oregon border. We backtracked with Cousin Donna into Northern California and explored more of the Redwoods and coastline from Pamplin Grove near Fortuna to Cape Sebastian. Sis and I had previously stopped at a roadside Bigfoot shop somewhere in that part of the country. The redwood forest would definitely be a good place for Bigfoot to hide, though I think the rain forest of Washington is a more favorable location. Regardless, the Redwoods were the perfect place to camp. We met up with several cousins – Dixie’s family & the Leepers – at the campground which made it extra special. (We had already spent time with Cousin Diane & family). We started our campfire to take off the chill of the evening and to cook our supper. The three of us crawled into our two-man tent for the night’s sleep. That was probably the softest forest mattress I’ve every slept on. I didn’t have to dodge a single rock during the night. The sounds of the deep forest were soothing. Birds and sounds from other forest animals mingled with the dancing music of the Smith River. Very little moisture settled on the tent under the thick canopy of branches and needles. After a bite of breakfast and packing stuff away, it was time to do more exploring. That included the beaches of the area.
Do you see Cousin Donna?
We were prone to stop wherever there was a pull off or just an inviting spot beside the road. We stopped at Pebble Beach near Crescent City. There were occasional windblown trees hanging on the sides of cliffs or a lone cypress bowed in the breeze braving the weather on top of an eroded island just offshore.
Cousin Donna wrapped up in her jacket and scarf when we walked the beach along Cape Sebastian. We walked through an opening in the rock as we walked through the sand and pebbles. The tide started coming in, so we hurried back to the same opening before it got swallowed up by the ocean. There were interesting formations of rocks and cliffs weathered by time, wind and water. The erosion process certainly produces character.
As the sun descended in the sky, we made our way to Harris Beach. Piles of driftwood lay on the beach, some pieces on top of the other and some scattered around. Whole trees were uprooted and thrown onto the beach. Smaller roots, logs and limbs rested in strange positions. Some had holes worn all the way through. We sat silent, watched the mesmerizing waves, and were amazed by the blazing evening colors that settled briefly above the ocean that looked like it fell off the face of the earth. The contorted limbs and sticks looked eerie in the growing shadows. Soon the color faded, and darkness consumed the last glimmer of light.
Though our time with Cousin Donna came to an end, our adventure was far from over. Catch up with us as we travel the Pacific Northwest.
From the crest of the hill, it looked as if the giant checkerboard stretched for miles. Squares of various shades of green, brown, and gold alternated across the gently rolling hills and valleys. It was an endless sea of color with nothing to obstruct the view. A constant breeze led in the dance twirling and dipping the grain. Green and amber waves of grain rolled sequentially with a random ripple here and there as another gust of wind cut in to join the waltz.
The colors faded into monotonous tones of golden brown. In the distance a giant grasshopper appeared. Soon it was joined by others sporadically scattered across barren land sparsely clothed in dry grass polka dotted with prairie dog holes. Some of the grasshoppers stood motionless while the heads of others rose and fell. It looked as if they would take flight at any moment.
To a little girl experiencing this scene for the first time, it was like peering through the back window into a prehistoric world when giant insects and dinosaurs ruled. In fact, not far from the giant grasshoppers was a lone dinosaur running alongside the road.
There was treasure hidden beneath the uncultivated dry, hard ground. The giant metal grasshoppers knew – Black Gold – oil, that is.
taken from Listening for God by my Guest Author, my Daddy
The County Surveyor lived in Big Timber. He liked the sturdy log houses and wrote a letter asking Father to meet him in town to discuss ordering some logs. The meeting would take place in a back room of the Big Timber Cafe. Here the men could discuss the building project without any interruptions. On the appointed day Father loaded us in the Whippet touring car and we went to Big Timber. At six o’clock we were escorted into the reserved meeting room at the Big Timber Café. The children were told not to make any noise that would distract the men as they did their business.
We were just finishing up our soup ‑ a dish that was served with every meal except breakfast ‑ when a neat little man walked in. The waitress came and took his order. My sisters and I became silent so as not to disturb a potential customer. Slowly we realized that we could have made all the noise we wanted. We could even slurp our soup, and Mr. Bussey wouldn’t hear us. “He is stone deaf,” someone explained to us.
When he finished his meal, Mr. Bussey came over and sat at the end of our table. “I want a set of logs,” he said. He spoke loudly. “Can you get some dry ones like they used in John Moss’s house.” “Won’t have any trouble with that,” Daddy said. Mr. Bussey didn’t hear Father’s reply and thought that Father had not heard him. He spoke louder. “Can you get me some logs like you got for Moss?” Father answered. “We can start working on it in two weeks” Bussey looked rather alarmed. “They don’t look weak to me.” “No they will be good logs. Just let me know what you need.”
Again, Bussey didn’t hear Father’s answer and wondered if Bud Ward had heard him. He raised his voice. “Need? I need logs, house logs, and some rafters, and joists, and window framing.” “We can do it.” “That’s what I’m going to do.” His voice shook the room. A waitress pushed open the swinging door and looked at us questioningly.
