2:45 A.M. -- UP AND AT 'EM

"Now -- what time did you say we need to get up?" queried Mike. Grandson Jack's six-day visit has been all too short and it's time to return him to his parents.

I have learned from experience that someone has to think through these details and insist on timeliness. I had it covered. "His flight leaves Spokane at 6:15 a.m. We should be at the airport by 5:00. I think if we're on the road by 3:00 we'll be okay. Perhaps we should have driven to Spokane this afternoon and stayed in a motel."

"Why should we have done that?" asked Mike in a tone of incredulity.

"So that we would get some sleep tonight," was my response.

Before I went to bed, I had baked some muffins and packed cereal and drinks. I set two alarm clocks for 2:45 a.m. Jack advised me that he would be all packed and ready to get into the car when awakened. We were settled for sleep by 10:15.

Mike started talking to me at 2:31 a.m. Shortly after 3:00 we were in the car and headed into the darkness. Jack fastened his seat belt and collapsed onto a pillow. He would sleep all the way to Spokane.

Once again we traversed the rolling hills to Spokane, this time watching as the horizon grew lighter and lighter and finally we began to see the sun. It was daylight -- and surprisingly chilly -- when we reached the airport at 5:00.

The Frontier Airlines counter appeared to be just opening. We didn't have to wait in line long, but it took 20 minutes to check in. First the clerk couldn't find Jack's reservation. Next -- that would be $20.00 to check Jack's bag, which Mike charged to his credit card. Oh -- and um -- he's a "UM" (unaccompanied minor), so that's a "UM fee" of $50.00. Mike uncomplainingly handed her his credit card again while I squelched the urge to say, "What! I'll just keep him if that's the way you're going to be!" While other passengers were completing their check-ins on either side of us, the process for us seemed unending. Now Mike was asked to show ID and to fill out a rather lengthy form. There was no place to write comfortably as counter space has been replaced by kiosks. Finally after 20 minutes Jack was ready to pass through security and Mike had a pass to accompany him to the gate. What Mike didn't have was something very important to him -- a receipt for his credit expenditures.

By 5:40 Mike had returned to the lobby where I was waiting, reporting that Jack was on the plane. Returning to our parked car we ate the snack breakfast I had packed. We had discussed the possibility of shopping in Spokane, but since we'd have to wait until at least 9:00 for the earliest stores to open, we decided not to do so. A new Jo-Ann's has opened in the Spokane Valley and I hear it's pretty wonderful, but three hours of waiting for 10 minutes of looking around just didn't seem worth it to me. So, we took advantage of the still early hours, cool temperatures, and light traffic to drive back home.

We were crossing the Snake River at the Southway Bridge into Clarkston when my cell phone rang. "Gramma, we've landed," said Jack. I thanked him for letting us know.

And now it's on to the next thing -- the annual backpacking trip with Hallie and Nick which comes up next weekend. Beds have to be changed, food planned, shopping done. KW

THE MORNING AFTER

Jack and Mike enjoy some restful moments on the porch watching the hummingbirds. Jack had just gotten up. Mike was already at morning break.




And here's a little outfit for Emmy I made while Mike and Jack were camping. When I heard that Emmy likes frogs, I made a trip to Jo-Ann's for buttons and notions and used some remnants from my stash and Butterick pattern 5439. Jack will take the outfit with him when he leaves on Friday. KW

OF MICE AND AFGHANS

On a chilly evening at the farm last month, Mike and I were sitting side-by-side on the sofa watching tv when he reached for his "Dallas Cowboys" afghan and unfolded a despicable sight. The mice had made themselves "to home" in it. I'll spare you the description except to say they had gnawed through the yarn and it was badly stained. I was heartsick at the sight.

When Hallie was 14 or so and just learning to crochet, Mike wordlessly handed her a copy of Herrschnerr's Needlework catalog turned to the page listing sports afghans. "I think Dad wants me to make this Cowboys afghan for him," Hallie said to me. "Will you order the kit for me?"

