Archery

Last night I went out with Wilbur and shot my bow at a target. He purchased this bow for me in the early 1990's, but I rarely got to shoot it. He would come home from work and target shoot. Unfortunately, after running kids to school, home from school, to piano lessons, to basketball, volleyball, to track, to tennis, to drama practice, to ...... you name it, the unreasonable dwebes always wanted to eat dinner. So target shooting was put on the back burner for the last fifteen years.

Once he mentioned selling my bow. I was put out. I WANTED to practice, but my unreasonable family wanted clean clothes and regular meals. The big babies. Besides, who knows what would have happened had I become truly proficient with a bow. Would Child Protective Services frown on shooting a teenager in the rear end who ignores the directive to clean his/her room week after week after week? Clearly, waiting until my teenagers were grown promoted the entire family's health, well being, and clean court record.

At any rate, I never thought I'd have white hair by the time I got back to shooting with it. Now that I have white hair and the time to do lots of the things I want to do, I look WAY too old to be doing them. Well, either Miss Clairol and I will have to become intimately acquainted or Society will have to get used to a white haired lady:

practicing shooting her bow
riding her mountain bike from Cottonwood Lake to Blackfoot Meadows
cross country skiing
mud packing her face in a muddy stream during a hike
riding her four wheeler wherever
and a lot of other things.

Quiet

It is quiet around here. It is as quiet as a Ward Council meeting when the Bishop asks for volunteers to head up the ward social. I am making a box to store quiet book-making materials, admiring pictures of a beautiful baby quilt that was sewn here, enjoying a little chokecherry syrup on my french toast, assembling a box of belongings my kids left, and catching up on everyone's blogs. To adjust ourselves to the quiet we went camping up at Gold Creek this last weekend. It worked. Four-wheelers are not quiet. I had some truly spectacular pictures of Wilbur by a stream running out of the side of a mountain with fuschia monkey flowers all around. But I caught on too late that a camera expert had been using my camera on settings I didn't understand, and the pictures did not turn out. Ahem, Eglantine. (Iwondered why things looked so light and unfocused in the view finder.)


Two male bears grazing on huckleberries at our campsite.


Creek (pronounced "crick" by all educated persons of taste and refinement) near our camp. There were signs all around the camp saying there was no mineral entry allowed. Some how, a company called Geo Terra has the mineral rights. In other words, we were in the national forest but we couldn't pan for gold.

Imagine fourwheeling through a river bed strewn with boulders. Now you have the idea of what it was like to four-wheel into Gold Creek Lake and Thompson Lake. The men loved it. Odd how they long to possess equipment, but are only truly happy when they are beating it to a pulp. Do you suppose they do this with the prospect of getting MORE belongings that have engines if the destroy the ones they already have???
Gold Creek Lake. Jose set the world's record for catching the smallest fish.
Gold Creek Lake. A member of Heck's Angels was fishing with us that day.

Thompson Lake. We caught lots of Brookies about 8 inches long and were eaten alive by mosquitoes. The haze in the picture was due to a forest fire that came alive with warmer temperatures the Saturday we were there.


We had some beautiful views. But we couldn't see the forest for the trees.
Can you find three people in this picture? This is a boulder field near Gold Creek Lake. As we were getting out our fishing equipment Jose heard a grunt in the trees. After we fished here, someone told us that a guy camping here in a tent had a bear claw through his tent. The camper dove into the lake to escape the bear who, evidently, had taken his yearly bath already and didn't fancy another one. The camper came out of the ordeal and the lake chilled but with no injuries, except to the tent. I know just what that poor camper was thinking. " A Border Patrol Agent with his arsenal of guns is never around when you need him..."

What I Been Doin'

I haven't been blogging, but I have been....

Hangin' out with the GK's

(Pippi & Bardo writing letters to their foreign cousins.)

(When you are two, grandpas who like to 4 wheel are the coolest!)

We have been noticing Turkey Legs and Prudence aren't here. But we are so glad they are staying abroad and taking good care of their kids. Although we miss them, we wouldn't want our little grandkids dragged half way across the world, having their schedules and lives upset to gratify our whims. We LOVE our GKs!

I went to girls' camp. I did some sewing on 112 pieces of flannel for the girls to turn into dolls for Humanitarian Services.

Went hiking with friends and relatives

Enjoyed nature

(fairy slippers)

Went camping with friends but would like to have done more.

We left our camper just off an exit on the interstate 120 to the south and headed south 4 hours for a family reunion. Then, we came back, picked up our camper, and headed home for a 10 hour driving day. The camping and fishing were a blast. Fortunately I worked on sewing the binding on a quilt for the driving portion.

The YM and YW pulled weeds and painted fence for a facility that helps some disabled people yesterday.

The summer is almost over, and I am contemplating going into mourning. Still, there are lots of great fall hikes and camping I can do....So maybe I'll suck it up. Have a great week!