Bussey shoved a paper across to Father, and mumbled. “He can’t hear a word I say.” Then he shouted at the top of his voice. “I’ll get Blufford Blye to do it. I just want you to get the timber.” Father studied the paper and shouted back, “We’ll get it by the end of the month.” “LOGS, HOUSE LOGS!” Bussey leaned over, cupped his hand around Father’s ear and shouted louder. “CAN YOU GET ME THOSE HOUSE LOGS?” My father’s face quivered. His eyes opened wide. Then he nodded his head, wrote down some pricing figures and handed to his potential customer. The deal was made. Bussey smiled and turned to Mother. “Better take him to a doctor,” he said, “I think his hearing has gone bad.”
We were sad to say goodbye to Aunt Betty but were anxious to be on the road again. It wasn’t long before we were seeing the vineyards of Napa Valley. Rows of lush green grape vines seemed to stretch for miles over the California hills. It was a stark contrast to adjoining uncultivated land that was harsh and dry. We drove through the famous valley and toured one of the wineries. It was fascinating to see the fermenting process and barrels of wine aging in the cellar.
A short distance beyond, we merged onto Scenic Highway 101 that runs for 1540 miles along the Pacific Coast from the Golden Gate to the tip of Washington. The highway passes through the world’s tallest preserves of old growth redwood trees, some of which reach 300-350 feet high. They are unlike the massive thick-trunked redwoods in Sequoia and Yosemite National Parks in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. There are 31 redwood state and national parks. There are even three live redwoods you can drive through.
Driving through Redwood National Park is like going through an enchanted realm. The road winds through clusters of redwood groves. Giants that rise straight and tall are kings in this Redwood kingdom. They make cars look like toys and people look like ants. The redwoods fight for survival, drawing life from the fallen. In one of the Redwood groves, we saw twelve trees growing out of one downed tree.
Coastal Redwood trees
We hiked one of the trails at The Trees of Mystery in Klamath and saw the Cathedral Tree which is made up of nine trees growing out of one with their tall spires that reach to the sky, Elephant Tree and various other sites. When we returned to the museum and gift shop located at the parking area, we heard someone say “hello” to the girl with the brown flannel shirt. That was me! I looked around and didn’t see anyone it could be. Well, no one except Paul Bunyan, and 50-foot statues don’t talk – or do they? Apparently, there was someone inside Paul Bunyan. Babe the Blue Ox stood next to giant lumberjack, but he didn’t say a word.
The coast of Northern California is gorgeous. Charming coastal towns invite travelers to explore their shops and dine in view of the Pacific Ocean. Crescent City is one of the towns where we stopped. Effects from the tsunami of 1964 could still be seen.
Further north high rocky cliffs jut out over the ocean. There is really no way to really describe the jagged shoreline. Waves crashed against the cliff walls and echoed like dominoes tumbling along the beach.
My mother was a fabricholic. Her addition was so severe, my father hesitated to encourage her in even the smallest manner. He would, on occasion, take her for a quick fix and would sit and watch people as he sat impatiently by the door of the fabric store. Mama walked down every row and satisfied her compulsion to touch every bolt of fabric. I think my father felt a bit guilty for being an enabler of her addition, but it was for his welfare to indulge her a bit.
At least once a year, in July, I gave my mother a birthday gift certificate redeemable for lunch and a trip to the fabric store. The closer we got to the store, the more excited she was. Even before she walked into the store, she already had her eye set on something. She was free to feel as much fabric as she wanted. Every piece of material she saw was analyzed with a touch of her fingers. Every color imaginable drew her gaze as she created quilts in her mind. Her selections were made, and she was happy.
Daddy got the day off all by himself. He could make his split pea soup green muffins for lunch if he liked and climb on the roof with no one to scold him. I thought it was little sacrifice for me to give him a reprieve. Besides, it wasn’t so bad following behind Mama down the rows. I could reach out both arms and feel the fabric on both sides all the way down the row.
Hmmm.. I’m starting to twitch and I think I’m getting an itch…….
Though California has a lot of people, there are still large portions of untamed wilderness and treasures of nature worth more than gold. From the golden sands of the desert to the fields of golden poppies, to golden sunsets over the Pacific Ocean, to the Golden Gate Bridge, to the abandoned ghost towns of the gold rush era, the state is full of wonder.
Our car did require a bit of maintenance along the way. It was a minor expense but that’s why we had our emergency fund. It was a short drive from Santa Monica to Santa Barbara which was our home for the next few days. Our visit there was a good one. We had good food and it was always fun to see Aunt Ellen. Though we didn’t get to see her often, we heard stories of her almost weekly. We got to spend some time with Indian Charlie, aka Willie, aka Billy, and his family. We visited them in their home and shared a picnic on the beach for Aunt Ellen’s birthday on July 4. That called for us going into the Pacific. It was very cold, and the seaweed wrapped around our legs like a giant sea monster grabbing us trying to pull us under the waves. That was enough for us to remain on the beach lined with seaweed. We also visited family of our current mayor who was living in the area. Downtown was just a short walk, so we went into town, visited Aunt Ellen, took in a movie and other sights.
