Tangled Emotions

I just got back seeing my mother in Florida.  I am always amazed at the tangle of emotions I experience during these visits.

My first is that of having to face the reality of my mother's age, 81.  The mother I carry in my mind is at least ten to fifteen years younger.  When I first see her, I experience shock.  She looks fragile and feeble.  As we visit and time passes, my mind vision and real vision adjust.  She looks good for her age and her condition.  I move from sadness to gratitude, gratitude that she's still with us, still living independently, still as stubborn as the day is long.  Fragile and feeble?  Things aren't always as they first appear.

My second emotional tangle came during a visit to the grocery store.  Mom likes to push the cart.  I think because it gives her a bit of extra support.  As we walk along, I think I'm leading, taking care of her as we shop but my mind is assaulted by images of myself as a child, trailing along behind Mom as she chooses her groceries.  Here we are, her 81 and me 61 and the feeling of being a child was as real as if it were 1955.  It brought a smile to my face.  Time passes but she will always be the mother and I, the child.

We almost always play cards (pinochle and rummy this time), when I visit.  Mom is competitive and a pretty sharp card player.  At least, she was.  As we played, I noticed how frequently she forgot whose play it was.  In rummy, she discarded cards that could have been played either on me or her, and her responses weren't as quick as they once were.  But I also noticed that there were instances when she used her... shall I say, age-related handicaps ... to her advantage.  Sometimes she wouldn't discard.  Sometimes she would lay cards down out of turn.  Sometimes she wouldn't take a card.  In pinochle, sometimes she would trump with a suit not trump.  Now, you could think these were accidental but there was strategy behind these moves on her part.  It was a mixed bag of tricks she played.  Some deliberate; some not.  All inducing both sadness and gladness on my part.  Wily old thing, she held her own, winning her share.

Working on the family tree and organizing all the pictures we have accumulated over the years is a task.  I've gladly taken it on but I needed Mom's assistance.  So we sat together trying to determine about when and where pictures were taken and who was in them.  I also had a list of questions I hoped she'd answer.  Questions like, "What is your earliest memory?  What have you learned from your life?  How would you like to be remembered?  What was the hardest thing about raising me?  my sisters?"  I learned some things about my mother through this experience.  She shared memories not shared before.  It was a warm, close time.  I was sad to know it took me so long to ask these questions but glad to know there was still time.

When I left Mom, I left her with a few things to consider, things not easy to talk about but necessary.  I asked her to consider under what circumstances she would need to down size, move from her three bedroom home to a smaller home or apartment.  I asked her to consider under what circumstances she would consider assisted living arrangements of some sort -- living with my sister who has made the offer many times or living in one of those semi-supervised situations.  I asked her what she wanted done with her ashes (she has already made provisions to be cremated) and what kind of service she would like.  Tough questions to ask or be asked, questions that I sincerely hope she'll answer taking the responsibility off the shoulders of her daughters.  Knowing her wishes and that we can follow them brings a kind of peace to me and I hope to her.

Yes, it's a tangle.  One that I will probably experience again when I return in February.  But I realized as I wrote this that a tangle of emotions isn't the best descriptor.  A love knot is much more accurate.

Lessons Learned While Volunteering

I spent four hours Saturday volunteering for the Democratic Party.  My job?  I called 160 prospective voters to not only remind them to vote November 2nd, but to get a reading on how they might vote.  This was my first time doing this kind of thing.  To be honest, I hate the whole concept and when I get calls like this at home, resent the intrusion.  I fully expected to be hung up on or worse, to be cussed out.  As it turns out, I was only hung up on twice and no one was angry with me.  I learned a few surprising things through this experience.

Lesson one:  It felt good to be among people who care enough about this election to give of their time and energy.  It felt good to be among people who believed as I do.  It felt good to be among Democrats.  These were rational, caring people, my age, older, and younger.  They were diverse in ethnicity and gender.  While I didn't check any resumes, they all looked to be fully employed, productive citizens.  When I could listen in to conversations around me, it was clear that many were extremely well informed regarding the democratic process, the election, the issues, and the candidates.  I didn't see any "morons", "idiots", "slackers" or "traitors" -- all names I've read or heard the opposing party call those who support the Democratic platform.  Again, it was affirming to be among people of like mind.

