February Photos

Monday, September 24, 2018

Journal: Vacation to Colorado, Part II


A quilting friend from Iowa, taking note that my auto-signature on the quilting group is ‘Sarah Lynn in Middle Cornland (that’s Nebraska)’, wrote to say, “Each time I read your signature, I think, No, no; Iowa is the Middle of the Middle and is Cornland between Nebraska and Illinois!”  😄
“I do know that Iowa produces the most corn in the nation,” I responded.  “Illinois is next, and then Nebraska.  My parents’ families both came from Illinois.”
“People on both coasts confuse Iowa with Ohio and Idaho,” she told me.  “I remind them that Idaho has mountains and potatoes, Ohio is in the east, and Iowa is in the middle and has corn and soybeans and RAGBRI.”  (That’s the Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa, which is a non-competitive bicycle ride organized by The Des Moines Register.  The Ride draws people from all over the United States and even a few foreign countries.)  “A New Yorker once told me that I pronounce Iowa incorrectly,” she continued.  “I should say I-O-WEIGH.”
Because New Yorkers know, right?  😆  Speaking of New York, we once had a young woman radio announcer on a local station... and although she was born and bred right here in the middle of cattle country (we are second after Texas), she tried hard to have an Easte’n accent.  One day in the middle of her newscast, she announced that something happened in “New Yawk, New YORRK.”  (With a very hard OR in the middle of that second ‘New York.)  Realizing her slip-up, she was then so flustered, she couldn’t think what to say next, and lost her Easte’n accent for a good 15 minutes.  heh
All that talk about the ‘middle’ made me curious, of course, so I had to look up the geographic middle of the U.S.:  It’s slightly northwest of Lebanon, Kansas, which is 150 miles southwest of us here in Columbus, Nebraska.
So now we know.  😊
But I was still curious... had to do more research... annnnnd... I find this:
Poniatowski, Wisconsin, is the exact center of the northern half of the Western Hemisphere.
The center of the Western Hemisphere is located in the Pacific Ocean at the intersection of the 90th meridian west and the Equator, very close to the Galápagos Islands.
The center of the Eastern Hemisphere is located in the Indian Ocean at the intersection of the equator and the 90th meridian east, 565 miles west of Indonesia in the Ninety East Ridge.
All those other hemisphere quadrants are more clingy with their information, and I have other things to do.  Research now suspended until further notice.
Tuesday morning, our last day at Mountain Views at River's Edge RV Park, Larry got up before sunup to wash his jeans.  He was running low, and it seems the last two pair in the cupboard were either too ripped or too small. 
“Why do you keep them, then?” I asked in a plaintive tone.  “I got them right out of your cupboard at home!”
“In case I want to be in style, and in case I lose weight!” he replied, looking inordinately proud of himself for his logic.
Me:  ((eye roll))
Off he went to make use of the campground laundromat.
Problem #1:  He didn’t have enough quarters, and there was no money-changing machine in the building.  Why would they not have a money-changing machine in a laundry room in as big and nice a campground as this?!
Larry went to the office to get more quarters.
Problem #2:  The office didn’t open until 9:00 a.m.  It was just a little after 6:00 a.m.
He came back to the camper and raided my purse for quarters.  He found enough to buy a box of detergent (I hadn’t brought any, figuring we wouldn’t need it, and space in the pickup camper is at a premium) and to start one washer.  Then he broke the laundromat rules, left his jeans unattended, and rode his bike to the gas station in Creede, a round trip of 5 miles, to get some quarters.
Problem #3:  Though the gas station was open, they would only give him $2 worth of quarters, since the, uh, ... ? quarter man? wouldn’t arrive until 9:00 a.m.
Sooo... even though the laundromat is bigger than most I’ve been in, even in big cities, and we could’ve washed and dried all our laundry in one fell swoop and been done by 7:30 a.m. or so, we were still waiting for the jeans to dry by late morning.  At least we only had a three-hour drive ahead of us; we were going to Lake George.
Earlier when I typed into Google, “Distance from Creede to Lake George”, I didn’t put in any state name, just to see what would happen.  It gave me mileage from Creede, Colorado, to Lake George, New York:  2,046 miles.  I relayed the information to Larry with blank face.
He nodded absentmindedly, then ------ “Wait a minute!”  hee hee
It was actually a mere 188 miles.
While we waited, Larry fished in the campground pond.  That little speck of orange at the far middle right is him – they make people wear an orange vest when fishing this pond, so they can tell at a glance if it’s someone staying at the campground, or a trespasser.  I trotted around the campground taking pictures.  Did you know that 64° at elevation 8,799 feet can feel like 80° when the sun blazes down and one is not in the shade, and there is little breeze?
