Cackle, Cackle, Cackle - - It's Wanda Witch

The Arts Alliance is doing a fun/fund raiser this weekend with an adult pumpkin carving contest. There will be an out-of-town artist as the judge, and many of us will donate our pumpkins for sale with the money raised to go to the Arts Alliance.

I decided a black pumpkin would be more interesting than the usual orange, and BBQ paint did the trick. Carving Wanda was a challenge, especially her hooked nose, but it got done. Curiously the hardest part was creating the broom and getting it to stick to the pumpkin. It's glued on, and gluing a straight broom onto a curved pumpkin was a challenge.

So, Miss Wanda will make her debut on Saturday. Should be fun.

Just Another Day in the Foothills

We had several days and nights of cooler than normal weather though it's warmed up again now. That cool weather got me in a fall frame of mine which led to planting pansies. Just for friend Y, no not X, those are being put online. I think they'll look better after the portulaca is finished going dormant for the season, but I like their little faces even now. There are lots down both sides of the front walkway, over by the side, around the bases of a couple of shrubs, but I thought one photo was enough.



The cool season ground cover on the north-ish side of the house has come back and the petunias and pinks have perked up - Perky Petunias and Pinks?? That's almost too cute!



I've spent the last couple of days mixin' up all the home-made potions for my plants; the stuff to repel deer and other critters, the mixture to "clean up" plants, i.e., wash off pollution, etc., and the special potion that is supposed to send gopher's packing. After mixin' it all, it had to be applied, some by dribbling, some by spraying, and all exhausting. Then I put together the home-made bird food to replace store bought suet type feed. Both dogs came hurrying in for the smell of melting lard and peanut butter that forms the base of this mix. I didn't give in and give them any especially since Buck threw up at 5:30 this AM. Enough.

We still have lots and lots of goldfinches gathered both at feeders and the fountain. They don't seem to notice my new pansies or any of the other work I've been doing.



And, a friend told me that having red flowers outside the front door is a feng shui means of bringing in abundance, both financial and otherwise, to one's life. Home Depot's sale on one of my favorites, cyclamen, gave me the chance to do that affordably. So, thinking abundance, vibing for prosperity. . . .




Oh, I can't resist, one more pansy face:

Irritating Infection; Silly Sleepover; and Damaged Dignity

Irritating Infection: Last week The Man was bitten on the hand by one of our cats. (Repeat after me: Do NOT tease the kitties.) Did he care for it? Did he tell me so I could care for it? Do you see where this is going? By the time I knew of it the next day it was infected. By the time he agreed to go to the doctor it was badly infected. Long story short is we ended up with a trip that evening to the ER 45 minutes away. High fever, low blood pressure, and red lines up to the elbow. Not good. He got some sort of major shot in the fanny and was well enough the next morning to make the drive to San Diego for my father-in-law's 97th birthday celebration. Question is, did he learn anything? He's finished out 10 days worth of strong antibiotics and is still in San Diego working on some repairs at FIL's house. We'll see how he does with kitties when he gets home.

Silly Sleepover: Friend Judy from across the way was gone over night and I got to bring her guys here for a sleepover. First I took my two to her house for a play date so the four could have a bit of off-leash time together. That went really well. That evening, I fed her guys and brought them across the road to our place. Beau is an absolutely ancient Golden Retriever. He's got to weigh at least 120, and he's very arthritic. Yet, he made it down her steps, down both of our steep driveways and into my house with surprising ease. Leo, the little guy, is a Shepherd mix, and a bit hyper as well as truly sweet. When I sat on the deck at Judy's for their play date, he really thought he should be my lap dog. That earned him a scolding from both Beau and my own Cocoa-Dog. Since Beau is way too stiff to make it to my second story bedroom, these two spent the night in the "prison" - ok "room" sounds better - where I can shut my dogs when they need to be contained. They had a blanket on the floor, and settled down easily.
Morning was a bit nuts with getting my own into electric collars and out the door before getting leashes on Beau and Leo to walk home. I was amazed at how well the old gentleman managed going up both driveways. He did hesitate a bit at the steps up to Judy's deck, but tackled it and went up easily. I'd do this again without complaint!



