Tree on a windy hill

Hidden pond at Kirk Park, west of Eugene

Autumn certainly seems to be loading us up with things to do: fruit trees to plant, leaves to rake, flower beds to prepare and plant with spring bulbs, fruit and veggies to can or freeze for the winter. There's been a lull in our canning efforts of late (a half-lug of Roma tomatoes still sits in the kitchen, purchased two weeks ago), though we have managed to bake our first apple pie. We've finally started to get garden tomatoes from the plants I put in so late, the chard are starting to look renewed rather than ragged from the summer heat, and the eggplants are approaching readiness. We've begun to clean out one of the shade beds--a long overdue activity made easier now that it's rained a bit and the soil is soft--and Aaron has carefully tilled up a new bed that will hold a pretty little Japanese maple to be planted in memory of the baby.

But amid our laundry list of pressing things to do, fall also lures us out to simply enjoy the change of seasons. Bright trees here and there are lit up in fireworks-like displays of reds and yellows, the bike path along the river beckons Con and me as we head out with the bike and trailer, and the other day we took the opportunity to drive out to Kirk Park (shown above), about six miles west of here. Feel free to check out the pictures.

Tiny leaves amid the moss at Sweet Creek

Many, many thanks to all of you who left messages replying to my last post. They were most gratefully received; somehow at times like this when your personal world seems to have turned to shades of gray, the one thing left in color is the candle flame of others' expressions of caring.

Grief, as I've learned over time, is a marathon: there is an end, but you have to work your way through the road course before arriving at the finish line. In each instance I've tried to wrestle with whatever larger questions have come to mind on that particular occasion, and each time I've learned something that's become a solid steppingstone in a forward journey. It's worth the effort to work for the nugget of wisdom that each experience has to offer, even the uncomfortable ones.

While it's unutterably painful to see your children having to go through this kind of thing--I would instantly trade places with them and bear the load myself, if that were possible--I do find myself grateful today for a number of things:

I know these things happen from time to time, but of course it's never what you're expecting. Briefly, Jenny went into labor early; there were difficulties and my grandson only survived for a few hours.

There's not much more to say. Aaron and Jenny are, of course, devastated. I was hoping this was something that would never happen to someone who as a boy lost the little sister he was so very close to. No one deserves it less.

Cade today at Sweet Creek Falls

My, time flies when the house is full. :-) It must be time for an update. Recent events of note:

Okay, so

sinkwriter ~~twisted my arm~~ inspired me to do the 'first lines' meme, which has probably been around the block twice and died out by now. But still, it seemed interesting, and at least a small way to keep in touch with my writing, which has been an elusive item on my 'to do' list recently that I never seem to quite get to.

( Anyway... )

The cottage: for a small place, it's got a nice amount of space for my purposes
and feels homey, too.

It's been weeks since I posted last, but the time has flown with everyone getting settled in and starting to find a common rhythm. Due to difficulties in finding an electrician to work on the cottage, things took longer than expected and I only moved in here three days ago, but it's a peaceful, welcoming spot, and I've discovered that since it's really easy to get sucked into other activities while hanging out in the house, having this separate space is going to be crucial to getting work or writing done.

I have to say that it's great to have everyone around. To see four people working together--and laughing--as they prep dinner, to watch Paul and Ben (who grew up without younger brothers or sisters around) interacting with the three-year-old or to know Aaron's outside spearheading some household task that's needed doing for a long time--it's all good. Did I mention I've barely had to cook since they got here? :-)

The next joint project: canning as many peaches and roasted tomatoes--and making as much applesauce--as we can before they're out of season... and before the baby arrives in roughly another five weeks. I can see that the pace around here isn't likely to slow down anytime soon.

Steve, Lauren and Paul returning from paddling around Clear Lake high in the Cascades

So, it's been a while--again--since I checked in last. Here's what we've been up to:

River's edge

And while we run around busy and distracted, nature continues its slow, steady progress through the seasons. Spring's emerald grasses have long since faded to the soft straw tones of summer. The wild sweet peas came in huge, rioting spreads along the railroad tracks this year and have now ceded their role as the star performers to Queen Anne's Lace, which is blooming everywhere by roadsides and in fields and gardens. The first raspberries are gone, the loganberry bushes are full of fruit (which, btw, I'm not keeping up with for lack of time) and the few late raspberries, fat and flavorful, are slowly ripening here and there on their own schedules, like the last few sporadic pops of a pot of popcorn. In my garden, tiny eggplants and little green tomatoes have joined the already producing green beans, chard and squash.