Larry caught a brown trout, and hoped to catch one more before we headed north.  In the campground, they don’t require a fishing license; but each fish costs $4.50, and it is NOT catch and release.  You take what you get. 
In the early afternoon, he caught a rainbow.  Trout, that is.  We would have a yummy supper that night.  Four got away.  One was already out of the water and on a big rock, and Larry was just getting ready to put him on the stringer ----- when flappity-flip-flap, off the rock and back into the water he went.
So much for that sign in the office reading, “Absolutely NO catch and release!”
The lady in the office informed Larry when he went to pay for his fish that we were supposed to be out of our camping spot by noon.  “But I won’t tell the boss, if you hurry!” she said with a laugh.  She always acts all boisterous and jovial, even whilst issuing threats.  When we checked in, and she gave us stickers to put in the windshields of pickup and RZR, she ordered sternly, “Put them on right away!  I’ll be coming to check on you!  HAHAHA!!!” (wagging a finger at Larry’s nose)
It took a while for Larry to get his fish cleaned, put into the freezer, and everything hitched up and ready to go.  It was after 4:00 p.m. by the time we were heading out.
We turned southeast toward South Fork, Del Norte, and Center, where we would turn north and travel to Mears Junction in the approximate center of the San Luis Valley, which is about 122 miles long and 74 miles wide.
We stopped at Holiday RV South – http://www.rvstealsanddeals.com/ – east of South Fork to see if they had a thingamarolphgidget for the water heater in our camper. 
They didn’t; our camper is old enough that parts generally have to be ordered.  But the owner of the dealership told us we could walk around and look at all the campers.  That’s always fun, so we took him up on his offer.
Between Mears Junction and Poncha Springs, we crossed Poncha Pass at an elevation of 9,010 feet.  From Poncha Springs, we went on north to Johnson Village, then turned northeast toward Lake George, where we planned to camp at the RV Park on the north side of town.
By the time we got to our campground, it was pitch black outside.  At least we had a pull-through spot, so it was easy to park.  It was 55° that night, and the forecast said it would get down to 50°.  Not bad, for autumn in the mountains.  The elevation at Lake George is 7,992 feet.
Soon Larry was frying the fish he’d caught at the Mountain Views at River’s Edge RV Park – a big brown trout and an even bigger rainbow trout.  They were about 16 and 17 inches long, respectively.  He used a packet of grits with butter, whole wheat pancake mix, and milk to make batter for them.  He had a difficult time frying them, because the pan just plain wasn’t big enough.  He had to keep moving the fish around, in order to cook them at both ends.
Meanwhile, I cooked broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots.
We decided to share the fish, so we could compare flavors.  I started with the rainbow, Larry with the brown.  He kept asking me how mine was, even when I assured him that it was very good.
Then, finally, after a few bites of the brown, he remarked, “This one tastes all right, but it’s sort of... ? ...mushy.”
I got full before I was half done, and we traded plates so I could try the brown.
Fact:  When Larry said the brown trout was ‘mushy’, he wasn’t just a-spoofin’.  The rainbow trout was good... the brown trout was... mushy.  I tried two small bites... and that was all I could stomach.  Are they all like that?
I looked it up – and discovered that trout is particularly prone to turn out like that when the fish is from a lake or pond with somewhat warmer water, as opposed to a flowing river with colder water.  It is more likely to happen when a fish has just spawned... or if when freezing fish, the process takes too long.  Sometimes, there’s really no rhyme or reason why it happens.
We didn’t save the leftovers for the next day.  😝
The shower rooms were part of the owners’ old log home, almost like a regular bathroom.  There were two showers, one toilet, and no private dressing area, so I locked the main door and had the whole thing to myself.  Nice.
Wednesday morning, Hannah called to say that Teensy seemed to have lost his voice.  When he tried meowing to greet her, he instead wound up nearly gagging his socks off.
Larry said he probably just swallowed a mouse, and it went down wrong.  🙄
Otherwise, he seems okay.  It most likely has something to do with his thyroid troubles.
The next morning, we arrived at the south end of Elevenmile Reservoir, having gotten there from Lake George – on what I do believe was the very most washboardy, bumpy road I have ever driven in my life.  That, because Larry thought it would be a good ‘shortcut’.
“If all sorts of things aren’t demolished in the camper and the trailer, I’ll be surprised,” I told him. 