Frankly, I had my doubts that she could do it. The pattern required the making of afghan stitch panels to be embroidered with a football helmet in the team colors, blue and gray. Hallie had made only a couple of afghans and this one seemed pretty ambitious to me. If she didn't like doing it, what then? I knew the answer. I would be finishing the afghan and it might take me years. But it seemed endearing to me that she wanted to comply with Mike's wishes. So I ordered the kit, which came as a pattern booklet and sufficient yarn to complete the afghan. I had also ordered the long afghan hook. I remember showing her how to pull up the loops, being sure to catch the very last stitch on the row, and then draw them off again. After that I didn't see much of her for about a month as she spent long quiet hours crocheting in her room. Sometimes teens need that. I knew what she was doing and didn't worry. I had anticipated that she would have questions and I would help her. She never asked and I didn't pry. Before long the afghan was completed beautifully and wrapped for Christmas. My only part was to put a backing on the pillow.

Returning to the now damaged afghan, I was particularly distressed that I had been so stupid as to have left this particular afghan on the sofa. Honestly I never thought about an acrylic fiber afghan being susceptible to damage, a mistake I won't make again! We couldn't exactly pinpoint when it had happened either because otherwise we hadn't seen much mouse sign in the house since installing the little sonar gadgets. At least we thought that was the reason. I never imagined they were hiding out in the afghan. And – I still had to tell Hallie about it.

"I have to tell you something bad," I said into the phone during one of our regular conversations. "Remember the Cowboys afghan . . . ."

"Oh," Hallie laughed, "I thought you were going to say the dog is sick." She was more philosophical than I about the afghan, reminiscing about how she had enjoyed the process of making it, more or less saying nothing could take from her the satisfaction of having completed the afghan successfully.

So, I stuffed the afghan into a large "Penney's" shopping bag I found and took it to town to wash in my gentle-action front-loading washing machine. It took some weeks for me to get to it. Once Nellie caught a whiff of the bag as it sat by the washing machine. "Do you know about this?" her eyes seemed to ask. Then one day when Mike was off to Oregon, I donned surgical gloves, removed the afghan from the sack and carefully stabilized the holes with yarn. I was so pleased when the horrible stains washed out. I'm sure I can repair the holes somehow, but if the stains had remained, I would have had to think again about saving the afghan.

I was trained to treasure things for their special significance in my life and also to keep anything that might be useful, and I kept the leftover yarn from this afghan. Not only had I kept it, I found it! "It's just white yarn," observed Mike, but those who work with yarn know that it's not all created equal. Having the original yarn means one less problem to solve in the process. I also found the instruction booklet, though I probably won't need it.

So the lesson I have learned in this is that when fighting the great rodent war, you can never relax your vigilance. If you live in the country, the problem is never solved. The enemy is out there and it's name in the broad category is "rodent." KW

HEEEE-RE’S JACK

"We should probably leave," I remarked to Mike after supper Friday evening (July 16). He thought it was a little too early, but I reminded him that last year Yancey had called to say Jack was on the plane while we were still at home. The flight from Denver to Spokane is two hours, and our drive from the Lewis-Clark Valley to Spokane is also two hours – plus the 15 minutes it takes us to get to the highway. "It would be good," I said, "if we could at least say we're in the car when Yancey calls." Mike agreed, so we put Nellie to bed and set out for the Spokane International Airport to meet Jack, our 12-year-old grandson. We were mid-way the Lewiston Hill when Yancey called to say the plane had departed a little early. No matter. We would still be there in good time.

It was a lovely evening as we wended our way through 100 miles of eastern Washington agricultural country, called the rolling hills of the Palouse. We started out heading into the setting sun and then watched the shadows lengthen and deepen as the mid-summer sky darkened. Except for the last 18 miles, the highway between Lewiston and Spokane is two-way, still very much a country route.

I don't fly often anymore, so I'm out of step with the airport scene. We were surprised to find the place mostly closed. There was no one to serve us, no one to provide Mike a pass to the gate so that he could claim Jack. Instead we waited in the lobby, which was in rather gloomy darkness. Yancey had told us Jack would call as soon as the plane landed. (That meant: "Take your cell phone with you and keep it on." Hallie would have said it outright.)

Sure enough, the plane landed about 10:30 and Jack called. Then we waited – and waited – and waited. Most everyone was off the plane and we were still waiting. That's because 12-year-old Jack had to be delivered to us by security. Mike was asked to produce his ID and sign the necessary form. After getting Jack's bag, we drove back to Lewiston over the same country highway. The three of us were mighty glad to fall into bed at 1:30 a.m.

Saturday morning Nellie was prancing her feet at the back door as soon as she heard Jack's voice. This is the third year that Jack has come to spend a week with Grandpa Mike, so Nellie is well-acquainted with him. When Jack decided to read for a while after breakfast, Nellie stretched out at his feet.

