Adventure 656: Memoriam for George Esher Williams Jr.-Part One

We took an overnighter to Lewiston, Idaho, the town of my birth and the home of my father through his formative years. Our intent was to scatter some of Dad's ashes in places he lived. There will be another phase in Coeur d' Alene where I will scatter a few ashes on the hillside formerly owned by my great grandmother where George spent time as a kid. The final phase will be in Bend on Dad's birthday (July31) where we'll place the final bits in a grave next to Margaret, George's wife of over fifty years. We stayed overnight in Hell's Gate State Park. We drove around Lewiston finding sites, and afterwards we spent some hours hiking the trails around the state park. It was a good overnighter. And in cribbage news, the Cager fell in three games to forfeit the Hell's Gate Championship.

Arguably the best time of year to tour the Palouse.

We did couple of five mile loops on the hillside trails above and behind the state park. They are clearly marked and service hikers, bikers, and horse riders, and range from easy to difficult. The view from the ridge trail is especially nice.

For dinner we ordered take out from the deliciously decadent Effie Tavern, a downtown dive home to the  famous one pound dinner plate sized Effie burger.

One will feed four. In this case, one fed two. We had to take two cracks at it.

Dad grew up in the Lewiston Orchards near the corner of 23rd street and Grelle. It has fallen into disrepair in the seventy years since he lived there. When grandpa George and grandma Rosa and their six kids lived there, the place was pristine. I sprinkled some of George Jr. next to the patch of lilac bushes in the front yard.

I'm not sure, but these bird houses could date from Geroge's time.

Grandpa and Grandma moved to this house at some point after their kids were grown. My brother Tom and I lived here with them and George after my parents split. Many memories flooded back, including one scary one that surfaced. See the top window in the front. I was in a sniper's position with my bb gun. Tom was in the front yard. I caught him right in the cheek just under his eye. I thought the gun was unloaded, but one bb remained. Needless to say, I lost bb gun privileges, got the razor strap across my bare bottom, and have lived with the memory seared into my cranium ever since. Other memories, too many to count, are much better. We sprinkled a little of George here.

I lived in this house until my parents separated when I was in fourth grade. More memories... including climbing the now defunct fir tree next to the house. Tom and I were swinging like weights on a metronome when Mom ran our and screamed her warning note, "Timothy Allen, Thomas Michael, get down from there this minute." We sprinkled a little of George here.

We  also took time to visit my  Mom's parents who lay at rest in the Lewis and Clark Memorial Garden.

We sprinkled the last bit we had in the swim area along the Snake River where Dad used to take us swimming as kids.

Judy said a few prayers; I wished him peace.

The cops are still looking for a Wiley Cager with a handful of lilacs.

Wildly successful journey to the old home town.

Adventure 655: 42nd Annual Nordman Logger's Day

Spring Fling Two found us venturing North to our favorite place: Priest Lake. We had two modest goals: 1) Ride our bikes 2) Attend Logger's Day. We were wildly successful. We camped just off Highway 57 behind a copse of pines next to the airstrip that fronts the Ranger Station at Hanna Flats. Liz nuzzled the Liz Mobile abreast of us, awnings facing in. We had a mini- wagon train circle except we weren't a circle, we were an equals sign. No matter, we had the fire pit I brought, the dry wood Liz brought, and a sky full of bright stars above us. The weather was perfect, we rode thirty-two miles in three trips, and best of all, Logger's Days was a great hit. Somewhere near three hundred folks gathered to watch two-person cross saw races, chain saw races, axe throwing, pole running, and tug of war. Competition was friendly; the contestants were all skilled. People were happy: the beer and jello shots flowed, the food was hot, tasty, and filling, and the vibe was one of warmth and gladness. I saw one masked man; I myself tethered my mask around my neck submitting willingly to a ...When in Rome... mentality.   Justin, TC, and Falcon made the trip, and afterwards joined us for dinner at the campsite. We saw my cousin, Douglas. He had boated over from his cabin with his bike on board. He stopped by the camp sight for a chat on his was back to Noraville. Saturday night Liz and I stayed out until most of the stars blanketed the sky. Since it is a waning sliver of a crescent moon, the sky was dark, and because we were at the edge of the runway, our view was unhindered. And all night long we were serenaded by the frogs. It was quite ironic to choose this weekend's activity given the general populace's political stance, but in every sense this was an example of a close community upholding proud tradition, their own and the country's as well. The event opened on time with a gaggle of elementary school kids reciting the pledge of allegiance. From there the contests were administered with skill, safety, and aplomb. There was a moment of silence midway to remember members of the community who had passed during the past year. It became more of a toast, but it felt pure hearted. People gathered around and cheered each event. A good time was had by all. We left before the event ended because of the obvious flow of beer and  jello shots. Needless to say we didn't want to push our luck. It's true, after all, that the local boys noticed a sissy boy in a dew rag walking around with a couple of biker babes.  Who knows what they were thinking? We made it safely back to camp, and generally realized that life is good, especially today.