We met a road grader – but he hadn’t done anything helpful on our side of the road yet.
We stopped to get our State Park pass at a self-serve station – and saw that the area where we needed to get the fishing license was clear on the other side of the lake.  We had to go alllll the way around.  On the worst road I’ve ever been on in my life. 😩😧😨😬
However, the road wasn’t bothering the mountain bluebirds in the slightest – they were everywhere!  As we drove along, handfuls of them erupted from the ditches, and swooped away, twittering, across the prairieland.  Our vehicle and trailer were clattering so loudly, the birds would not at all let us get close enough for me to get some pictures.
The antelope, however, were another matter.  They hardly seemed concerned about us, and I got several good photos.
Remember last week when I thought we’d jarred ten years of life out of our camper?  Well, we took at least a quarter of a century off camper and pickup both, on that gravel road to Elevenmile Reservoir.  Whew, the gravel roads out there are rough.  One road we went on was called Maul Road.  ‘Maul’ was an excellent name for it, since it practically mauls one’s poor vehicle to death!
It jounced several drawers open in the camper, and loosened screws here and there.  Larry spent a while tightening everything back up. 
We finally arrived at the Park Office where Larry could buy his fishing license.  Now you tell me:  was that shortcut worth it???  We’d been over an hour driving the 15 miles to the reservoir, and another 20 minutes coming around the lake!  At least, for the last five miles, it was paved.  After a fashion.
We reserved a spot in Rocky Ridge Campground beside Elevenmile Reservoir for that night – and then discovered that the showers were those pay-by-the-minute, one-temperature-suits-all disgraces.  Ugh.  After such a nice place to shower last night!    Yes, the rooms were large and new and first-rate, but... pay-by-the-minute! 
But Larry was ready to go fishing.  We drove to Spinney Reservoir, just north of Elevenmile Reservoir.
It was windy and a little chilly, and I don’t like being in a kayak that’s pitching in the waves, so I stayed at the camper.  I sneaked around the pickup, sat on a railroad tie, held still – and finally got some pictures of mountain bluebirds.
By a quarter ’til four, the wind was really kicking up waves on the lake.  The kayak looked like it was very low in the water.  I couldn’t even see the tail end.  Yikes, I didn’t like it.  I called Larry, and he unconcernedly told me he was drifting in.  He didn’t even get so much as one solitary nibble on that lake.
We went and parked the camper at Rocky Ridge, and a little later Larry rode his bike down to Elevenmile Reservoir to fish.  He got a bite, but that was all.
That’s okay.  I wasn’t up to fish, after that brown trout.  🤢
The reservoirs – Elevenmile and Spinney – are very low on water.  The valley and halfway up the surrounding mountains – which were way too far away to suit me – is like a desert area.  This is not the kind of country I like much.  BUT! – I did get pictures of those mountain bluebirds, as they flittered and fluttered around in the ... hmmm... what is it?
Ah-ha!  It’s Rubber Rabbitbrush!  This interesting article is from the USDA Forest Service:
Rubber rabbitbrush is also known as gray rabbitbrush, or chamisa. This perennial shrub is a member of the Aster family (Asteraceae) along with sagebrush, with which it is often found. Rubber rabbitbrush is highly variable, with several different subspecies located throughout the western United States. It is typically distinguished by having whitish to green flexible stems, felt-like matted hairs, and narrow, thread-like grayish-green alternate leaves. Shrubs are rounded and generally two to five feet tall, but can reach as high as seven feet. Flower heads are made up of 5 small, yellow, tubular flowers, and are arranged in dense, rounded or flat-topped clusters at the ends of the branches. Flowers bloom from August to October as other plants are fading, providing vivid color and a pollen source for insects late in the summer. The shrubs reproduce via an abundance of small, wind-dispersed seeds and can also sprout from the base.
Rubber rabbitbrush occurs as a dominant to minor component in many plant communities, ranging from arid rangelands to montane openings. It thrives in poor conditions, and can tolerate coarse, alkaline soils. Dense stands are often found on degraded rangelands, along roadsides, and in abandoned agricultural fields. The species is useful in soil stabilization and restoration of disturbed sites. The deep root system establishes quickly, and plants produce large quantities of leaf litter, helping to bring nutrients to the soil surface from the deeper rooting profile. Rubber rabbitbrush is also gaining popularity as an ornamental; the white/gray foliage, abundant flowering, and tolerance for poor conditions makes it well suited for desert landscaping.