Lesson two:  I need to be much better informed.  I know what I value and I have a vision of the world the way I believe it needs to be but I am woefully uninformed about the specifics of the candidates.  That's in part my own fault and in part the fault of media that deals in slogans and generalities and not specifics.  The specifics, I've learned, are there to be understood but I'm not going to find them on TV.

Lesson three:  Of the 160 calls I placed, I only got to talk to 38 people.  Answering machines and screening calls made it difficult to get a live person.  This fact helped me understand the need for door to door canvassig, a tactic I like less than the phone call.  Yet, I have learned why both are needed.  With limited funds, it is important to target those funds where there is the greatest need and chance for success.  To know that, polls have to be taken.  To hear from the people, you have to go to them.  Okay, I understand that now.

Lesson four:  Many of the people I called were in their 60's and up.  They are dedicated voters.  Most had already sent in their absentee ballot.  Those that hadn't knew about the election and fully intended to vote.  Some actually asked questions about some of the more obscure candidates, such as those running for the State Supreme Court.  Some wanted to know about specific issues.  Because I am not well informed, those callers were handed off to someone who knew more. 

Among these senior citizens, I encountered a couple who were diehard Democrats and proudly declared themselves so.  One was disappointed with the way things are going and abandoned the party.  One let me know in no uncertain terms which candidates she was voting for and which she was not.  Her ballot falls into the split category. 

Lesson five:  Some of the people I called were in the 30 to 50 age range.  They were less talkative.  They, like the seniors, fell into categories -- loyal Democrat no matter who was running, disenchanted Democrat voting Republican this election, independent thinker voting across the ticket to elect who they think would be best for the office.  This was the age range of the two hang-ups I got.  I think the seniors were more civil.  The middle agers, less so.

Lesson six:  I actually called some people who were over 90.  Some were hard of hearing making the whole call thing very difficult for them and me.  Some were as sharp as a tack.  One couple -- he 100; her 97 -- were new to the area and while definitely voting Democratic, wanted to know more about specific local candidates.  Very sharp.  One lady, 97, told me about falling recently and not being able to get around well and that she had an eye disease that was blinding her.  She said she didn't think she would be voting any more because she couldn't read for herself the positions the candidates were taking.  She didn't think she should vote under those circumstances.  When I wished her a good day, she told me, "Honey, I'm 97.  I don't think I've many more of those days left."  Clearly, being old, really old, doesn't slow everyone down or diminish thinking ability, but it does for some.

Lesson seven:  Of the young people I called, I found one who wasn't going to vote because she was going to be out of town that day and hadn't gotten an absentee ballot.  Another hadn't registered to vote.  Older folks had answering machines on land phones.  Younger folks had cell phones and calls directed to their voice mail.  I didn't get a good feeling about the level of voter turn out of this group.

So the question is, would I do this again?  Probably.  I might even participate in a neighborhood canvass at some point.  I know I'll keep helping out in some capacity.  It felt good.  I felt empowered.

Thoughts Because of a Cleveland Wedding

Four weddings in thirteen months!  Our family has been busy celebrating and it has all been wonderful.
These weddings have been very diverse.  One Jamaican themed, the next green and Catholic, the third an outdoor wedding barely managing to stay dry, and the last held in a Cleveland courthouse.  All centered on love, family, and fun.

This last wedding, the Cleveland one, was grand but I felt a touch of melancholy as it will be the last excuse for the five brothers and their families to come together in celebration for a while.  No more weddings on the horizon.  There may be intervening events, perhaps a graduation or two, that will bring us together but those are not a sure thing.  I don't mean the graduation part.  I know the sister-in-law, nephew, and niece in school will all graduate.  That's a lock.  I mean grand celebrations held in their honor that we are all able to attend.  Those may or may not happen and we all may or may not be able to attend. 