Damaged Dignity: That would be mine. I decided yesterday that the cool weather and all the work I've been doing entitled me to some hammock time. It hasn't been used for months. And, lesson learned, I should have taken it down for the hot summer months. When I sat in preparation for flopping up and in - it broke. I was dropped on a rock, a rock with a rather sharp ridge, right on the tail bone that I've broken twice before in my life. Major, major, major pain. Now here's the kicker: I'm fine today! Go figure. I put a heating pad on the area - try that sometime - and took Tylenol PM. Slept like a baby until all the dogs got me up. I had really thought I'd be very stiff and sore this AM, but I rolled out of bed in great shape.
I hesitate to say this, but I think it may actually have broken loose some of the old cartilage that has always stiffened the tail bone since a long ago break. Wouldn't that be funny? Third time's the charm and I'm back to all better???

For the Birds!

It's the migration season, and we have birds, birds, birds!

Since I'm the one home alone much of the time with Scottie working up in the Park the little darlin's have become accustomed to me and unless I'm moving abruptly will let me quite close to them.

This is a white crowned sparrow that ducked his/her little head just as I clicked causing me to miss the white crown! He had been picking up spilled niger from beneath the finch sock before hopping down the hill to hid in the tall grass.



And, I've wanted all season to get a hummingbird in flight. This photo isn't very good 'cuz my camera isn't really good enough for this kind of shot. Still, I did capture one in flight.



The acorn woodpeckers come to the little hanging bird bath for a drink. Because they are much larger than this was designed for they often cause most of the water to spill out over the edge as they hang onto the side using their tail for balance.


And, the finches? What can I say? So long as we continue to put out niger they continue to eat it. And eat, and eat, and eat. I can fill this little sock more than once a day if I'm willing to spend that much and they'll go through it all. The sock is less than a foot long, and the maximum I've counted on it at one time is eight. When the sock is out of room, the complaining and jockeying for position starts anew.



The routine is eat your fill, fly to the fountain for a quick drink, and return to fight for position on the sock.



That's how I spend my hours in the Sierra Nevada foothills. Not a bad way to live is it?

Of Foothills and Fires

We have had horrible drought conditions here for several years leaving the foothills and mountains dry as tinder. Late summer lightning strikes then start fires.

This is not the fire I posted about last week. This one is actually in Sequoia National Park, and is one of 7 or so that are currently burning. The "Hidden" fire, named for it's location, is over 6000 acres now.


We are getting terrible air quality as a result, especially in the mornings. Overnight winds blow down canyon carrying the smoke to our elevation and below. I awaken each morning with eyes full of yukky stuff with headache and difficulty breathing - all this despite running the air conditioning solely to have its filtration abilities.





This view normally has Moro Rock -
now it's impossible to tell one is
looking toward the Sierra at all.










So, I'm heading down into the Valley today for a haircut and some shopping. Normally a trip down below would mean worse air than here in Three Rivers, but right now it is better there than here.



On to better things - CRITTERS! Yeah, I know, I can never finish an entry without putting in something about critters.


This black dog shows up most
mornings for some romping with
Cocoa and Buck. I can't get close
without him taking off.















In addition to our constant visitors the
hummingbirds, we have lots of goldfinches
going through niger like crazy!

This little beauty is much, much paler than
all the other females, males of course being
the dressed up dandies. My Sibleys shows
a pale morph but not nearly so pale as this
one. I don't know if that means she is
immature or just unusual.
At any rate, I like her very pale look.
That's a seed in her beak, making the beak
look larger than it is.

I wonder if the birds are bothered by the
smoke as I am? When we had the fire close by,
the pair of red shouldered hawks that nest
below us were going beserk, crying, circling,
and generally raising a ruckus.

Fire close by

About a mile as the crow flies a structure fire spread to surrounding weeds, etc., all of which around here are tinder dry.

Everything from bulldozers to helicopters were called in to help with the fight.

The helicopters seemed to use our house as a marker for a sweeping turn that had them banking down into the steep canyon that is home to the main fork of the Kaweah River.




I had a great seat to see the 'copters up close.


Helicopter after helicopter droned overhead, dipped to fill it's bucket and then flew close over the top of the fire to drop it's life-saving load.

For much of the time I could not see the activity just above the fire for the smoke roiling up.






Finally, after the fire was knocked down quite a bit the smoke had cleared enough that I could get a shot of the actual water dump.



I understand that one of the fire's up in the Park has grown to a point that evacuating Lodgepole Campground is a possibility.