Native Americans reportedly used rabbitbrush as a yellow dye, to make a medicinal tea, and for chewing gum. The forage value of rubber rabbitbrush varies greatly among subspecies and ecotypes. In some locations, it can be an important browse species for mule deer, pronghorn, and jackrabbits during fall and winter. It also provides cover for mammals and small nesting birds. Livestock generally forage only lightly on this species and it is considered to be of little value to all classes of livestock.
The species name “nauseosa” refers to the smell given off when the leaves or flowers are crushed, described as pineapple-like by some and foul and rubbery by others. The common name refers to the rubber content in the sap, which varies by subspecies. Rabbitbrush was first tested as a source of high-quality rubber during World War II. In recent decades, there has been renewed interest in its potential for production of rubber, resins, and other chemicals. Compounds in rubber rabbitbrush are being evaluated for nematocides, anti-malarial properties, and insect repellents. Rubber rabbitbrush has also been identified as a potential source of biomass and biocrude fuels.

We talked with Hannah that evening.  Teensy still couldn’t meow, and when he tried, she could feel something vibrating in his throat.  But his appetite was good, and he ate both soft and hard food, and while we talked on the phone, he was in high gear, wanting to play.  She would call the vet in the morning if she thought she needed to.
Hannah saw an opossum nosing through our yard that evening.  They’re such funny creatures.  I enjoy watching them.  I know people think they’re ugly (Larry included), but I can’t help liking them.  I like to watch them scrounge around under the bird feeders, looking for dropped sunflower seeds.  Last year, there were three babies that came almost every night.
That night, as expected, the shower wasn’t warm enough.  Larry said that pushing the big button on the front shower plate made his much warmer, but I pushed mine experimentally a couple of times and didn’t notice any difference.  Maybe I just didn’t push it enough times?  Furthermore, there were no curtains between shower and dressing area, and the spray blasted out like a geyser, and stuff in the dressing area was in dire peril of getting drenched.  Also, while the cement work on the floor was nice and non-slippery with small round pebbles in it, whoever did the work made a sort of trough from shower area right on out into the dressing area, so a river goes flowing out, and you’d better get your shoes to higher ground quick, if you don’t want to go squorsh-squorsh-squorshing all the way back to your camper. 
Fortunately, I noticed in time to save my shoes from the deluge.
The only place to put shampoo, conditioner, and soap was up on top of the showerhead box, and it was so high I could barely reach it.  Why is it that Anakims invariably do the construction in the campgrounds and motel rooms I frequent?!  (Not that I frequent them much.)
Mine you, other than all that, those nearly-new shower houses/bathrooms were really, really nice.  Or could be, with a few improvements.  Supplying stilts to short guests, for instance.
While it was a long walk from our camper to the showers, at least it was paved.  But did you know that if it’s a long, steep walk downhill to the showers, it’s going to be a long, steep walk UPhill, when you go back the way you came? 
Oh, well.  All the better, to warm me back up again – though the wind was blowing hard.  We thought it might rain, and kept hearing thunder; but by the time we returned to the camper, the clouds were patchy, and the moon and stars were trying to shine through.
Larry fished for a little while Thursday morning, but to no avail.  By a quarter after ten, we were leaving the campground, heading toward Colorado Springs.  We cut through, rather than going on the Interstate.  I have never liked the Interstates, particularly when we are towing a trailer and have a heavy load.  Besides, I enjoy driving through countryside and towns, seeing animals and houses and scenery up close.
As we drove north from Limon at about 4:30 p.m., we passed between two huge wind farms, one on the east, and one on the west.  We saw those big turbines, one after another, for about half an hour without letup. 
On the east was the Limon Wind Energy Center.  This, from their website:  In 2012, Blattner Energy completed a 400-MW wind project spanning more than 55,000 acres in the Mountain region of the United States.  Blattner built both phases of the project, each consisting of 125 1.6-MW turbines.  The complete scope of work included construction of 69 miles of access roads, foundation and turbine installation, installation of 68 miles of underground collection, and construction of two 345-kV substations.  Despite an accelerated schedule, Blattner safely delivered the project on time.
On the west and north (the road jogged east for a ways) was the Cedar Point Wind Farm.  This, from their website:  The 250MW Cedar Point Wind Farm, which is the second biggest wind farm in the state of Colorado after Cedar Creek I Wind Farm, is owned and operated by a US affiliate of Canadian pipeline company Enbridge.  The wind farm is located 80 miles east of Denver in Limon, Colorado, and was developed by Renewable Energy Systems Americas (RES) with an investment of $535m.