Maybe because I am working on our family tree, maybe because I'm retired, maybe because my adult son is married and well launched in life, and maybe because of all three, I find myself valuing family together time more and more.  Finding out about the history of our ancestors surely made me aware of the importance of family in the 1800's, especially those families relying on farming for survival.  Children were numerous and not just because birth control was pretty much non-existent.  Children were needed to help with the farm and the home.  They were loved, yes.  They were cared for, yes.  But they were also relied upon and needed.  Back then, families were together.  I mean they worked together, they dined together, and they celebrated together.  Grandparents, parents, children, and their children.  Often they all lived in the same town and on the same farm.  Getting together was their way of life.  For us in the 21st century with family scattered from Florida to Michigan, Illinois to Kansas, Montana to Arizona, well it takes events like weddings to make that happen.  Getting together is expensive and takes time, time away from work.  So, having family in the same place at the same time in honor of a loving couple, then dining and dancing, talking and laughing into the wee hours of the morning -- these are special to me.  I wish for more such times.

Walking Thoughts

"Five minutes of exercise in a natural setting -- like walking in a park or even raking leaves in your backyard -- is all it takes to provide a boost in both mood and self-esteem, say researchers from the University of Essex in England.  Most powerful:  activity near water." Good Houskeeping, November 2010

This morning as I was walking, I passed a number of people.  Some young, some older.  I greeted each with eye contact, a smile, and a "Good Morning!"  Some responded and some didn't.

Now the day was glorious.  Clear blue sky, pleasantly crisp air, and the fall colors at their peak.  But for some of those I passed, these facts may not have been fully appreciated.  Most who didn't respond to my greeting were younger and all of those were hooked into some kind of listening device.  They may not have even heard me.  Or seen me for that matter.  Whether walking or running, their thoughts must have been  totally focused on what they were listening to and not to the world around them.  The older of those I passed were not all without devices but to a one, they acknowledged my greeting and reciprocated.  It made me wonder.

This walk was not without sound for me.  There was the singing of the tires of the myriad cars crossing the highway bridge not too far from where I was walking.  There was a gentle rustle of leaves when a breeze hit them right and the louder rustle of leaves on the path as I scuffed my feet through them.  There were distant calls of birds and the closer chirping of crickets.  I could hear voices near the river and farther in front of me, a group of students I soon passed (and no, they didn't respond to me either).   As I neared the dam, the rush of water was added to this morning walk symphony.  And this music, rather than demanding my attention and decreasing my awareness of my surroundings and the beauty therein, was an accompaniment, enhancing my enjoyment of my time in this space.  I wonder if those young people with their ears filled recognized just how gorgeous this day was.  I wonder if they recognize how much they are missing.  And even more, I wonder if they realize how fleeting it all is.  I wonder if they value this time, this space.  And yes, I wonder if they value those who share it with them. 

Small stuff, this but something I thought about as I headed home.

Horicon, Water Fowl, and Fall

Just concluded a grand trip to Horicon, Wisconsin to check out the water fowl migration.  That the weather was fantastic and fall in full regalia made this trip one for the books. 

Rog and I got up and headed toward Chicago early Saturday morning.  The traffic on this major corridor between Detroit and Chicago was heavy, as usual, but moved well.  Our routine when heading this way is to stop in at the Jackson Starbucks for coffee to go.  Gives us a chance to stretch our legs and to get our morning shot of caffeine.  From there we head to exit 52, The Waffle House.  This restaurant serves fine breakfast fare in a homey atmosphere.  We particularly like the change in decor to reflect the season and the train that runs the perimeter of the ceiling.  Their bathrooms are something to see, too.  Can't speak directly about the men's but the women's is full of roses, even on the toilet seats!  It's also large, clean, and accommodating.  Voted one of the top five restrooms in America (can't say by whom but the notice is posted for all women to see as they primp in front of the mirror), even if the food wasn't good, the stop would be worth it. 
From there we drive around Chicago and stop on the northwest side at an antique mall located near Six Flags.  While I don't always find something there to spend my money on, I absolutely always enjoy strolling the aisles.  The merchandise is well chosen, in good shape, and attractively displayed.  So many wonderful memories are conjured up as I view the goods.  Thank goodness I'm disciplined in my buying habits or I would always walk out of there with something.  On this trip I found an attractive rhinestone evening bag and/or a couple of beautiful stemmed glasses, all things I don't need or collect.  I did, however, find something to buy -- a Julian Wehr moveable book.  In great shape and one I don't already own, this is a great addition to my collection of moveable books and the price was right, $20.00. 