Once we had loaded both the car and the Dakota, we started for the farm. Mike and Jack took Nellie and headed in one direction in the pick-up while I took the car in another for gas and a few groceries. I was just unlocking the door of the farmhouse when they pulled into the yard. They had stopped for a couple of geocaches, of course.

We had planned that Saturday would be a day of rest, but in reality we were busy. Mike continued to pack the Dakota for a three-day, two-night camping / hiking / 4-wheeling trip on the Lochsa River. I washed and watered and made a fresh strawberry pie.

This morning (Sunday) Nellie trotted into the kitchen to lick a bowl I had for her. "Now Nellie," I said, "Mike and Jack are going camping and you and I are going to stay." She didn't say a word or even lick the bowl but turned on her heel and marched back to her pillow in the living room. I thought I heard her snort as she curled into a ball and turned her back to the room. You could say I'm making a good story, but she didn't get up again until well after Mike and Jack left. About noon I took her for a walk, and she stayed outside a long time, watching the lane for some sign of their return. Now she's resting under the maple tree near the hammock.

It's 85 degrees this afternoon but the breeze is pleasant. It moves the barley in waves of shimmering green. KW

OREGON TRIP 3 – DAYS 4 & 5

My cousin, Den, is and has always been a motorhead. He is currently building a dragster from a `98 Dodge Dakota. Each year there are big drag races at Woodburn, just north of Salem, where competitors come from all over the Northwest. This was the weekend for those races and Den had reservations to stay at the track all weekend in a trailer with friends. So early Saturday morning Den was off to the races and I was off to Mollala to pick up some caches for Clackamas County.

The first cache was called “Big vs Big” and was located between McDonalds and Burger King in some shrubbery around a sign. Another interesting one there was called “REALLY Close to Home”. It was located right in a front yard next to the house. [This cache will surface in the tale again]

Mollala isn’t too far from Woodburn so after finding 3 or 4 caches I headed for the drag strip. I got there about noon and it was hot and crowded. With some help I finally found Den’s friend’s trailer. These trailer spaces are right adjacent to the track so you can watch the races from your trailer spot which will have an awning to shade you from the sun plus most all the conveniences of home. Mike was there too along with 3 others. We saw some really fast and loud vehicles. Some of the faster machines would do the quarter mile under 6 seconds. There were also motorcycles which I especially enjoyed. However, by about 3:30 I had had my fill of watching cars go down the track.

I said goodbye to Den who would be spending the night there and headed back down to Albany to pick up a backup cache for Linn County. You will recall I didn’t get the backup Friday due to the GPSr accident. It was about a 30 mile trip on the Interstate so it didn’t take long. The cache was in a vacant parking lot just off the Interstate so it didn’t take long to find either. Salem is about half way between Woodbury and Albany so I reversed directions and went back to Salem.

That evening Jan, Aunt Alice, Mike and Teresa and I went out to eat at a gourmet hamburger place on the east side of Salem. It was so crowded we had to wait outside a while before we could get in. The burgers were good but they had a special do on hash browns that was really super.

I said goodbye to Jan and Aunt Alice that evening and the next morning after breakfast at Mike and Teresa’s I hit the road. I had always wanted to go through Boring, OR, and I finally did and it wasn’t really all that boring. However, before I got to Boring I wanted to get a cache located on Warnock Road in a rural area south of Oregon City. A fellow geocacher in Portland named Don Warnock who I had previously contacted because I had seen his handle (Warnock3d) on a log had told me about it and said I had to get it because of where it was located. It was at the end of a short road out in the country and the second house said Warnock on the mailbox. I noticed on the cache log that the first to find the cache were “Mr. & Mrs. Warnock”. I assumed it was the folks on that road so I stopped on the way out and knocked on their door but no one was home. Later I emailed the cachers who had placed that first to find log and told them I had knocked on their door Sunday morning. It turns out I hadn’t but I had been in their yard. They live in Mollala and owned the “REALLY Close to Home” cache I had logged the previous day. They are Chuck (Don’s brother) and Kathy and, like Don, are very active geocachers.

As I had logged only one cache in Multnomah County I wanted to get a backup. At Den’s I had entered a cache at Bridal Veil Falls in my GPSr in case I still couldn’t find the other cache located at some other falls. Without the benefit of a GPSr that would give me road directions like my old one I was more than a little handicapped.