Enbridge signed an agreement with Colorado-based RES to develop the Cedar Point Wind Farm in June 2010.  RES began construction in August 2010.
The electricity generated by the wind farm is transmitted to the Public Service Company of Colorado (PSCo) transmission grid.  PSCo, a subsidiary of Xcel Energy, signed a 20-year, fixed-price power purchase agreement with RES in March 2010 to buy power from the wind project, which was completed ahead of schedule in September 2011.  The project provides power to approximately 80,000 homes.
Approximately 20,000 acres of private land across Lincoln, Elbert and Arapahoe counties were leased for the construction of the wind farm.  The construction included two major installations – the setting up of the wind turbines to harness wind and laying the power transmission lines.  Two substations were built, in addition to an operations and maintenance building.
Vestas supplied 139 1.8MW wind turbines that were installed in the eastern part of Elbert County and the western part of Lincoln County. The turbines were manufactured in Vestas’ factories in Windsor, Brighton, and Pueblo, Colorado.  A 42-mile private transmission line passing through Arapahoe County was constructed to transmit the electricity generated to the grid at PSCo’s 345kV Missile Site Substation.
Meanwhile, back home in Columbus, there was a severe thunderstorm.  Hannah and the kids were in Wal-Mart, and heard pounding rain.
“Did you buy an umbrella for everyone?  Or just go to the sports or toy department and buy flippers?” I asked her.
“I’m just living here until it’s over,” she told me.  Fortunately, the rain had stopped by the time they were done shopping and ready to leave the store.
The storm that was affecting Columbus was part of a large system that stretched all the way from northern Mexico into Ontario, Canada, with the worst of it, at the moment, in southwestern Minnesota.
As we drove east, we could see the western bands of that same storm not far ahead of us.  The sky looked odd, and we saw a huge dirt devil out in a field.  Here’s a strange cloud formation west of Cope in eastern Colorado.  It was getting quite windy, too.
We decided to turn north at Idalia to try to miss some of it, as AccuWeather was reporting heavy rain, high winds, large hail, and lightning in the storm.
By 6:30 p.m., it looked like we had successfully avoided the storm.  We headed east from Yuma to Wray, where we hoped to stay at the Hitch’n Post Campground.  Bright blue sky was overhead, though there were big thunderclouds farther east.  And there was a splatted bee on the windshield directly in front of me causing twubbles and twials for my camera’s focus.  The lowering sun was shining on the thunderclouds to our east.  Soooo pretty!
We’d traveled far enough that day.  The ol’ karumpasetter (à la Hester, age 3) ain’t what she yoosta be!  😆  We were about 370 miles from home. 
Imagine – in days gone by, when we vacationed with 7, 8, or 9 kids, we’d sometimes make 700 miles a day!
Larry isn’t much for planning.  He likes to just drive along and land at some majestic fishin’ hole (or huntin’ ground) by happenstance.  More often, we go on Wild Goose Chases!  
That’s why I reserved the campground south of Creede for six days.  These days, I like having a ‘base’, and then just venturing out from there a ways each day.
While there, he learned that a non-resident cannot decide to go elk hunting as one decides to go fishing, at the drop of a hat:  buy an OTC license, grab your pole, cast.  A hunting guide told him that sometimes bow hunters wait 10-15 years for their licenses.
We arrived at the Hitch’n Post Campground only to find it was full.  Larry called the number on their office sign and left a message, in case there might be a place we could park and run an electrical cord to an outlet.
Then we drove back into Wray, while I looked online for other places to stay.  Larry called the three motels in town to ask for prices.  I’d barely gotten my chops all polished up for a nice, roomy, motel room when the campground owner called back.  They would allow us to stay along the fence line of their property and run an extension cord to an outlet so we could have 110V.  We could use the showers, too, and they’d charge us half price – $15 instead of $30.
But the Sandhiller Motel was only two blocks away, only $67 a night, and there was a restaurant attached to the building, and the special of the night was nachos. 
We stayed at the Sandhiller, and ate supper at the restaurant.  The nacho platters were huge; no way could I eat that much.  But mmmm, mmm, was it ever delicious.  We bought a couple of very large cinnamon rolls to take with us.  Those cinnamon rolls lasted us two days.
The motel was older, and could’ve done with an updating; but it was downright luxurious in comparison with the camper.  The pillows were flat as pancakes, however.  I was glad we had our own.  There was no coffeemaker, either; so we brought in the one from the camper.
Friday morning at a quarter ’til nine, we crossed the Colorado/Nebraska state line.