We must have stopped at six other antique malls before finally arriving at Fox and Hounds, a restaurant we liked when we lived in West Bend, Wisconsin.  It holds memories of good food and good times and one unfortunate incident that involved a four year old Mark and a small item he helped himself to from the gift shop which upon discovering was returned to the gift store by the culprit.  It turns out we didn't eat there.  We didn't even have a drink in their bar.  The restaurant has been enlarged and in spite of that, was still full to overflowing with an hour wait before we could be seated.  We opted to head on to a country bar and restaurant we also frequented back then, Schwai's. 

Schwai's is now called Emily's but the ambience has not changed.  Yes, the meat counter is gone and sausages are not to be found on the menu but the bar is the same and the country feel remains.  We sat at the bar and ordered Emily's Favorite Salad which turned out to be exceptional.  Avacado, mixed greens, pine nuts, blue cheese, and more combined with a wonderful homemade dressing  to hit the spot.  That and a good IPA and we were on our way to Horicon.  We arrived at out hotel late, went straight to bed, and got up early to head to the marshes and see the birds.

The marshes were shrouded in layers of low lying clouds.  To the east, we could see the beginning of the sunrise.  The first hint that we were in for an other worldly experience was the six or more blue herons dining in a farmer's field.  They looked so princely as they strutted around the field.  They sounded something less than regal, however.  I can't exactly describe their call when they became aware of our presence.  Guttural, hollowly haunting, and songlike.  Not bird songs like the birds in my backyard, more primal and resonating.  More ghostly.  The sound fit the mist and the hour.

As the sun began to shine and the mist burn away, we saw flock after flock of birds flying above us.  We heard the familiar sound of Canadian geese but we also heard wood ducks and coots.  And gunfire.  It was hunting season and the hunters were out.

Driving farther into the marsh we came across egrets, more blue herons, white herons, loads of ducks and geese and coots floating on the marsh and dipping their heads into the water, tails up for the ducks and just the heads for those blessed with long necks, for the delights of fish and whatever else they liked to eat.  Whether on water or in the air, we were surrounded by birds.

We finished our visit to Horicon Marsh with a boat trip on the marsh itself and then lunch at Mom's.  We started our meal by sharing a piece of cherry pie.  Very, very, good cherry pie.  So good I would have bet we would be eating another by the end of the meal but by the time we were done, we had no room for more.  Rog had turkey, dressing, gravy, and French fries.  I had pork and the rest the same as Rog.  We were stuffed and feeling a bit guilty for not eating more healthily.  Now for the next leg of our trip, Madison and then Spring Green and Frank Lloyd Wright's Taliesen East.

In Madison we did more antiquing.  Rog found lots of ephemera to add to his collection at each of our stops.  I found a few more pop-up books.  What stands out most in my mind, however, was our dinner.  Having been to Madison before a few times, we knew of a brew pub, Asylum Ale, serving the best IPA.  That was our first stop and we were not disappointed.  We also knew of an Italian restaurant, Lombardino's, that not only served great Italian food but in an environment that complemented it.  There were no seats available so we opted to eat in the bar which to my mind was the better place anyway.  Dark, highlighted with twinkle lights.  Walls of painted mosiacs of Italy and Italian women.  We sat at a high table for two in the corner that allowed us to view the entire bar.  While ours was the last available table left, there were several seats left
at the bar itself, a situation that was to change before we left.  There would be people standing waiting for a space to open up, a definite sign of the quality of the food served here.  Rog had spaghetti with bolognese sauce and I had eggplant Neopolitano.  Both were outstanding. 