This fire was close enough that I packed up critter food, a few clothes, water, and finally remembered medications just in case we needed to make a quick exit. I'm thinkin' that it would be a good idea to put together an emergency box with those items, important papers, etc., just in case. Wonder why I never thought of that before??

Leaving it in the hands of The Powers that Be

The Powers that Be, that's my name for whatever you might choose to call a higher power, be that God, Allah, Yeweh, or whatever. Anyway, I'd pretty much convinced myself that staying here was the best thing for us to do. My breathing has been better, though not good, since the major fires got subdued, and I really do enjoy Three Rivers, the people we've come to know and our home. Then, the house was shown to a couple that seem like a serious prospect (though that's always meaningless until everyone has signed on the line) and my breathing has taken a downturn at the same time. This time there are no fires nearby, just heat and resulting bad air. More 100 degree plus days and more bad air.

So, I'm just saying "I have no idea what's best." We'll see what comes and just have confidence that whatever that is will be the very best.

Meanwhile, back in the studio, Scottie came upstairs to chat. That meant Cocoa came to get petted. Seeing that action, Ellie decided to join in. Fortunately Buck was outside and Lucy napping on the bed in the master or Scottie would have run out of hands and room.

When Scottie got tired of petting with both hands, Cocoa took the hint and elected to nap. Ellie decided to pester Cocoa for attention. When Ellie first came to us as a very young feral cat, she didn't purr and really didn't get the concept of petting. Now she's insatiable. Cocoa decided that Ellie was her kitty at the very beginning, possibly some innate mother thing since Ellie was very, very young to be on her own. They've remained really good buddies even as Ellie has learned to be a family cat.

Ellie has learned on her own to give kisses, too. She's turned into quite the house cat and shows no desire to live in the wild again. Earning a living out there must have been difficult.

I guess that whether we stay here or move on, home is where the critters are.

All the news that's fit to Blog

One day last week I had just the best day in terms of animal sightings! I was out watering early and a cute little racer snake slithered out from under a salvia when the water hit him/her, about 18-24 inches long and no bigger around than a pencil, with a pretty yellow stripe running down the side.

Then, while watering on the opposite side of the house that same morning, I heard the quail start a ruckus in the gully and looked up to see a bobcat frozen in place stalking them. The cat stood perfectly still for maybe 30 seconds, watching me watching it, then bounded on up the gully leaving the quail alone.

Then, as if that weren't enough, the red shouldered hawk that often circles above and tries to pick off the birds that come to our feeders landed in the oak tree outside our kitchen door. This time all the birds squawked!

Just a day or two later, I found these tracks on the back of our berm where there is often mud:


Those by Scottie's hand are the bobcat. The one above and to the front may be a coyote, not sure. . . . How cool is this? (Thanks, Dr. Hannan for the help on ID!)



And, very, very good reason for my cats to be just indoor girls. Both Mr. Coyote and Ms. Bobcat would love them for dinner!

We have just a ton of birds right now. Migration is obviously starting for some. The rufous hummingbird, one of my absolute favorites, doesn't spend the summer here; and just a very few of them come through here on migration. I got to know them when we lived in New Mexico and really get a kick out of them. They are really pretty with their rust coloration, and they are much more aggressive than the Ana's hummingbirds. They chatter a lot and drive the Ana's away from the feeders. In NM we'd have 20 rufous guys gathered 'round a feeder and full blown hummer wars.

We seem to have more birds that travel through here, but there are a few that I loved in NM that we don't get. The Stellar Jay can be seen higher up in the mountains, but not at this warm elevation. We don't get the pyrrhuloxia (Yes, I had to look up the spelling.) at all, and I really like that grayed-down relative of the cardinal. And, I haven't seen any green tailed towhees here. Darn.

Guess that's just me, always wanting "more" be that animals and birds or something else!

Scottie's is off to the Park for the week. Having sent off his letter to three in the upwards chain of command, he should be in for an interesting time! Leave it to my Sweet Babboo to take on the National Park Service.

Animal House

There are critters that crawl around on the house - like this little lizard.



















There are critters that live in this house.

Ellie Cat is one. She's learned to purr finally.










Lucy Cat rules. She's the oldest of our critters and has no doubt that she is fully in charge.