Fishin'

So Pippi wanted to go fishing. First we procured a fishing pole just her size from the local sporting goods store. There were four different kinds of kids poles: Spiderman, Superman, Cars, Pirates of the Caribbean and Barbie. Only one choice for girls, but three choices for boys? Is this discrimination? Anyway, the Barbie pole was a clear winner.

We drove across town to a small old gravel pit that filled with water. It is now a nice park and is stocked with fish. After fishing at three or four places, we found a place where we could SEE the fish. We could see them looking at our bait. We could see them considering our bait. We could see them deciding not to take our bait. Sometimes I wonder if the scent of my laundry detergent repels fish or of it's personal.

Fortunately, I wore my old, lousy hiking shoes because I spent quite a bit of time wading in the water extricating Pippi's hook from submerged logs and twigs in the water. And I baited Pippi's hook . Before I knew it, she decided to bait her own hook. I found we have similar feelings about causing worms pain. Next time I am checking into another kind of bait. Pippi figured out how to cast in no time and has some amazingly far casts into the little lake. We saw big fish, little fish, medium sized fish, and a turtle. I wish Wilbur could have come because he always catches fish. All I can do is my best. It was fun watching them anyway.

After almost three hours, our expedition ended when Pippi fell in the lake. This she did not appreciate. All in all, it was a fun trip!

The Hike from Hell

I didn't think there was such a thing as a bad day hiking until Eloise's husband, whom I am tempted to refer to as Lucifer but instead will call Fred, wanted to change our hiking plans. Instead of going to a new trailhead I wanted to try out, he wanted to go to the ice cave. Eloise and I had accidentally discovered this "trail" a few years ago.

We made our discovery a few springs ago when we followed some cross country ski tracks into a gulch on our snowshoes. Even with two or three feet of snow, we still fell over deadfalls on the "trail." Then we stumbled on a few rock cairns and looked up to the head of the gulch into a frozen, blue waterfall. We tried this hike the following spring, but turned back because of a soaking rain and the over abundance of moose scat near the mouth of the gulch did not bode well for two unarmed women on a June hike.

Against my better judgement, I agreed to the change of plans. Our hike outlook barometer plummeted as I put on my hiking boots and my knee popped and became sore. Things really took a turn for the worse when we left the forest service trail. We walked over some deadfalls and then could hardly find our way into the gulch through the bank full creek, stinging nettle, and downed trees.

Trying to tune out my sore knee, I started up a slope steep enough to make me wonder what on earth I was thinking when I followed Fred up it. Then, I then had to slide on my rear DOWN the slope in hope the "trail" near the creek would be better going. Some maniacally optimistic person had placed cairns on the talus in the gulch which we took for trail markers.

From there, things got worse. The Marine boot camp obstacle course would look like a workout for sissies compared to the deadfall and rock going up this gulch. Every so often we had the bad judgment to be encouraged when we saw that some one had sawed through a deadfall here and there. To our dismay, these cut trees were followed by piles and piles of more downed trees.

To add bad attitude to worse attitude, I was dealing my carpal tunnel surgery aftermath. My hands were very sore. I couldn't use them to catch myself or to climb obstacles. And I had to be careful not to hurt them and break open the newly healed incisions. Then the June sun started to pound us and the mother nature stoked the furnace. Our aroma must have been magnificent because around noon the horseflies mistook us for sweaty pack animals and began biting us just as we stumbled on another patch of stinging nettle. And if that situation doesn't tell you how completely miserable it was, even my dog hated this hike.

Finally, an hour up the gulch, I said, "I am going back." Fred tried to talk me out of turning around, but reason suggested to me that another hour or two of hiking forward would make going back on the trail from hell an even longer process. The further we went, the more we had to go back through. I think there could be a repentance analogy here.

Thankfully, Hermione cheerfully accompanied me back through deadfall crawl, across moose meadows, and out to the trail where we experienced the only fortunate thing of the entire day: cell service. We called Wilbur to meet us at the trailhead. Whew. Next time I follow my original plan.

What's Happenin'

Eglantine wanted to know what's going on around here, with pictures. So:

It's as green as it ever gets. We had rain and snow the week of June 11th. Last week it warmed up.

The chokecherries are almost done blooming. They smell heavenly.


The creeks are running high. As my Dad would say, "The mighty Mo is mighty muddy."

We went on a hike to Crow Creek Falls on Friday and saw a beauty pageant along the way.

Fairy Slippers

Clematis was climbing all over the trees.

I have never seen so much water spilling over Crow Creek Falls. The ground was vibrating and shaking as we stood on the shore. Usually, the pool below the falls is still a few yards from the waterfall. Friday, the entire pools was boiling and churning.


Max had the good sense to stay out of the pool. He was leery of the water.

I sure wish I had remembered to wear make up. The two old old ladies make an excellent foil for the babe.



We found a mermaid near the pool. Have a good week!