Monday morning we headed straight for Spring Green taking back roads.  I can't tell you how lovely the countryside was.  Rolling hills, fall colors, cows grazing in the fields, emerald green winter wheat fields contrasting with the browns and tans of corn fields, both ready to be harvested and harvested.  Neat farm houses, barns, and silos dotted the landscape.  Birds continued to be present in the sky and in the wetlands we continued to come across now and again.  The day was crystal clear and the air crisp but comfortable.  We were surrounded by the wonder of the season and the countryside and loved it all.

Our time at the Frank Lloyd Wright school and home was not recorded in pictures but as we have always enjoyed his work, we were not disappointed.  It is always amazing to us that this man had the architectural vision and foresight to build structures that are modern looking even today.  These particular buildings were conceived from 1902 to 1914 with additions up to the 1950's.  1902!  The average American farmer living nearby must have thought him insane!  And yet, I could comfortably live in any portion of the home he built for himself.  The use of glass, the openness of the living rooms, the way the outdoors comes in and the in out -- well, you just don't see that enough in homes designed now much less back then. 

We knew when we planned this trip we'd be getting home late.  When we reached the driveway after midnight, we were both glad to be home but more glad to have taken the time to make the trip in the first place.  We've already talked about when we will head back again.

Blue heron enjoying breakfast in a harvested corn field.

Sunrise #1

Sunrise #2

One of the many flocks we saw heading out for their daily foraging.  We were told they will go as far as fifty miles to dine in farmers' fields.  They fly out at sunrise and come back at sunset.

Sunrise #3

The sun is almost up and the mist is fast dissipating.

The fall wildflowers were as good as any flower garden I've seen.

The last bit of mist

Just one view of one small portion of the marsh. 

More flocks heading out to eat.  Remember there are hunters just waiting for them to fly over.

Five ducks on the right, a coot on the far left, and a heron or egret, I'm not sure.

I should have made sure the focus was on the herons but you get the picture.

A wood duck

We were told that herons are extremely patient and can hold a still position for long periods of time to assure a fresh catch for their meal.  This guy never moved while we watched.

More wood ducks

A different heron from the earlier one.  He was much more active and we got to see him make a couple of successful catches.  Once he caught the fish, he would toss it up and somehow get it positioned to swallow down that long neck.

The brown you see in the background is not a crop waiting to be harvested.  It is cattails.  All that land is under water and the cattails will eventually, after many years of growing and decaying, reclaim the land, eliminating the marsh.

More of Horicon Marsh and cattails.  Where there are trees, there is land.  Where there is brown, it's wet.

Books, Food, Drink, and Music -- The Good Things in Life

Our last days in Oregon focused on my attending The Moveable Book Society conference and enjoying Portland as much as possible during the inbetween times.

The conference itself was small but filled with ardent "pop-up book" lovers.  I learned about the fringes -- pop-up book as art and historic pop-up ephemera.  I met enthusiastic collectors, paper engineers, and artists.  I learned about rescuing battered and forgotten old pop-up books.  All in all I came away a bit better informed about the books I love and the people who love them, too.

After the meetings, Rog and I would go exploring.  We visited an art gallery that was exhibiting a variety of pop-up books as art.  The variety was staggering as was the talent.  And the prices!  I was not able to add any of these one of a kind books to my personal collection but it was great to see them.  From there we walked to the Thatched Tiki, a bar Rog read about in a Tiki publication.  As it turned out we were too early.  The young couple, tattooed and pierced, let us know rather abruptly (we felt) that they weren't open yet.  We peeked into the establishment to at least ascertain the level of Tiki represented there and then feeling rebuffed, we headed on down the street to a brew pub.  As is our practice, we ordered a sampler and tasted their various brews.  Since we had to walk back by the Tiki bar, we decided to go ahead and go in.  Am I glad we did!