The dogs got flea meds and hated it. Buck chooses to role in the dirt to disperse his as much as he can.











Cocoa pouted for a while and then retired to the grass and her half of the big bone.








Some critters are wild!

Many of these were taken from a distance and blown up, so they aren't the most clear.


Papa Quail was leading the group for their evening visit to the seeds on the ground beneath our feeders.













The acorn woodpecker is on the oak at the moment, but on his way to the feeder. I've never observed woodpeckers to eat directly from a feeder as much as the ones here do!















Probably the worst photo is the grossbeak! This guy is very skittish, and every time I try for a photo any closer than this one he takes off. So, this is taken through a window from quite a distance and then blown up.















When the sun is hot, the little gold finches like to sit under the big leaves of a sunflower. They also eat the leaves, but they are too tiny to eat the sunflower seeds.


And doves, lots of doves, come around morning and evening to gather whatever seeds they can. They aren't my favorites, but I guess they are entitled to eat too.


And, of course, we have hummers and hummers and hummers. The electrical tape covers places the local bear ripped the little blossoms off to get at the sugar solution inside.


I have no photos of the bear, the deer, the bobcat or any of the other truly wild animals that run around here. But, I'm glad they're here!

Sleeping dogs curled up in hand-made beds,
with pretty scarves tied 'round their necks,
green scarves this time that look quite nice
against the green covers of their hand-made matresses.
The big one snores.
I've never trusted those who can't love dogs;
cats too, though that's more easily understood.
Cats, they do not live in packs with leaders.
They are, like me, much more solitary,
recognize no owner; in fact cannot be owned.
So I more easily understand those humans,
those two-legged animals, who,
because they cannot dominate a cat,
cannot love a cat, since, it seems,
so many two-legged animals
confuse dominance or ownership
with love.
A dog you see will allow that.
He will let you own him or dominate,
perhaps even accept abuse, and
still will follow you, come with tail wagging,
and greet you with delight
even when you've been gone
no more than just a moment.
Still, some human animals cannot return that love.
So, I don't trust them.
A heart so cold as to be unable to love one who
gives love so freely;
a mind that so needs to dominate;
a soul that so needs to hurt.
Are they the ones, I suppose they are,
who train dogs to fight or kill
and call it sport?
Are they the ones, they must be,
who wager which loyal dog
will win and live and which will die?
I don't trust them.
What is it in the heart of man that finds sport
in pain or death?
There is a darkness in such a heart,
an emptiness in such a soul.
I don't trust them.
How could it not be true that the same
dark heart, the same empty soul,
is always there?
There is a lack in such a one,
perhaps born there,
that can't be fixed.
I don't trust them.
I hear the snore, glance up again to see
that both dogs have moved from beds to floor.
They like the cool feel in summer.
In winter they much prefer a bed -
theirs or mine - and the warmth of their pack.
So do I.

Why Not?

Why not get an inhaler if I need it and fight to stay put?

Why not take a little part time job - there's one available at the candy store - for some pocket money and a bit of getting out of myself?

Why not get back to my writing and painting? Maybe that's even better for getting out of self.

I've been way too wrapped up in solving the problems of the world, loved ones' issues (individuals no longer have problems, only issues), the vicissitudes of life and not having any fun!

So, a bit of philosophy:

Desire, according to good ol' Miriam Webster, "stresses a strength of feeling" and "often implies a strong intention or aim." Want, on the other hand, "suggests a felt need or lack."
If one does a bit of research on the "I AM" religious movement of decades ago as well as the more current followers of The Secret, Tolle, etc., one begins to understand the subtle difference.
To project the feeling of "I want" emphasizes the lack and mentally or emotionally can leave an individual stuck in that place of "wanting."
To project "I desire", or better yet "I have/I am", is much more positive and holds within that "strong intention."
It's easy to slip into "I want," and for a while probably harmless. But too much time spent there is not healthy. Wanting becomes a way of life. I want more money; I want better health; I want to go to Europe. And in a quiet, almost sneaky manner wanting, that feeling of "lack," takes over. It's rather like "try." To quote Yoda, "Do or do not; there is no try." Between wanting and trying nothing happens.

But desire, strongly felt, combined with doing accomplishes much. The Chicago Marathon, decades ago, and my running it only happened as a result of that kind of desire coupled with the doing of all the prep work. So will finishing my book, selling more art, and who knows what else.

