What's on the counter?

Any guesses?

Images of Autumn: Harvest Time

Joe digs, the girls find the treasures

What do we have here?

Donna shows us one of the teeny-tinies

Stella shows off three nice ones

Inge displays one of the larger potatoes

Not a great harvest, but it will make a few meals anyway

L to R  Donna shows our seconds, small, medium, and large potatoes

I boiled up the tiny ones for supper that night.

Mint leaves to dry for herbal tea

Images of Autumn: An Autumn Drive

A View to the East, along Cty Hwy 2, North of Itasca State Park

Between Elsie and Jeremy being in Mankato and Joe's Grandfather ailing in Redwood Falls, and of course the youth group trip to the corn maze in Warroad, I have had opportunity to enjoy the beauty of this falls colors more than I do most years.  But, alas, I haven't had the camera along.

On the way home from our trip to Mankato in September the maples between Sauk Centre and Park Rapids were in a full blaze of a deep and blazing red.  It was absolutely stunning.  The kind of stunning that causes that sharp intake of breath with each new prospect.  I so wished for the camera, but instead I had to drink in the moments with deep breaths of the fall air and lengthy gazing at the glorious colors and textures as I drove along the twists and hills of US 71.

A few weeks later into the season, as we traveled to the further-north of Warroad, the yellows and tawny colors of the ripened corn and beans opened before us.  In the marshier areas, the golden birches and poplars and the deep green of the pines and spruce lined our route.  The sumac and other ground covers were starting to turn, for a lower layer of reds and yellows.

And then when we traveled to Redwood Falls the other week, we enjoyed a yet different set of shades and colors with the burning gold of the tamarac swamps.   Apparently, although we've travel this route to Joe's parents quite often throughout the years, we've never yet had the privilege to see the tarmacs in their most stunning color.  I couldn't believe the richness of the orangey-gold between Deer Creek and Wadena.  One the way home, I was traveling with Cameraman Joe, since Louisa had headed home a day early with the car.  But he was sleeping so soundly during that stretch of road, I didn't dare wake him.

He did try to capture some of the later tamaracks along our route.  They, too were marvelous, with the sharp golds of the tamaracks contrasting amongst the deep greens of the pines.  But now nearly so intensely vivid as the broad swaths of gold further south.

Pine and Spruce on the left and Tamarac and Birch on the right

A roadside cluster of gold and green

Colors along the telephone wire cut

The tamaracks at the curve in the road makes one wonder what awaits

This just stinks!

It's been a rough week.  And busy.  We've had two girls leave for college: Sad.  Teen car troubles: Frustrating.  More teen car troubles: Frustrated and angry teen.  A trip to Fargo: Tired mom.  A member passing away, to make the second week in a row with a death in the parish: Tired Pastor.

We're leaving tomorrow to attend the Bethany Lutheran College parent orientation and opening service.  We'll stop first at Joe's parents' for the night and then attend church at the congregation of their parish that has the early service.  We plan to stop on the way to Mankato to see Joe's Grandparents. 

We hope to get to see Elsie and where she's living, and meet part of the couple she's living with.  We'll hopefully get to see Jeremy and perhaps eat lunch at Five Guys where he works.

We're planning to stay Sunday evening with Ryan and Marie M.  Marie's dad was a seminary classmate of Joe's.  Marie used to help me with Jeremy when he was a baby and she was just nearing babysitting age.  It will be fun to meet her husband and children.

After that we continue Monday morning on to Madison, WI, to see the "old gang."  We're going to be staying with my cousin Claire, who is not part of the "old gang," but part of the "new gang."  Claire is a handful of years older than I am, so I didn't know her well when we were growing up.  But I have enjoyed getting to know her through facebook.  And as it happens, she's friends with some of the "old gang."  It will be wonderful to see everyone.  

But also bittersweet, as one of our "old gang" is suffering with what appears to be terminal cancer. 