There was a motley crew in front of the Colorful Colorado sign trying to take a group selfie.  The one with burgundy hair couldn’t keep it out of her face long enough to snap the shutter.
Immediately, once we crossed the state line, there was irrigation and green pastureland, as opposed to deserty ground with yucca and sagebrush.
At 12:20 p.m., tired of riding, we stopped in the little town of Cambridge, Nebraska, and walked around the city park.  There’s a place for RVs to camp, and free electricity – and showers in one of the park buildings.  They ask only free-will donations.  It’s pretty nice, actually.
Flowers were still blooming like everything in this park.
Two hours later, we crossed the Platte River south of Kearney, and at ten ’til five, we turned onto the lane leading to our house.  And then we were home.
Teensy and Tiger greeted us with joyful abandon.
Larry fixed the front doorknob while I carried stuff in.  He got it done before I finished, and helped with the last few loads.  Then he went off to put gas in the red and white crewcab and to pay Hannah for caring so faithfully for the cats.
I washed the bird feeders, put new suet in the suet feeder, and rehung it.  The sunflower seed feeders were drying, and the Nyjer seed feeder was still in the sink in hot, sudsy water, because I couldn’t get it apart.  I’d have to wait for Larry to do it. 
I finished fixing supper about the time Larry got home.
By a quarter ’til midnight, I was finally in my recliner, with the heated massage collar around my neck.  Four loads of clothes were washed and put away.  Another was in the dryer, another in the washer.  There were three more loads to go.  Why won’t the big sleeping bag fit in the washing machine??  I tried hard to cram it in there, and it just won’t go.  I thought sure I’d washed it in this washer before.  But maybe it was the old top loader I used?
The sunflower seed feeders were dry, so I filled them and hung them on the deck.  The Nyjer seed feeder was drying in the laundry-room sink.
I went to bed at 12:30 a.m. and didn’t get up until 10:30 a.m.  Wow, that’s the longest I’ve slept in months, except for that day I was sick.
Rats, why didn’t I take a picture of it before I wrapped it?  I can’t find one online anywhere, not even on Pinterest, where there are pictures of practically everything. 

It was 62° by noon on Saturday, with an expected high of 70°.  It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the breeze was rustling the leaves in the cottonwood and maples.  And a blue jay was screaming his head off.  😃  Down on the highway, a truck rumbled past (we’re far enough away that the noise is distant) ........ and that noise always makes me want to go somewhere, never mind the fact that I just went somewhere.  😉
When Larry got home from work, I told him I needed something else to hang more bird feeders on, because when the suet feeder is too close to the sunflower seed feeders, the birds, sloppy feathered fowl that they are, shower the suet with bird seed, and then even the squirrels won’t eat it.
So he set up a stand made of the very top section of that tall, tall tower he put up a couple of years ago for our Megavision dish.  He then stuck a piece of angle iron through the braces, anchored it with heavy-duty plastic ties, and was mighty proud of himself for the feat.
I informed him that this was temporary.  A radio tower and angle iron don’t make for beautiful bird-photo backgrounds.  🙄  I want it made out of tree limbs!
The birds seem to agree with me; that monstrosity evidently scares them to death.  I’ve seen nary a solitary bird back there at any of those feeders.  Maybe they think it’s a giant, robotic scarecrow?
That afternoon, I uploaded my photos from the Nebraska State Fair.  There were many, many beautiful quilts there (and gobs of other stuff, too).  You can see them here:
Or if you prefer the Facebook format:  https://www.facebook.com/sarahlynn.jackson2
SmartAsset.com has this to say:  Based on our analysis, the Nebraska State Fair ranks as the 10th best state fair in America.  Attending the fair has been an annual tradition for Nebraskan families since 1868 and the equivalent of 19% of the population showed up to the fairgrounds last year in Grand Island.
How ’bout that. 
I had never been to a fair until I entered Andrew and Hester’s quilt in the County Fair back in... ?  2014, maybe?  I thought State Fairs consisted of hard metallic rock bands blasting everyone’s ears out all over the entire fairgrounds, and fat ladies dressed in tutus sitting in curtained booths waiting to be kissed.  HAHAHA
Come to think of it, I did go to a fair once before – when I was two, with Delmar and Helen Tucker, Jeremy’s and Maria’s grandparents.  Delmar passed away a few years ago, and Helen is not doing so well.  She lived in our house as a teenager, when I was a baby.  I was the flowergirl at their wedding, when I was 2 ½.  Later, she taught me to read, almost by accident, when I was 3 or 4. 