And finally, a view of the world:

I wake each morning to a tree-top view of life. Because we sit on an hillside we look out through glass doors, past our little Juliet-style balcony, to tree tops. In the distance is Moro Rock. But, up close and personal are trees. I love the feel. I never had a tree house as a kid, but I did love to climb trees, be up high, look out over the world and feel connected to it.

So that's it again. A higher view of life. Never hurts.

Of Sunflowers and Birds

I planted sunflowers a while back, put them where they'd have plenty of sun, watered. . . and not one even came up. Not one. Meanwhile, the birds who stuff themselves at our feeders, drop seeds willy-nilly and we have sunflowers everywhere. These happen to be on the north side of our house where they have shade much of the day, yet they thrive regardless of my attention of lack thereof. We have bird-planted sunflowers in my flower bed where they get watered. They are here at the edge of the bank, where they get ignored. They sprouted up in my failed vege garden and are sprinkled up and down the berm that hides the water line. I'm thinking that rather than plant anything, I'll just put seeds of whatever I want in the bird feeders and see what happens!

Gambling

To make a choice or take a chance,
there is little difference it seems.
Though I claim not to be a gambler,
that being an addiction I missed,
It's true I bet my life, my future, my dreams
on every choice I make.
For no matter how carefully I research,
how many lists I make,
or charts and graphs;
No matter how very certain I may feel
when I at last place the chip of my life on a particular square
- blue chips, red, I've never understood the difference -
or spin the wheel, or call for a hit of fate
on the few sparse cards I hold,
No matter any of that.
The dealer is always someone other than me.
The house has all the percentages.
And I? I have only choices to make,
and always with insufficient information.
That last piece of fact, the detail I cannot know,
how often it has played spoiler to my plans.
The result, the reaction to my chosen action,
that is the missing piece, the part I cannot know.
When I choose "X",
being certain that only "Y"
can result from my well-chosen pick,
When I choose "X" how often "U" results
or even "Q".
And I am left to wonder.
Where did that come from?
(Immediately my mind answers that I must not, ever,
end a sentence in a preposition.)
And there I am, again,
Facing the law of unintended consequences.
Wondering how two plus two this time equals twelve
or green or even square,
since often the answers seem not even to fall
within the realm of what I saw as possibility.
But, know this:
How often "U" or even "Q"
is so much better than my chosen "Y".
How often the house,
the dealer has made a better choice than I.
And I am left, again, to crumple the silly list,
toss out the charts and graphs, and laugh at my own ridiculous self.
Who did I think I was?
Why would I ever dream I could foretell the proper choice?
Will I ever know, really know,
or trust that all Life's answers are so much better than mine?
That each time I feel so driven to make a list,
create a chart, place points upon some silly graph,
Life is off-stage, laughing.
And yet, those lists and charts and graphs are my effort,
my work, my part of this Life,
at least at times.
Perhaps my list-making, chart-drawing, graph-pointing efforts
move me in a direction, or if not that,
at least keep me out of the way,
occupied somehow in a manner that I cannot be an obstacle
while Life goes about Her dealing
and Creation plays House,
dropping finally the ball in the slot,
or turning the last card face up,
While I am left to gasp in wonder,
seeing a jackpot so beyond my dream
that I could not have placed it as the final point on my little graph,
or the largest pie slice of my chart.
And Life again has dealt.
And I, with my incomplete information,
My carefully chosen choice,
Have won again.
Despite myself.

Wings, not Roots

Scottie and I have been married 10 years, together maybe 5 before that, and in that time we've lived in 6 homes. Two in San Diego, two in New Mexico, and two in Three Rivers.

You can see where this is going, can't you? We've put our house up for sale! This was supposed to be the last move - we picked what we thought was a perfect area, built the house to our specs, etc.

So, why?

Health reasons. Didn't see that one coming. But, we've decided to view it that we don't put down roots, we grow wings 'cuz really the choice is accept it as simply a part of the journey or waste time and energy fighting it.

So, we planted trees and put down sod in front of the house, things we hadn't planned to do before fall rains, and I've come up with a way to stage the patio area using outdoor rugs, the realtor tour has been held, and now it's simply a matter of who buys it.

Since I had a major hand in design, I think it's a wonderful, wonderful house, and whoever gets it will be very lucky.