But fall is creeping closer. Today Annie and I went out to a big nursery in rural Alvadore to take advantage of the half-price sales that invariably come at the end of summer in places where nurseries are strictly a seasonal business. We came home with trees: cherry, apple, plum and pear--all at bargain prices--and a nice little vine maple to plant beside the cottage. A few stray leaves have yellowed and fallen from the tulip poplar, and as I was eating dinner out on the deck, enjoying the shady quiet of the yard, I heard a familiar honking and looked up to watch several dozen Canada geese, recently returned from points north, passing by overhead, the delicate whoosh of air over their wings audible in the evening quiet.

The girls finally have their secure yard (with coop inside), but I've been letting them out in the evenings around seven to poke around the garden for tasty bugs and seeds. The newer girls are definite escape artists, but the hour is my ally: a chicken's instinct to roost come nightfall is so strong that by 8:30 or so I can go back out and find them all settled inside the coop, ready to be secured for the night.

Granted, there's plenty of hectic activity going on at our house. Steve and his girlfriend arrive for a visit in a week, most of the cottage interior should be finished up this week, and Aaron and Co. will be here in just two and a half weeks. But I'm appreciating these little lulls when the opportunity presents itself to take a step back and appreciate what nature has been up to while I've been cleaning and organizing and shopping and planning.

This morning's first harvest from the garden

Until now the garden has been just a matter of maintenance--periodic watering, etc. But today I harvested veggies for the first time: a few strawberries (which I ate), beets, green beans, Swiss chard and beets. I have tomatoes the size of cherries on very hefty, thriving bushes, eggplants and peppers in flower, heaps of basil and sprouting carrots. Which just goes to prove that while you're all caught up in one thing (preparation for Aaron and Jenny's arrival), the rest of life moves ahead.

( More stuff... )

meridy did it, so I did, too. (Is this anything like 'If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you jump, too?') I may find myself drifting from fandom these days, but all those in-depth Cave discussions back in the day--and the careful rewatches they required--appear to have stood me in good stead.

Elite Phile Dork

You really know your stuff. Like me (the writer of the test) you probably spent most of the show's nine year run hanging out on X Files message boards, surfing for spoilers and rewatching episodes. You know all of the episode names and like every single bit of inane trivia. You probably even shelled out the ridiculous amounts of cash required for the DVD sets, maybe wrote some fan fiction or have gotten into a heated arguments over the mytharc. You can probably guess what season an episode or picture is from by Mulder and Scully's hair and can guess which episode you are watching merely from viewing 30 seconds of it. If I don't know you already, message me because we should be friends.

Riding my bike home from downtown this evening, I stopped to take a break at one of our bike bridges, where I saw the scene above, with a man fishing in the river while the moon rose overhead. Luckily I had my camera along and was able to get the shot. At the end of a long (or hot) day, few things beat the river for a slow, soothing, quiet rhythm that helps you let go of the day and settle into peace.

Exploring new territory

Yesterday morning I took the girls outside and let them wander on their own in the yard for the first time. As they poked around in the bushes, I sat on the lawn enjoying their explorations and taking pictures. Eventually we put them back in their enclosure where I knew they'd be safer.

Today Mrs. C, Speedy and Chicken Little (the three black and white ones) became the unfortunate victims of two young dogs who managed to burrow in under the back fence. Paul spotted the dogs, and it was only when I went out to try and catch them that I discovered three little bodies tossed like rag dolls on the grass. The two Buff Orpingtons managed to survive, Nugget with a broken wing and Grace, whose tail feathers were bitten off, by burrowing headfirst into a pile of grass clippings and vegetation and essentially playing dead. Needless to say, the remaining girls are in their big box inside until I can construct a really secure pen in the yard.

I am grateful that I've taken the time to appreciate the girls each day, to admire Mrs. C's beautiful feather patterns and enjoy the way she rode so quietly when I would carry her to and from the outdoor pen, to be inspired by Speedy's energy and even to appreciate Chicken Little's various quirks. We're happy to have known you, and to have had you as part of our family, if only briefly.