Another cousin was next along our path for a one-night visit before we headed into the Sierra Nevada Mountains and to Martinez where we stayed with Aunt Betty. While there, we made an overnight trip into San Francisco and stayed with a former student of my favorite teacher. He worked nights and slept during the day. With a guide of places for us to visit, we crammed as much into the day as we could. Morrison’s Planetarium, Japanese Tea Gardens, Botanical Gardens, Fisherman’s Wharf, Golden Gate Bridge and Lombard Street, the curviest street in San Francisco, were a few of our destinations. Just a note – cable cars have no respect for vehicles or persons. Sister tried to outrun one. It’s a wonder we even survived. Our host said it wasn’t safe for us to take in China Town by ourselves, so he was our guide. We ate at an authentic Chinese Restaurant, visited little shops and saw lots of interesting sights. San Francisco was probably the most diverse melting pot in the state. We saw people of every kind, color, religion, and race.
Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco
We also made a trip into Yosemite National Park and to see the Giant Sequoias. Yosemite is in bear country. All through our campground were signs. We were very cautious about not leaving even a small morsel of food in our camp site. The park was absolutely breathtaking. Just seeing Half Dome standing tall and seemingly impregnable is worth the trip. We took various hikes in the park. One hike was to Mirror Lake. We packed a lunch and hiked up the trail. As we got closer to the lake, I noticed reflections through the trees. When we reached the end of the trail, it was evident what caused the reflections – cars. There was a parking lot! We could have driven there. We needed the exercise anyway. Our picnic lunch was very tasty after the hike and the view was wonderful. After a semi-dip in the lake, we headed back to the campground. We camped there for two nights and headed back to Martinez for a couple more days before heading off again, stopping to experience the Giant Sequoias. Unless you stand under one of them, it’s hard to imagine just how big they are. I think majestic is the best way to describe these ancient giants.
That’s not the end of this tale. More to follow……….
I bet that whoever is reading this now does not have a front (or back) yard that is bigger than my Maga’s. 11 acres of thick, green grass with lots of trees (some stolen from national forests…shhh), and more flowers than I can even imagine. A huge front and back porch, looking over a hilly yard. Looks like it’s straight out of “The Sound of Music” starring Julie Andrews. But, it all has to be kept in pristine condition to look as awesome as it always does, and since it’s getting warmer and Puppa is still out of commission, it’s my turn to take care of it. Me, Viv, the girl who screams and runs at the sight of any flying bug because of a past incident (another story for later ;)). Me, Viv, who can get sunburnt in JANUARY (like what the heck). Me, Viv, the girl who doesn’t always pay attention to where she is going, so she runs into a tree, all while savoring Maga’s famous homemade bread. So, naturally, I thought, “I’ve got this” and proceeded to mount the zero-turn lawnmower.
Maud’s Julie Andrews impersonation
I actually got the hang of it pretty quick, but at the same time, I was mowing the grass of FLAT ground. As I slowly mowed, section by section, of Maga’s yard (over the course of several days), I finally got to… the front yard. Although this lawn and its inhabitants are absolutely gorgeous, it looks pretty terrifying on a 750 pound vehicle that I just learned how to operate 2 days earlier.
Puppa had said before, “If there’s mud, don’t go any farther.” Well, this man takes such good care of his grass and yard that YOU CAN’T SEE THE MUD THROUGH THE ABSOLUTELY AMAZING, GREEN GRASS (do I seem bitter to you?). But I proceeded bravely into the unknown, armed with basically a pair of motorized scissors and my headphones (along with A LOT of sunscreen), I set off. Terrified. But excited because I knew that I was going to do this and do it like a total boss. The first few ups and downs on the hill were okay. Then, out of nowhere, on my way back up the substantially sized hill, my motor turned off. I looked around, eyes big, and I felt my breathing quicken. With the wheels slowly creaking backwards, I pushed the handles. Nothing. So, I did what any brave and superb lawn caretaker does…
I called my mom.
But, she didn’t answer, so I called my dad. And started to cry because I knew I didn’t have enough money to pay for the supposed damages I caused to the automated pair of scissors. Pretty soon, here comes my mom running really fast, like a graceful gazelle with a tattoo on its shoulder. And my dad too. He comes running like… um… another animal that I can’t think of at the moment. With tattoos too.
Anyways, they come up to me, breathing hard, looking at my wet eyes and runny nose, and while my mom said, “I thought you had flipped over!”, my dad said, “I actually ran over here and you aren’t even hurt.” Then he proceeded to get me out of the chair and turn the mower on with a turn of the key. We had a good laugh about that, but I was kinda embarrassed.
After that, I proceeded with EXTREME caution. I wasn’t about to have the gazelle and… mystery animal (aka my dad), come running to turn on the lawn mower…again. I finished my job, however. But not without some troubles. The grass was wet, so the wheels on lawnmower went round and round, tossing mud and grass into the air (I should write songs :)). And, finally, I had to mow the hill… sideways. Which is what I didn’t feel comfortable with, but Puppa told me to, so I did it. He is the master lawn keeper, after all. It wasn’t bad, but Maga and Puppa now have a few tire marks in their yard (whoops).
Well… At least I can say that I did it.
And it was actually pretty fun…kinda scary…but mostly fun 😉