We're off this coming weekend to our proposed landing zone, Sutter Creek, about 4 hours north of here.

So to all my positive-thinking, good-vibe-sending buddies out there: Send those vibes. Think those thoughts. I've found that once a choice like this is made it's best to get it done. Delay is only like cutting off a leg an inch at a time. Rember, wings, not roots.

Poetry

A friend inspired me to dare putting my poetry on the blog. I've resisted 'cuz the blog seems too public and the poetry too private. But, here goes:

Night, finally, after a most stressful day,

With this and that gone wrong and something else

Left undone, messy even.

And I, with this busy brain of mine, struggle to find sleep.

And then, when I have nearly given up and gotten up

Leaving sheets, wrapped in tangles, sweaty,

Sleep finds me and pulls me, unsuspecting, into her strange embrace.

With twitching arms and little snorts of breath

I dream.

Not for me the dreams of grandeur, castles in the sky, No,

I become another, fully and completely, losing finally

That distant one so worry-ridden as to have given up

All connection to the most divine in me. I see

A most phantasmagorical bird, not just soaring, but sailing

As if the sky – the green and lilac sky – was in truth an ocean

Upon which all dreams ever dreamed had taken form, rising like some crazed Poseidon from froth and foam to sail

The lilac waves, drop deeply into green trough, so deep, and rise,

This time climbing, running really, up and up and up

A wild and craggy mountain with ice, it must be ice,

As pink as cotton candy but sharp, oh so sharp, and

Dangerous, it must be, while I – I cannot see myself. Am I

Goat or perhaps some other mountain creature – I bound and bounce

With no thought of falling; no, I lack no confidence, no

Ability to leap from crag to crag, until I fall - -

Suddenly, that clear pink ice whipping by my face while

Lace – lace? – lace blows ‘crossed my eyes, then aside, and I see reflected in the ice

Now turned a crazy shade of neon orange,

That I have morphed again, chameleon-like, into a small

Creature with round and bulging eyes. I’ve seen this

Little animal. I know I have. And, why, for what unearthly reason,

is it wearing a wedding gown? My gown?

Pulling out the veil with tiny near human arms and hands

To form wings with which she – for only women wear gowns –

Can glide smoothly, easily, dreamily even, down

To land in – mud. Ugly dirty-brown mud.

Not rich coffee colored earth. Mud. And deep. It sucks and pulls. I sink.

I. . . I have become me again!

As I struggle pulling lace up from the mud, feeling the

Fabric tear, reminding me of losses, marriages gone sour, lovers moving on,

the very fabric of my life it seems,

Muddied, torn, falling apart in my efforts to extricate it

And myself, or is it more truly from myself, ‘till I tear free and fly.

I AM that phantasmagorical bird. The ocean, that too is me.

I am wave and trough.

And understanding grabs me. Of course, I say, of course

I could bound from crag to icy crag. Or swim through that

Orange ice should I choose. Or even. . .

And I awake. Confused. These walls; this floor. Then, drifting back to sleep I search

Looking for the lilac waves the pink ice, knowing I have lost

Some necessary part of me.

A toss, kicking back the sheets, eyes nearly shut with the

Detritus of sleep.

Again I wake, truly now,

A most diminished me.

Doc Hannan Visits

Doc Hannan, not to be confused with Doc Holliday, came to visit recently.

Do I recall correctly that Doc Holliday was a dentist cum doctor, heavy drinker, and hanger out with both lawmen and gunslingers?

Doc Hannan may have borne some slight resemblance in the bad ole days, but today?? Well Doc, aka Jimbo, is a biology professor, and one of the last great generalists. Jim can answer damned near any question related to biology, and from that question go on to an explanation that takes in all the related ecology and generally winds up with a personal story that sums up the entire thing. He's a blast. From my query about hunting, why some men are so in to killing, etc., we got into an amazing discussion of the stages young boys/men go through related to hunting and how that relates to darned near all activities of the males of our species. Unfortunately Jim hates to write, so the world misses out on a fantastic book. . . . unless he wants me to ghost it!

Being a female of our species, in preparing for Jim's visit I'd cleaned and polished and put flowers in the guest room. Did the flowers draw notice or comment? Nah. . . Not a guy thing. But fun for me anyway.