Our experience at the Thatched Tiki was one of the most pleasant of our trip.  Three young workers, two guys and a gal, kept us company as we were the only customers at that time.  Yes, two of them were the same two who let us know they were closed earlier.  It turns out the girl was from Ohio and one of the guys was from Ann Arbor.  That became the beginning of a great, brief friendship.  We learned a bit about them and they, us.  The young lady was soon to marry and she shared some of her wedding plans.  As we chatted, telling them of our Tiki adventures across the country, we sipped a great Mai Tai and Singapore Sling.  According to Rog, it was the best he'd ever had.  Imagine our surprise when before we had even finished those drinks, two Spanish Coffess were presented to us.  The explanation?  One of the guys was hoping to become a bartender and he was practicing.  We were the beneficiaries.  Those drinks were pretty darn good, too.  The young lady felt we needed to know the difference between a Trader Vic Mai Tai, the one we just finished, and a Don the Beachcomber Mai Tai, the one she set in front of us.  Again, without charge.  By this time, we knew we had to eat something so we ordered a couple of appetizers, both of which were highly satisfying.  We also knew we had a long night yet ahead of us so we ordered some coffee.  These came to us gratis.  So needless to say when we asked them to call us a cab and bring us the bill, we left a tip that more than doubled the charge!  I doubt we'll ever encounter a bar quite that generous again.  By the time we left, the place was crowded.  Clearly, we weren't the only ones who enjoyed the ambiance.

From the Tiki place, we headed to the train station for a traditional jazz trio -- piano, bass, and drum.  The music was reasonably good standard jazz.  We only drank water but we did order a marquerita pizza (not good) and a bowl of onion soup (great). 

The following day, before conference meetings, we headed to Voodoo Donut, a hole in the wall not too far from the hotel.  When we got there, there was already a line stretching halfway down the block.  The choice of donuts was definitely unique -- Oreo donuts, maple bacon bars, and a few with macabre titles paying homage to the Voodoo name.  We had the Oreo, a coconut, and a maple bar.  I just couldn't quite go the bacon route.  Also, we ordered a wonderful cup of coffee.  Everything was good eating but far too large for us.  After walking around the historic district and a number of vagrants waiting for a hand-out, we headed for the river front, a popular jogging and walking trail for Portlands citizens.  From there we went to the Bijou and had a healthy organic breakfast -- fresh squeezed orange juice, granola, yogurt and fruit (kiwi, fig, apples, peaches, and bananas).  Rog had a classic eggs, bacon, and potatoes meal.

I returned for more of the conference and Rog set out to explore more of Portland.  That evening we checked out the view at a bar high in the sky.  Thinking we'd get a good seat if we got there around opening time, we learned we were too late for a window seat!  There must have been a line waiting.  We sat at the bar and managed to see Mount Hood in the distance.  Later, we dined at Jake's and finished Jimi Mak's, a noted jazz club (I may have misspelled the name).  The music was hot and the crowd rowdy.  We enjoyed ourselves though we will always favor more standard jazz. 

To Portland

Not surprisingly this day was uneven.  We got up in good time and opted to head straight for Crater Lake and have breakfast there.  At 7:22 am we were driving through Medford.  After lots of twists and turns, ups and downs through picturesque countryside, we arrived at the Lodge.  By around 10:30 we were seated. 

Our breakfast -- one Pinnacle Omelette and one Marionberry muffin split between us.  The omelette had cheddar cheese, Tillamook cheddar cheese, and apples.  It was good.  The muffin would have been good had it not been nuked too long.  Dry and hard but tasty.

The views, on the other hand, were uniformly fantastic!  The lake was definitely in a crater.  The water was an intense and incredible blue.  The mountains, impressive.  Once we had taken a few pictures, off we were for the wine country just before Portland.