Stacy's Garden

I have a planter in which I only plant pink and white flowers. Every summer as I plant my pink and white flowers, I remember Stacy. Pink was Stacy's favorite color. This year, Hermione helped me shop for flowers and planted them for me because my carpal tunnel surgery interfered.

I like to remember how five-year-old Stacy would say, "Grrrrrraaaaandma...." I can still hear her saying it. I remember three-day-old Stacy giving me a HUGE smile as her mother slept after being up all night. And I remember almost two year old Stacy, after I forgot to get milk at the store saying, "We have milk at MY house." While I don't think I ever hurt so much as when we lost her, knowing Stacy added so much to my life. I am grateful for her. And I am grateful we still have her as part of our family.

The Hat

Hermione brought Wilbur a sombrero back from Mexico. It's a pretty sought after item around here. This post is dedicated to the beginning readers in the family.

I have a hat. It is not flat.

I like to wear my big fat hat.

I wear it here. I wear it there.

I like to wear it everywhere

My hat is big. My hat is round.

I wear it when I plow the ground

My hat is grand. It has no smirch.
I wear it when I go to church.

I looked and looked for it one day.
Max had taken it away.

Give it back! It cannot stay!

Orville thought I wouldn’t care if he wore it as a spare.
But sometimes it is hard to share.

Hermione likes to shower with it. She should have known I’d have a fit.
Give me back my hat you nit!

Prairie thought she'd look divine.

She took my hat and spent some time.

Orville and Hermione fight.

To wear the hat they use their might.

Give me back my hat I say!

Now I must take it away!



I have a hat. It is not flat.
I like to wear my big fat hat

Men at Work

Bilateral carpal tunnel surgery has the men doing extra work around here. Wilbur and Orville have both been doing the cooking and dish washing. Some of specialties at Cafe de Wilbur and Orville are: Cattle Drive Chili, and Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. They are threatening pizza for Monday. My hiking partner Eloise happens to be a great cook. She brought in dinner on Friday, bless her. I have been told to use my hands as much as I feel comfortable using them, but to keep my bandages clean. That reminds me of a tune my Dad used to sing, "Yes you may go swimming, my dear. But don't go near the water...." Cooking, cleaning, and eating are not conducive to clean hands or bandages, but I am being as careful as I can.
I am supposed to keep my hands raised to reduce swelling. Something about raised hands brings out the cowboys and Indians mentality in men.

Orville shopped for and wrapped the wedding present for Jill Alsbury's wedding reception. He even remembered to buy a card. I would have never thought of purchasing a surge protector and a small weather station as a wedding present. At least Jill and spouse shouldn't have duplicates on those gifts. Ever mindul of my reputation, Orville added the following disclaimer to the card, "present wrapped by Orville."

Hostages

Memorial Day weekend Wilbur and Jose took Sophia and I hostage. After a 2.5 hour trip, they held us captive at East Fork Reservoir near Phillipsburg.

These were the conditions at the reservoir (6100 elevation) and at other locations nearby. These conditions were why Wilbur and Jose had to take Sophia and I hostage in order for us to come. Only a person a half a bubble out of level would willingly go camping in the snow!!! (Jose and Wilbur, this means YOU.)

Thank heaven the snow melted off later, the weather cleared, and the fish started biting.


Wilbur caught breakfast: two large rainbow trout. Finally, we were able to enjoy the spectacular view of the Pintlars that provide the backdrop for Wilbur's catch.

Jose had some bites, but threw his fish back. Jose has a personal vendetta against a fish called Walter that resides in the reservoir. According to Jose, Walter's dimensions are similar to the Loch Ness Monster. For him, it's Walter or nothing.



When they weren't blasting through snow drifts on their fourwheelers or terrorizing Wilbur and his relatives, Wilbur and Jose found time for a game of horseshoes.
Saturday afternoon, the rain invaded our camp and kept us all in side until the next morning. We had time for talk and a movie.

Sunday, all four of us drove across Skalkaho Pass. We saw magnificent scenery such as four feet of snow on the pass, Skalkaho Falls, and swollen creeks. Looping back toward camp on Rock Creek Road, we saw: a herd of 15 or so mountain goats, two bald eagles, a cow moose who stood by the rode and posed for about ten minutes, wild turkeys who also posed (one of which fully displayed in tail plumage for several minutes). And guess who didn't bring her camera. Yep. Me.

This trip highlighted the fact that Wilbur and Jose patronize the same fashion designer. I have it on good authority that this outfit, modeled by both Wilbur and Jose, made its fashion debut in Paris this spring. In an effort to cover his chagrine about wearing the same outfit as Wilbur, Jose tries to disgues himself as en elk. We stopped him and lured him back to his fourwheeler with cookies before he disappeared into the forest.

And so ends another fun weekend. Sorry there were no pictures of me as Eglantine requested. I told Wilbur to take one, but it was not on the camera when I downloaded. Hopefully, the old joke about breaking the camera isn't true.....