Delmar and Helen were dating when they took me to the fair with them.  We went on the Ferris wheel – and the motor stopped when we were right at the tiptop. 
I was delighted.  Wheeeee!!!  Our ride will last longer!  We’re on top of the world!  Look how far we can see! 
Then Delmar started swinging his feet, making the seat rock.  I thought everything was getting more fun with every bloomin’ minute.  Helen didn’t like it, and tried to make him stop.  She was probably beginning to wonder if she ought to marry him at all!  😄 
And then they got the motor running again, and down we came.  Sooo disappointing.  I liked it up there!
A friend wrote with congratulations on my State Fair wins.  “Personally, I think you should have gotten higher awards, but I was not a judge,” she said.
I thanked her, and said, “There were many beautiful quilts; I can understand why mine weren’t at the top of the stack.  😊  ’Course, I wanted them to be... but at least I have more ribbon colors to put on my wall.  All blue would just be bland.
Another friend, upon seeing all my pictures, wrote, “They were mighty stingy with the confectioner’s sugar on that funnel cake!”
I told her, “They were almost out!  They were all out of fruit topping... iced tea...  Not long after we got our funnel cakes, they closed the place down and began taking it apart to haul to the next State Fair.”
Here’s a katydid I found on the back patio-door screen:
Larry got all of the things out of the stock trailer, and then readjusted the exhaust pipe on the Polaris RZR so the fumes won’t blow up into the cab and give me a headache when the windshield is down.
After supper, we took the big sleeping bag to the newest laundromat in town.  You can use your credit card in the washers.  Not in the dryers, though.  It took 19 minutes to wash it, and 14 minutes to get it almost dry.  The last damp spot could dry as it hangs over the upstairs railing.
That new laundromat has stainless steel tables with outlets and USB ports for one’s electronics.  Pretty nifty – except they are high, and have tall, stainless steel stools to sit on.  I think they don’t want us to get too comfortable while we are waiting on our clothes!
A friend was telling me about some new towels she’d gotten.  “They are going into the bathrooms with warning labels for those with barnyard dirt on their paws:  ‘Wash those hands before wiping them on these towels.’  ‘What did I just tell you??  Do you CALL THAT CLEAN????’  We’ll see how long it lasts.”
“Good luck with that!” laughed another friend.
Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one with that problem.  Except Larry doesn’t come in with barnyard dirt on his paws; he comes in with vehicular dirt on those paws.  That could include grease, oil, rust, lubricant, gasoline, diesel, rubber residue, and/or plain ol’ dirt.
I gripe, “You come in with dirt, get just enough water on your hands to make mud, and then try to finish the clean-up with a nice, clean towel!”
He looks puzzled.  (What else is one to do?)  I glower.  He resorts to trying to look like a sheepish schoolboy, stubbing a toe in the dirt.
Sometimes I wonder, Did I teach my boys any better, or do their wives say the same thing to them??
After the wedding service last night, we walked into the Fellowship Hall, looked around for a table, and then spotted Victoria and Carolyn standing over on one side.  We headed that way.  Carolyn saw me, and, holding Victoria’s hand, ran toward me, beaming in delight.
Way to make Grandma’s whole day, little sweetie!
Somebody asked me about the flowers I’d taken pictures of at the State Fair:  ß  They are Dianthus, and they come in all colors.  Sometimes they are single blossoms, as here; sometimes double, triple, or more.  They’re also called ‘Pinks’, not because of that common color, but because the petals look like they’ve been cut with pinking shears.  When the buds blossom, each little petal unfurls as they start to open slowly, and then they seem to snap open.  Here’s a time-lapse video showing it:  Dianthus Buds Opening
By the time we got home from the wedding last night, we were hungry; so I made some scrambled eggs with milk, butter, and cheese.  Yummy.  The perfect midnight snack.  
Today I’ve paid some bills (vacations have a tendency to empty your wallet; ever notice that?) and started supper – chicken breast fillet and spicy baby potatoes in a casserole dish. 
I reported the matter of the money a quilting friend cannot collect from PayPal, since her bank, unbeknownst to her, no longer does business with PayPal – and within minutes, they’d issued me a refund.  I will now mail her a check.  I wonder why they wouldn’t help her? 
Next, I finally got a refund for the watch we got Bobby for his birthday.  I ordered it from Wal-Mart; it came from Deals Only, through Wal-Mart.  The order was placed on June 25.  The stem fell out right after Bobby put it on.  I contacted Wal-Mart, they contacted Deals Only, they then sent a new watch – in an envelope!  Part of the watch was sticking out of the envelope when it arrived, and it never worked.  Duh, what did they expect?
