OREGON GRAPE

The phone was ringing when Mike and I arrived at the town house on Monday. It was Ken, and as we visited, I mentioned that I had tried to pick some Oregon grape at the farm.

“You mean,” he said slowly, “like the Oregon grape I have all over my back yard – the same Oregon grape that now has berries all over it?”

Ken and Ginny maintain a rather woodsy backyard. Perhaps it's the Oregon influence in their backgrounds. We agreed that I could pick all of the Oregon grape berries I wanted, and Tuesday I did just that. Ginny came out while I was there and questioned me closely about the edibility (apparently that really is a word) of these berries. I told her what I read in the field guide – that the berries are very bitter but make good jelly. After all, the birds eat them and see to it the seeds are spread everywhere. And besides, I added, my dad used to make Oregon grape jelly from time to time and those of us who ate it were not poisoned.

I've made the juice, but I haven’t made the jelly. The jelly-making equipment is on the farm, and that’s the best place to make jelly.

So, we came back to town expecting to stay a few days, but activities seem to be keeping us here: a P.E.O. summer social for me, a motorcycle ride with friends for Mike; a few appointments here; a few errands there; etc. And on Saturday my great-nephew is coming to get the white furniture for his little girl, my great-great niece. Or maybe it's "great grandniece."  (I’m feeling kinda old here!) These activities are spaced so as to make travel back to the farm impractical, not to mention that I must finish cleaning out the white drawers and shelves. It feels like work, too. It's always difficult when there's no place to put the stuff that has to be moved, and some of it is important to my immediate life. Baskets and boxes of fabric and sundries are going to the garage, and I look forward to putting the room back together again to reflect a new purpose.

It’s cooler today (about 95), but it has been record-setting hot. We feel a little apologetic about it since it’s nothing compared to what the people in the Midwest are suffering, but the Lewiston Tribune reports as follows: “For the third day in a row, highs in the Lewiston-Clarkston Valley broke through the triple-digit barrier on Tuesday, setting a record as well for the date with a thermometer reading of 107 degrees.” Nellie and I have been walking in the mornings when it’s cooler. Late in the afternoon, we take her to the river, which she loves to do. Mike throws a tennis ball for her to retrieve from the water. When she loses interest, she drops the ball in the rocks and weeds, but so far we’ve been able to find it. 

UPDATE
Under "Corrections" hidden in Section C of today's Lewiston Tribune: "The high temperature of 107 degrees on Tuesday was not a record. The record high temperature for Aug. 8 was listed as 109 degrees set in 1932, according to the National Weather Service in Spokane. Incorrect information, gathered from another source and incorrectly attributed to the National Weather Service, was used in Wednesday's edition because of a Lewiston Tribune error." 

Well anyway -- it was still hot. KW, 8-9-12