 A lot of driving, some wonderful views, a stop to check the river and we were soon on Highway 22/99 which was to take us through several vineyards. Unfortunately time was getting away from us. I needed to be at the hotel by 5:45 at the latest to register and we were cutting it very short. Luckily, the one side road we chose revealed wonderful vistas of vineyards, tasting rooms, palatial homes, groomed grounds. It would have been grand to be able to stop at the various wineries to savor their wears but again, time did not allow.

Roger drove; I navigated. The road we were on ended in the road we needed next -- Highway 5. Rog saw a sign indicating a way to 5 and he abruptly took it without consulting me. It did, in fact, get us there but it was the less direct of the two routes available to us.  Inspite of that, we got where we needed to be in time for me to get my materials.  Barely.
Once settled in the hotel and registered for the conference I was to attend the next three days, we pulled ourselves together and headed out into the city.  Roger had his list of things to do and his map and off we went -- the Heathman to check the jazz, the Benson to check the lobby (very lovely, old wood, polish, ornate), Jake's (an old restaurant, well known and very crowded), a couple other bars and potential places to eat, and Rogue's Brewery.  There we enjoyed a sampler of their beers and something to eat.  After that we headed to another establishment for jazz (a singer, guitarist, and bassist).  The music was satisfactory and the place was unique, serving a combination of tea, organic beverages, and food.  Rog had tea; I had a glass of red wine, and we shared dessert.

A full and tiring day came to a satisfying end.

Tall Trees

This was a day of tall trees, historic towns, and sweet desserts.

From Crescent City we headed to Jedidiah Smith State and National Park but not, of course, before enjoying breakfast at Great Harvest Restaurant, the same restaurant we dined at the night before.  From the coffee to the orange juice to pancakes, amelette, bacon and sausage, we ate well.  The restaurant prides itself on organic, healthy food.  The coffe was local roasted; the orange juice fresh squeezed.  The eggs were not only local but cooked in either rice or olive oil.  Real butter was used on the toast, pancakes, and potatoes.  The potatoes were small reds, done well to our liking.  The bacon and sausage was local and free of nitrates.  We ate well and much!

Our drive to the Redwoods gave proof we were no longer in Oregon.  The coast was not rocky; the grasses were brown.  We actually drove through a corridor of tall trees isolated from the park giving us a hint of what was coming.  When we entered the park through an access not popularly used, the road was one car narrow and wound through the trees, so tall it took three pictures to cover one tree from trunk to top.  The width of these trees varied.  The widest more than a car width.  The sun was obscured by tree tops.  No breezes blew where we were.  The stillness and the quiet were notable.  We took three walks, each giving different perspectives of the land and the trees, themselves.  Yes, they were all redwoods, and tall, yet each tree had its own story, its own character.  To see one was not to see all.  I'm afraid my pictures do not do them justice.

Remember, I'm standing below holding my camera as high as I can pointing straight up!  You still can't see the top.

The roots of these giants don't go much deeper than six to ten feet.  We read that they are subject to high winds and floods.  What holds them up is that the roots spread far and wide and tangle with the roots of their neighbors forming quite a web.

Sometimes they fall.  When that happens, they may take down others in their path or somehow find a path with no resistance.  These fallen giants helped us truly appreciate their size.

One of the paths we trod.

Compare the size of the trunk of this tree to Roger's height.

Another effort to show how tall they are and how dark is was at their base.

Not a tall tree but a wonderful twist.  The vegetation on the ground around these trees is predominantly ferns.  A few deciduous trees manage to grow but they are dwarved in size and number.

We left the park and headed to Jacksonville, Oregon, a town on the historic register.  It was a quaint but the old buildings were put to modern use.  Little history there.  We did dine under an ancient wisteria vine and enjoyed a glass of Oregon pinot noir and a chicken sandwich on foccacia.  They were in the midst of a festival and that night featured a concert by Harry Connick, Jr.  We, however, headed on to Ashland and we were glad that we did. 