I’ve contacted Wal-Mart several times since, and they always promise to contact Deals Only – but Deals Only has not contacted me ever again.  We got Bobby a better watch.
Finally I talked personally to someone at Wal-Mart who actually spoke recognizable English, and she promptly issued me a refund.
So my affairs are all in order now, and I can happily sip my Banana Cream decaffeinated coffee.
That reminds me:  I drank a cup of caffeinated coffee yesterday between Sunday School and church, forgetting that I’ve been avoiding caffeine of late.  I wondered if I’d get a headache today because of it (or because today I was lacking it).  Two weeks ago, the day I needed to pack for our trip, I had a bad headache, and wondered if Sunday’s coffee was the culprit.  But it was a migraine, probably, as it made me feel nauseated.  However, I have no headache today.  The coffee didn’t seem to affect me one way or another.
A few minutes ago, I heard a screechy meowing noise, looked out the front window, and discovered a catbird on the front porch. 
We saw hummingbirds at the feeder Friday when we got home, so yesterday I cleaned and refilled the feeder with nectar.  Haven’t seen the little birds since.
I love wildflowers.  They’re so little and delicate... and yet so intricate and beautiful, when one looks closely.  Some of my favorites are the mountain wildflowers.  They look so small and fragile, and yet they’re tenacious and hardy.
Lura Kay, who’s 20 years older than me, was recently telling about when my parents were married.  Some of it I remembered, some I had forgotten.  They had decided to get married somewhat on the spur of the moment, because my mother’s parents had purchased land in North Dakota, and planned to move there immediately from their farm in Illinois.  Mama was only 18, Daddy 19 ½, and they’d planned to wait a little longer, but they didn’t want to be separated.  So they bought a marriage license and found a preacher. 
But there was a problem:  They had purchased the wedding license in one county, and the preacher, on the other side of town, lived in another county.  They needed to be married in the county for which the license had been issued.
The pastor thought of a couple of spinster sisters, probably in their 60s, who lived in the right county and would let them use their parlor and living room for the wedding.  The mothers would accompany them – they, the sisters, and the preacher would be the only wedding attendants.  
When they arrived at the house, the sisters, unprepared for visitors though totally delighted and honored that Daddy and Mama would be getting married in their home, were just lifting the large quilting frame that filled the living room, resting on chair backs.  They drew it up by pulleys to the ceiling, and then they were ready for the wedding.
Last night Lura Kay told me about playing with those Sunbonnet Sue blocks when she was a little girl.  They were poor, and she had little to no toys at all.  Mama let her play with the Sunbonnet Sue blocks.  She’d line them up... rearrange them... stack them... 
“I probably wore them out,” she laughed.
But she didn’t; they were still in good condition, other than a few stains that I think were the results of the appliquérs poking themselves with their needles, all those 82 years ago.
This was the view from our camper, for most of our vacation.
Here’s an alpine poppy I found blooming at our campground. 
On one of the online quilting groups, we were discussing the difficulties in seeing our stitches when the thread is the same color as the fabric.  It’s particularly hard when it’s black thread on black fabric.  Several offered helpful suggestions, such as the type of lamp to use. 
When I’m doing free-motion quilting with matching thread and fabric, I often turn off the overhead lights and leave only the light on in the far dormer.  My machine has lights under the handlebar that can be turned off in two parts – spotlights, and main lights.  Very helpful.  If it’s too bright, I can’t tell where I’ve quilted, or where I need to go.  Creating shadows is the solution.
Hmmm... I have 435 followers on Instagram.  Some of those who followed me upon seeing my Colorado pictures will remove themselves when I post a picture of the next quilt.  😆  Can’t you just hear them?  “AAaaaaaaaaaccccckkkkkk, I thought I was following a mountain-climbing Jeep/RZR lover; but it’s a li’l ol’ quilt-makin’ granny!”  haha
Here’s a sign we saw along the road last week:  “My mother taught me to respect my elders.  But it’s getting harder and harder to find any.”
Gotta git bizzy!  I will now find out how long it takes me to edit three gazillion and one (or two) photos.  😉  You know I nevah, evah exaggerate.



,,,>^..^<,,,         Sarah Lynn in Nebraska, the United States, the Americas, the Northern Half of the Western Hemisphere of the World, in the Solar System, in the Galaxy, in the Universe        ,,,>^..^<,,,




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