The men used this chainsaw to saw three inch disks of this log. The winner's time was well under two minutes.

Chile Verde with Hooley beans and fresh baked corn muffins.

This gal has obviously practiced with the ax a bit. 

Falky out flying a kite with his dad.

Three planes took off during our stay. We saw no landings.

The cross cut competition was fierce for both men and women. Waaaay harder than it looks.

Biker babes up on the porch (They weren't sure they could safely mingle with the locals).

Kicking off the biking season.

There's two biker babes.

Art shot of the day: Falcon and Mimi's reflection

  

Adventure 654: Spring Shakedown/Sandhill Cranes

Our buddy, Lis Ulmen, who after spending the Covid winter in California, suggested we meet at Scooteney Reservoir to ogle at the Sand Cranes who migrate through central Washington this time of year. We eagerly agreed, not just because it was a good excuse to get Frac out of her winter petticoats, but also it gave us a chance to see our friend. We'd thought it would be easy. Alas, we encountered a SNAFU. Last year, due to Covid restrictions, we winterized Frac early. Unbeknownst to us, the dealer unhooked a hose under the sink (One that is not normally unhooked). When I went to recharge the water system, the loose hose junction sprayed water all over the underside of the kitchen sink. Naturally, that water traveled to the heating unit so that when we turned on the furnace, the circuit board shorted out. Of course, when I called the dealer, they were backed up with work orders. Sadly, we called Liz to tell her of our misfortune and that we wouldn't be able to meet her. But for some reason, the dealer found time to look at our problem (Perhaps because of their winterizing error). At any rate, we were back in business. We had a pleasant drive to the reservoir, a joyous reunion with Liz, and a uplifting view of the natural wonder of the migrating Sand Cranes. We also enjoyed a fine dinner, a fine breakfast, a pleasant overnight, and the comforting notion that Frac is now ready for the season. Our plan is to take quick one or two night jaunts in our immediate area this spring, God willing hit the road for a long winter jaunt next year. But in this present moment,  we can once again report that life is good, especially today.

At dawn, driven by some internal signal, the birds (over a thousand strong) lift in unison into the air on their way to a day of foraging in the wheat stubble.

In the evening groups of birds ranging from two to hundreds return where they stand together in knee deep water for the night.

They return from all four points of the compass.

The reservoir campground isn't open this time of year, so we just settle somewhere in the parking lot.

This is the morning shot of the birds lifting, but most of the birds can't be seen in this shot.

This is a shot of one of the larger groups returning home for the evening.

Another shot of the morning lift.

Picture of a picture of a picture.

Good night sweet birds.

A joyful reunion.

 

Adventure 653: Casita Living/Post J

                                                                Blog Boy

After a night of measurable rain, we awoke to fog on the hillside, a desert personality we've not seen before, not that we've seen everything. We've never seen a wild javelina, a free range rattle snake, a  sun baked gila monster, or the desert bloomed in full color. We have seen roadrunners, ground rodents, jack rabbits, plenty of birds, and a plethora of sightseers like ourselves. We've warmed ourselves in the sunlight; we've inhaled fully the fresh air, and we've thoroughly enjoyed picking our way over jagged rocks, less so sloshing through soft wash sand, but in the last ten days, we've taken a full joyful measure of the Saguaro National Park. We've concluded that the place is worthy. Today, we saved one of the very short, highly traveled, and appropriately popular trails called the Desert View, for our last hike. We walked a mere three miles total, but the top of the ridge rewarded us with a panoramic view of the entire valley Southwest of Tucson. Unlike the other trails, this trail has clear signage indicating the names of the plants. The broad stair like trail glides gently upward to the viewpoint. It's not quite wheel chair friendly, but any ambulatory person could manage the hike, even young children. After lunch, we readied ourselves for the trip home. The casita has a washer/dryer, so laundry was in order. It's always preferable to return home with bags full of clean clothes. We buffed a few scratches from the rental car that we incurred when we overshot the casita in the first place, dropping our poor little Corolla into a deep saddle shaped wash bordered thickly by a grove of palo verde trees the willingly slashed the sides of the car with their thorns. I don't think we'll be charged for damages now, and thankfully the Corolla didn't spring a leak when I scraped her underside over the unforgiving granite boulders. We check out tomorrow at 10. As is our usual procedure, we'll leave the place nearly clean. The owners like to take care of cleaning towels, sheets, etc. Other than that, we'll leave them with very little to do. Our plane leaves at 5:30, so we'll spend the day once again with our friends, the Kral's. God willing we'll land in Spokane around 9:30 where the temperature will be shivering just above 20 degrees. I'll immediately ask myself why I'm there, and I'll probably dream about cacti for a few weeks. Mostly I'll be grateful I got to get away with my Bunny, and the bottom line as always will be that life is good, especially today.