The guys went off to play on Saturday, visiting a wildlife preserve near Fresno. I sent along a camera and requested photos, but none came back; so the only photo is the one of Jim and Scottie at breakfast.

I've been feeling so utterly awful that all I could do was fake it. When I hurt, I don't sleep. When I can't breathe, I don't sleep. When I don't sleep, well let's just say I get up grumpy and brain dead. Still, we all managed to have a good time.

Sunday was our day to water on the odd/even schedule we adhere to in our little water association. An area on the back of our berm washed out, and I wasted a bunch of water and left a trail of mud.


So, Monday morning after Scottie left to go back up to the Park, I went out to fix the problem. . . and found bear tracks! Not only do I LOVE knowing that Oso is still around and traveling through our place, but it's really good to know that my measures to prevent wildlife eating my plants is actually working. Even though the bear hangs out here, he's no longer eating my plants.

So, I'm working on dressing up the front of the house. For me that means working in the morning and evening when it's less hot. And it takes working in stages. I've never, ever been good at that. Before developing some health problems, I'd dig into a project and work on it until I either finished or fell over. Now, I have to force myself to take it in bits and pieces. I'm sure there is good in this for me, maybe learning patience, but I have to admit I don't much like it. Still, I persevere. And things do get done.

Too Soon Old; Too Late Smart

That was a favorite saying of my grandmother. It's applicable to all of us, from individuals to countries to our species.

Watching my adopted State burn, breathing smoky air, wondering if fires will hit here, I am very aware of how foolish we've been. Population in what's come to be called "the arid West" has grown exponentially in the past several decades. I am one among millions who fled the harsher climate of the Mid-West. We've overbuilt. We've under-planned. We've closed our eyes to the completely unsustainable mess we've been creating.

Here's a small example: Next to us is a vacant lot, just over an acre, owned by a couple who live near LA. They've decided they don't want to build here and have put the lot on the market. Fine. In a recent visit they stopped by to see us, and the conversation turned to the fact that our county is getting more strict with building requirements in these semi-remote areas. That strictness covers things from fire requirements to water to septics. With an attitude of a city dweller Mr. Visitor informed us that the county was being ridiculous that "this area isn't overbuilt; anyone can see that." When we talked a bit about the need to cut back flammable vegetation, he let us know that since he doesn't live here he really doesn't care what happens.

That attitude - know-it-all-don't-care - has contributed greatly to the disaster we're making of Mother Earth. We mess with Her at our peril. Even well-meaning messing often goes wrong. Look at the Forest Service. For years they had a policy of not allowing any fire to burn. While that had a start in protecting people and property, the result was the creation of decades of fuel just waiting to become a massive fire. The West has always had periodic fires. They are a part of the ecology here. With way too much under-story in the forest, way too much dead and dry fuel on the ground, and way, way too many people living in areas that are near-impossible to protect. . . . well, the result is plain. (If you'd like a historical view of how far back that goes, check out The Western Range Revisited, by Debra L. Donahue. It's an informative and very, very scary read.)

Add to that a drought that shows no signs of ending soon (ever wonder if our greenhouse gasses, etc., are causing these almost nationwide droughts?), serious shortages of underground water supplies in much of the West, a terribly strained State economy (to say nothing of various local economies) and the ability to fight the current fires is seriously hampered.

I'm a pretty optimistic person by nature. But, I'm struggling to come up with an optimistic outlook right now. I fall back on a slogan created when the whole "green" movement was young - Think Globally; Act Locally. Turn off the water while I brush my teeth. Recycle. Conserve. Drive less. Use less. Waste less. Perhaps if I'm again One Among Millions it will do some good. Perhaps not.

Hunny joins the family

OK, Hunny is the one in the middle:

Mr. and Mrs. Hunsaker, parents of Michelle, the one on the left, had Hunny for their living Christmas tree this past year. She then transitioned to a pot in the backyard of Michelle and Ruben, the one on the right. Unfortunately, Hunny didn't like life in a pot in San Diego, and was looking a little the worse for wear.

Since Michelle is about as sentimental as I am and just as disinclined to kill a tree if it can be avoided, she and Ruben drove 6 hours plus up here so Hunny could have a "forever home".

I've looked up Apello pine on the net and learned that our girl is native to the Mediterranean, loves heat and drought, and therefor should be very, very happy here! She'll get 50 feet or so tall, and provide a welcome block between us and our neighbors as well as softening the view from the road.