Ashland was a small town of a little over 20,000 and the home of a university.  We found it a vital, upscale city.  Clean, inviting, offering several book stores, both new and used, as well as antique venues.  Bicycles and outdoor outfittting were in abundance.  The people were either out age and sporting a 60's look or much younger and sporting tatoos and piercings.  In other words, the inhabitants were a colorful bunch.  We passed several tempting restaurants and a couple of historic hotels.  Ashland is home to a Shakekspeare festival and that was in evidence everywhere.  We checked out Omar's, the 1946 oldest restaurant in town.  We had dessert, decadent and large, at an upper crust restaurant attached to one of the historic hotels I mentioned above. 

We were back in Oregon and getting from the redwoods to Ashland meant passing numerous vineyards and orchards.  We were back in lush, productive country.

On our way to either Jacksonville or Crater Lake, I'm not sure which, we stopped to take a botanical trail.  The feature here was the "darlingtonia" (I think that's the name but maybe not the spelling).  They get their nutrition from insects that get trapped in their "pitchers".

Jacksonville, Oregon, one main street of restored and recycled old, old buildings.

Another stop on the way to either Jacksonville or Crater Lake.  This was a park where boats put in.  I know it doesn't look like boats below in this water but we saw two strange looking vessels.  Two pontoons, a small platform supporting a chair.  The people in the chair held long oars, I suspect used not to paddle but to push off of rocks. 

More of the Oregon Coast

This day was dedicated to the Oregon coast.  It started with breakfast at a unique cafe located in the historic section of Florence.  Rustic in decor and proud of their Christian beliefs, the owner and the servers displayed information regarding Christian book clubs, concerts, and church services.  These didn't seem overly aggressive as they were all print items in the style of the rest of the decor.  You didn't have to read them.  I ordered a raisin bran muffin and coffee while Roger had a piece of fresh picked, wild blackberry pie.  He believes it was the best blackberry pie he's ever had.  This was just our breakfast appetizer as we moved on to an organic restaurant (not really much of a distinction as most of the restuarants we ate at in Oregon served locally grown, organic products) for the main portion of our breakfast.  Unfortunately it was forgettable unlike the rustic, homey atmosphere of our first stop. 

We backtracked a bit to see the Sea Lion Caves, a worthwhile stop even though the sea lions were all in the water and not in the cave.  We were able to see them floating in a group, just lazing in the water.  An occasional bark let us know where to look.

Roger at the entrance to the elevator that takes us down into the cave.

Not sure, but I think this is the entrance to the cave.

Hard to see in this picture but near the middle there are several sea lions basking in the water.

This banana slug was making its way across the walkway at the Sea Lions Cave.

I couldn't pass this without getting a picture.  I regret we didn't go in.

The rest of this day was filled with scenic turn-offs and parks and short walks, generally involving downhill first and up hill last.  One walk was through a sea captain's formal garden displaying the various plants he brought back from his travels.  Another allowed us to walk right down to the shore.  Most allowed wonderful vistas of the cliffs, rock formations, tide pools, and plant life.  When blackberries were within arm's reach, you can bet Roger helped himself.  Fragrant, wild dill was abundant at one stop.  An aggressive little squirrel demanded my attention as I tried to get a picture of him.  I'm pretty sure I was the more skittish.

The farther south we got, the greater the difference in terrain and vegetation.  Less a wet wonderland, less green.  The sea, however, was ever present.  We stopped in Crescent City, a working man's city.  When Roger asked the lady at the motel desk for a rustic place to eat, her response was, "Everything in this city is rusty."  Roger gently corrected her and she recomended three possibilities.  The first was perhaps a bit too rustic for our taste.  The second was too seafood oriented for Roger.  The third, was just right -- Harvest House.  After a large meal and good beer, we returned to settle in for the night. 

Climbed sand dunes to get these pictures, something we didn't find farther north.

The sea captain's garden was delightful but seemed out of place.  Such formality surrounded by nature's landscaping.

As you can see, we found sea lions.  At this stop any bit of rock sticking up in the sea was covered with them.  Barking was loud, numerous, and constant.  No sea lions chose to settle on shore, only on the little rock islands.