Godspeed, girls.

The cottage, a little added living space

I know I've been AWOL from Lj recently. As you might suspect, I've been caught up in RL. For quite some time I'd been thinking about the old intergenerational/extended family household model as a hedge against this period of growing economic uncertainty. I have a big lot, place for a garden, fruit trees and a pleasant house. Aaron and Jenny, on the other hand, have two kids and a cramped, expensive-but-not-fancy (because it's in SoCal) apartment. They love to garden, but their landlord just made them pull out the tomatoes and corn they'd been growing on their patio because it 'didn't fit the complex's image'. They'd like to have Jenny at home with the kids rather than working, but that generally means a high-paying job for the employed parent, something Aaron doesn't have. (As a matter of fact, he's been working two jobs--seven days a week--and working himself to a frazzle.)

So back at the beginning of the year I asked them whether they'd be at all interested in combining households. We'd have lower expenses (especially since I have no mortgage), I know I could be a good resource for the boys as they grow, I'd be availble to help Jenny out with the kids (I know from experience what it's like to manage a bunch of little guys)... Oh, yes: and while I have serious food burnout, Jenny loves to cook. Also, we all get along well, a critical ingredient.

Aaron was thoughtful but interested; Jenny was immediately excited about the idea. They've wanted to move to Oregon anyway, and after some discussion decided they'd target the move for next summer. The little voice in the back of my head, though, urged me to start preparing now. And then about three weeks ago, Aaron called me and said that the way their food and gas expenses had been rising over the past few months, within a few more months he wasn't going to be able to make ends meet. So--long story short--they'll be joining us in about six weeks.

All of which means there's lots to do in preparation. The cottage, as we've dubbed it, was put up Thursday to give me a new spot (sleeping/office.) It's got to be finished inside--hopefully before they arrive, so that the rooms they'll be taking will be cleaned out and ready for them. I've started some cleaning/closet re-organizing/basic childproofing; the cottage will have to be painted, I'm considering a new front-loading washer, given the increased laundry load on the horizon, and I have my eye out for a dining table that will fit more than the four people my current one accomodates. Did I mention that I'm also trying to keep up with the new vegetable garden, the berry picking in the backyard, and that I have yet to re-fit the potting shed for the chickens, who really need an outdoor coop at this point? I also haven't yet made up the baby blankets that I purchased fabric for some months ago (new baby arrives in October, my first official blood-related grandchild), though I think I've set out a floor plan in the cottage that will allow--finally--for a sewing table, which will be very handy.

So. Lots happening. Every so often, in a quiet moment, I get the itch to write, but I suspect I'm going to have to put that sort of thing on hold until the fall, when everyone will have begun to settle in, and when the garden goes dormant. In the meantime I'm thinking about introducing Cade to our riverside bike paths, watching Con have his first-ever yard to play in, reading some of our kids' old favorite childhood stories to ears that haven't heard them before, and canning fruit for the winter with Jenny and Aaron.

Bodger Seed Company's impressive floral flag, a tradition begun during
WWII. Lompoc, CA

On this day of freedom...

Let me declare my independence from
self-interest
self-absorption
self-focus.
Let me open my eyes and reach to take the laces
of the shoes of someone wholly different from myself
and willingly walk in them
until I can pick the motes of
criticism, superiority, smugness
from my eyes and truly understand
what it is to be
that man
that woman
that child.

Our strength
is a patchwork blending,
each warp or woof thread
filling what was once a gap.
Together--not separately--we fill the holes
to form the seamless garment.
Together
we are the promise and fulfillment.

-bardsmaid

Eugene's downtown transit center

So I've been pondering for a while now how to be less wasteful. I mean, I hate to waste things just on principle; living in a barn for two years on virtually no income will help you slip into the appropriate Depression-era mindset quite easily. Granted, the recent skyrocketing of gas prices has helped me along lately, too, but even before that happened, I'd started to make a few changes. Among them:
( Click )

Bike path into Eugene from the River Road area

I decided to ride my bike into town yesterday, partly because the weather's been nice, but also as part of my campaign to get out of my car and stop wasting gas. Anyway, it was a great, relaxing trip. I can get onto the bike path about a mile away, and I'm able to ride this pleasant, scenic car-free route beside the river to within a mile of my destination. All along the way there's either natural greenspace (towering trees and grasses) or actual parks. I pass by Eugene's Owen Rose Garden and one of the many local community gardens where those without the necessary space at home can sign up for a plot and grow their own veggies.