A busy weekend for all of us, including moving another tree that wasn't doing well, then Ruben got sick on the way home. I'm hiding out indoors with our 105 degree plus temps that aren't predicted to mellow before the weekend. I do not like feeling a prisoner of the air conditioning, but that's the story for now.

Creepy Crawlies, Beautiful Blooms, & Pampered Pets

We've got 'em all!



On the Creepy Crawly front, I found this disgusting thing in the dogs' water bowl a few days ago. It's still alive, and when you look at it's jar, the damned thing moves toward you! Yuk.

It's very, very thin, like coarse hair, and maybe 18 - 24 inches long. I looked up every kind of worm I could think of with no luck. I did an internet search for thin worms, etc., with no luck. Of course, the first thing I had done was email Dr. Hannan, but he was unavailable for a few days - during which I panicked.

Was this something that had come out of one of the dogs? Could it get into one of the dogs? What in blankety-blank is it?

Got Doc's answer, and He-who-knows-all immediately identified it as a horsehair worm, benign unless you happen to be something like a cricket or grasshopper. So, I'm holding on to it until Scottie gets home for his viewing pleasure, then I'm sure we'll release the little darlin'.

As ever, BIG thanks to the unstumpable Doctor Hannan for calming my worried mind!


Moving along to Beautiful Blooms, a much more pleasant subject, this is portaluca. It's sometimes called moss rose though it's neither a moss nor a rose. It loves heat, thrives in drought, and is generally quite happy here. I have learned that both deer and bear love to munch on it, but my special concoction of rotten egg, cayene pepper, garlic and urine (up to you how you get that), mixed with water and sprayed on the plant will pretty much take care of that problem.


My mother grew these in Illinois in the summer. Everything I read and am told says they are annual, but hers came back every year. I hope mine do.



This lovely is chilopsis, called desert willow, another misnomer since it is not a willow and won't live in the desert. It does do quite well in heat and drought, just not to the extreme of desert conditions. Hummers love it as do bees and bugs of all sorts.

When we first planted this tree, we had a sudden cold spell just a few days after, and I thought we'd lost her. (I'm calling this one female.) She dropped all her leaves and went dormant, but heat and water along with a little rose food to get her going brought her back. I call her Cindy, short for Cinderella, for her amazing comeback.

Cindy will bloom all summer and keep some sort of beauty going in the midst of heat and smoke and pollution.








As for pampered pets, here they are. I'm sitting on a straight backed little chair, hunched over a table at the laptop, while these 2 slugs lounge on my daybed!

Truth is I'm suffering terrible pet guilt. With all the smoke I just can't walk them every day like I usually do. Too much deep breathing outdoors right now just does me in, so the babies are suffering neglect (right) and I'm feeling guilty. Buck especially has mastered the soulful look that really conveys how badly treated he is.

In my next life I'm coming back as the pet of someone like me!

Bathing Cats and Other Interesting Pastime

There are things in life that Lucy, my fluffy cat, would rather do than have a bath. But, after using a new brand of flea treatment, big clumps of her hair started falling out. She was constantly pulling at the fur and seemed miserable, so I decided she might not have reacted well to it - duh - and should have a bath.

Used to be that bathing a younger Lucy was very challenging, but this girl has mellowed!

She's now lying on the rug in the dining room after thoroughly grooming herself and seems quite peaceful.

I spent much of yesterday working in the yard.



This beauty is an ornamental oregano. It not only looks pretty but also has the smell of oregano if crushed, and deer don't like it - a major issue here.



I have another ornamental oregano of a different variety on the side of the stone steps to the upper area. It isn't as full yet, but is much larger overall. When it's fully bloomed out it will have bracts maybe 2 1/2 to 3 inches long that will hang down over the rock.


While I garden, clean, bathe cats, cook, and whatever else seems to eat up my time - the dogs nap. Buck particularly has taken sleeping to the level of art form.

Last night when we went upstairs, after waking him from his nap on the dining room floor, he quickly flopped into the nearest dog bed. Unfortunately that one belongs to Cocoa - who didn't want to switch.


Poor girl tried everything, at one point almost lying on top of Buck, but she finally had to give up and retire to the bed that usually belongs to Buck.

I'm tired - FF seems to be flaring - so I'm calling it an easy day for the rest of this one!