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:
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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