But the most entertaining part of the ride is at the bend in the river, because that's where the geese and ducks congregate--lots and lots of geese! They tend to spend part of their time on the lawns outside the condos you can see in the picture above. But then, at some sign invisible/inaudible to humans, they'll suddenly pick up their heads, pause, and then start very slowly across the bike path and down toward the water like a zombie army. It's a very curious but very interesting sight. Below are a few pics:

And last but not least: babies!

Nugget in a close-up. You can see how she's still got some baby fuzz around
the head and neck, while her body now has its permanent taffy-colored feathers.

The girls are four weeks old now, definitely past the fuzzy baby stage and beginning to grow quickly. It will be another three weeks until they're big enough to weather nights outside (during which time they'll be growing a lot, btw.) So far our weather has been too cool for them to venture outside even in the day, so they've spent all their time in a box in the workout room, with a clip lamp and a portable heater as needed. But their home has now grown to a cardboard condo of two boxes taped together, and soon I'll have to come up with something even larger. This is the labor-intensive period of raising chicks, since their food and water have to be changed multiple times a day (they're oblivious: they run though it, scatter shavings in it, poop in it, etc.) But it's also a fun period of getting to know them, holding them to get them used to us and starting to see their personalities develop.

Chow time!

At this writing, only one of the little Buff Orpingtons remains unnamed. As you can see above, everyone else has already come by a moniker in one way or another. Of the two Dark Brahmas (the big, dark ones), Speedy stood out first for her tendency to play Roadrunner inside the box, tearing up to you--almost--at blinding speeds, then stopping abruptly and reversing course. Mrs. C (for 'chicken'), her counterpart, is more settled and easy-going, and will let me pet her if I approach her carefully. The little black one (my sole Silver-Laced Wyandotte since her companion regrettably didn't survive her first night here) was promptly named Chicken Little for her tendency to take panic to a whole new level at the smallest provocation. "The sky is falling; the sky is falling!" she seems to be squawking as she scurries around the cage in alarm. The two taffy-colored Buff Orpingtons seem to be inherently the calmest. Even when they were quite new and I picked them up, they'd sit calmly in my hand, without the rushing/vibrating heartbeat of the other chicks. One of the Buffs has become Nugget, since the boys insisted that we needed to have a 'chicken nugget', and she's the right color. A suitable name hasn't hit me for the remaining Buff, but no doubt inspiration will strike soon.

Headstone sinking into luxuriant spring growth at the landmark
Eugene Masonic Cemetery.

On occasions like this, I always end up thinking about the casualties of war to whom we give little thought: those who have experienced combat and return to carry with them a burden of memory other people will never see, a burden most of us are ignorant of and frankly, most of the time, don't care to know about. This inevitable imprinting is the hidden cost that members of Congress and an outraged citizenry don't count when making the decision to send other people's sons and daughters off into battle. Yet it exists, powerfully shaping the lives of those who have fought and touching those with whom they come into contact.

In honor of the occasion, two stories dealing with the aftermath of war, original fiction from my pre-fandom days:

Reunion - Months after returning from Vietnam, a nurse and a helicopter mechanic meet up in the sometimes harrowing world of ordinary life.

Harvest Moon - Years after the war is over, a tragic accident brings unresolved memories to the surface.

I thought this second story was going to be about the teenager we see at the beginning, but it turned out to revolve around something else entirely. Old memories don't fade away. They sink below the surface until we fall into the holes they create in our lives.

As usual with my stories, trauma laced with hope.

While green is the operative color now out in the woodsy areas, closer to home it's iris season. While I'm not a fan of bearded iris, my yard has many beds of them, and currently I'm enjoying the color they add to the yard. ( More behind the cut. )

More hiking along pretty trails, this time along the Ridgeline Trail in the south hills of Eugene. Only minutes away from downtown, most of the time you'd think you were miles from civilization. Come along and enjoy the vivid May greenery and the occasional colorful flowers that accent the Douglas fir forests here.