Until next time, little casita.

Wow.

Amazingly, the phone camera actually picked up more of the mountains than I could really see.

O.K. you can be our friend, just take off your hat.

Hey, Bunny.

A more accurate photo of the morning mist.

Peace? YMCA? Or, you can tune a guitar, but you can't tune a cactus.

In late spring, the arms of the saguaro cacti will bloom in a blush of white flowers.

Young Falcon taking his parents on a fun visit to the ocean.

Not quite the stairway to heaven, but a view of God's work at the top for sure.

Adventure 652: Casita Living/Post I

Today's hike started in the sun.

 

We enjoyed a slow morning until we drove to Sabino Canyon to meet our friends, the Kral's, for another splendid hike in Tucson. Sabino Canyon Recreation area winds itself around the base of the Santa Catarina mountains on the northern border of Tucson. The area is arguably the crown jewel. We hiked about five miles up a riparian trail called Bear Creek. After our turn around, we watched, and soon felt the advance of a desert squall. Dark clouds dripped rain in the South. The front edge of the wind poured off the mountains from the North. And soon drops speckled our bodies, forcing us to reach for our rain gear. Although the amount of rain was minimal, it did serve to drop the temperature from around 79 degrees to a bone chilling 58. Fortunately, we didn't experience this change until near the end of our hike. Regardless, it's just another example of the harshness Mother Nature can deal out to the unwary. However, I'm quite smitten with Mother Nature. I respect her as much as I love the fact that she cares little whether I'm prepared or not. I've learned that lesson. I remember as a young man, I hadn't. I took an overnight bicycle trip mid August. My destination was Fort Spokane State Park, a distance of about 75 miles. It was 95 degrees when I left, dressed in  a cotton t-shirt, cotton gym shorts, and cotton socks. I carried no rain gear. After all, it was hot, sunny, and dry. A sudden summer squall ensued, drenching me. The temperature dropped forty degrees. I was very near hypothermia when I reach Davenport, Washington. I took shelter in a pioneer era log school house that is part of a display in downtown Davenport. I stripped to God's birthday suit, started my cooking stove, and hooked my soaked clothing off my tire pump like limp weenies over a campfire.  Meanwhile, I shivered and shimmied myself to warmth inside my sleeping bag. From that day forward, I've never taken a bike trip without packing my cold weather gear. I do so love Mother Nature. She's completely fair, completely impartial, and not moved in the slightest by petition. I wish mere men could be so just. But enough of memory lane. As usual, I spent today's hike enthralled with the saguaros. I will miss them dearly two days hence when we fly back to Spokane. But not to worry about a future yet to exist; instead, I'll relish the fact that life is good, especially today.

These fellows live right outside the front door of the Firelight Casita we're staying at.

The trail, dripping on both sides with majestic saguaros, goes all the way to the base of the mountain where a seasonal waterfall tumbles. Due to snow melt, monsoon season, and frequent sudden squalls, Sabino Canyon has abundant water making it like heaven for the flora and fauna.

These guys decided to live among the granite slabs.

The trail leads on and on. Who can say about tomorrow?

I'm always on the look out for heart shaped rocks to add to my friend, Liz Ulmen's, collection. This one will make her howl.

All too soon, this blue turned into that dark gray to the left.

Meanwhile, our grandson, Falcon, is making his first visit to the ocean. Seems like he's having a good time.