I exited the Interstate on the Old Historic Columbia Highway about where I thought the falls might be and stopped to check my GPSr. To my surprise I found that I was just a short distance from the Bridal Veil Falls cache. I took a road in that direction but the road quickly played out and left me down in a creek bottom although less than .2 of a mile from the cache. I walked to the end of the densely wooded road (it was too rough for the motorcycle) which was no more than 200 yards and found it terminated at a fence that had the established trail to the falls on the other side. The fence was perpendicular to the creek so I climbed around it and joined the Bridal Veil Falls tourists. I didn’t realize it at the time but the falls were less than 100’ away. However, the cache was up the trail at the Columbia viewpoint.

I hiked up the trail to the viewpoint and must have looked for half an hour before I found the cache which was hidden under some moss that was all over the ground. I was pretty determined to find it. Retracing my steps back down the trail I did locate the falls which were spectacular. I recrossed the fence and went back to my motorcycle. The day had become very warm so I stripped off some clothes and had lunch in the shady little grove where I had parked. Just as I was finishing lunch a couple of sheriff deputies showed up in their vehicle wanting to know what I was doing down there. I explained and they cautioned me to be careful (do these guys know me?) and left.

I felt pretty good because this was my last needed cache as I had found at least two caches in all but 1 or 2 of the 36 counties. Rather than fight the Interstate back I crossed the Columbia into Washington at White Salmon and rode Highway 14 back to the Tri Cities area where I crossed back into Oregon briefly and then on to Walla Walla and home. It was windy, of course, but nothing compared to my last trip back earlier. I stopped and logged a couple of caches on the way just to give me a break. It was by far the hottest leg of my journey.

To fulfill the “Counting the Counties in Oregon” cache I had to submit all my caches in a list to the owner, get them approved and then I would be given the coordinates to the final cache located in Bend. I submitted my list and the owner said two of my caches which were close to the county lines were in a different county from what I had figured. Fortunately my backup caches passed muster and I got approved to log the final cache. I don’t know when I’ll make the trek back over to Bend but the pressure is off and I can do that whenever I want. I had traveled 4,000 miles on my motorcycle and like the Idaho trip the previous year it was a great adventure. I saw some fantastically diverse country and feel like I know Oregon about as well as any non-native. M/W

HERE'S OUR TWO-YEAR-OLD

Here's our Emmy wearing the "lady-bug" jumper with matching panties that I made her last summer. She can finally wear it this summer. And from the looks of it, she'll still be able to wear it next summer.

I bought this pattern (Butterick 5439) in the large and extra-large size and agonized over which cutting line to use. The pattern said it was for "infants," not toddlers, and I was just sure I needed to use a larger size. All I had to go on in making my decision was her weight.

Well, better too big than too small, I always say.

Dog lovers -- that's Harley (I think) in the background. KW

WINDY DAY

It was windy today, and I couldn't help thinking of daughter Hallie. You see, she doesn't particularly care for wind chimes, and we have several sets that we enjoy. The set on the kitchen porch is especially troublesome for her, I think. It's a lovely, five-tone set that Mike's sister and her husband sent us for Christmas one year. We have another set -- large and clanky -- that came from my mother, and that one hangs in the barn where it can be heard -- well, everywhere in the yard, but especially at the pond. And then there's my special "Big Ben" set that hangs on a tree in the grove. I love it there in that protected place where the wind moves it gently, sending deep "bongs" across the yard but not commanding too much attention.

As I said, it's all too much for Hallie, who appreciates silence when she is here. Sometimes we take down the set on the porch in deference to her wishes. Some people -- like Hallie -- genuinely find wind chimes disturbing. Occasionally the issue comes up in "Dear Abby." Someone will write in to ask how he can get his neighbor to take down the wind chimes. At least our wind chimes don't bother our neighbors.

The other day Mike and I happened to pass through a little town in this region and when I saw all the wind chimes on the porch, I had to have a picture. When Hallie complains, I'm going to send her to this place. I'll bet there were at least 25 sets. Overkill even for wind chime lovers like Mike and me.

We've been cleaning the farmhouse -- spring housecleaning for 2005-2010. We have re-organized some cupboards, moved things to and from the attic, hung a few pictures, cleared out clutter. Then this dust storm happened. No dearth of dust in this place. Oh well. We made a lot of progress. I even cleaned the kitchen floor on my hands and knees! KW