Oh, Beth, we love you so.  We are caught between wanting you to stay with us, and knowing that you will be out of suffering when you are with our Father in Heaven.  Our selfish hearts don't want to let you go.  But we pray with all the saints, "Kyrie Eleison! Lord Have Mercy!"  and, "God's will be done!"

 ~   ~   ~
On a more mundane note, and to explain the origins of the photo I used to symbolically represent our week, I'm going to share a story from this morning.

I did get one walk in this week, with my friend, Lana.  We walked this morning in a light drizzle before the downpours and hailstorms that came later.  Everything is so nice and green now.  It had gotten really dry the last several weeks.

As Lana and I left the driveway this morning, we were greeted by a nice fat black skunk lying on it's back, looking for all the world like a fat kitty waiting for his tummy to be rubbed.  He was dead, of course.  But still nice looking.  He didn't stink at all, which was strange.   At first we had a hard time deciding, the way he was lying there, whether he was a cat or a skunk.  Most of his stripe was underneath him, and there are several black and white cats in the neighborhood. 

We passed him by, giving him wide girth, and continued on our walk.  As we were heading home, Joe passed us in the car, on his way to his funeral planning meeting.  He pulled over and lowered his window. 

"Mary, I don't have time, but I'd like that skunk off the road.  Do you think you can move him a little bit, and I'll carry him further over when I get home."

"Um, ... He doesn't stink at all.  Can't we leave him there."

"No, if someone hits him, he'll spray.  And then he will stink.  And that stink will blow right into the house."

"Oh, OK, I can probably manage it.  But only for you, Dear."

Lana and I giggled and laughed nervously the rest of the way home, wondering how I'd manage to move the skunk.  After we got back to the driveway, I headed up to the garage to get the scoop shovel and Lana headed to her truck. 

"Lana!  Aren't you going to stay and give me moral support?"

"Oh.  I'll stay if you want.  Do you want me to?"

"YES!!!"

After fetching the shovel, we walked back out to our well-bloated friend.

We joked about whether it would be worse for him to spray his skunk smell, or if he burst open from being bloated.

I started the procedure at the head end.  It wasn't quite as swollen there, so I thought there'd perhaps be less risk of him bursting, and I knew I didn't want to be at the hind end if he sprayed.  I slid the shovel under.  And gave it a little push.  It slid a little further yet. 

But after I got the shovel under the skunk about half way, as it got under the swollen stomach area, I found I could get no further.  The skunk's bloated belly was like a filled water balloon.  If I pushed from one side, it all rolled and flopped and jiggled to the other side. 

Ugh!  Lana and I talked over different solutions.  And finally we decided to just push him gently with the shovel until he slid off the roadway, and then let Joe worry about moving him further away later. 

As I slid him onto the shoulder, though, he simply rolled over onto his belly.  And stood up.  Really! 

Lana hooted, "Mary, look!  Look how he's standing there!"

And he was indeed standing there.  He was so fat and bloated that his head stood straight out from his body, looking for all the world as if he was still alive.  As if like Lana and I, he was just out for his morning walk. 

I couldn't find Joe's camera to take his picture right away.  So what you see in the picture at the top is from this evening after several downpours and at least a couple of hail storms.   He has sagged some throughout the day, so that his head is drooping a little bit. 

It reminds me of that old Bill Cosby skit about the British, and how proper they are,  "I'm so sorry to be leaning here, but it seems my life is leaving me."

My Morning Rainbow

Today I walked along the minimum maintenance road near our house.  I have not walked there for a few years, since they sprayed it and killed all the pretty things.  I noticed the other day that some of it is re-greening, so I thought I'd give it another chance. 

Lovely things I saw on my walk today:

• black birds, twittering in the tall weeds at the side of the road, fluttering up when I neared.
• silvery, white Foxtail grasses shimmering in the morning sun.
• deep yellow Sow thistle blossoms
• rich pinkish-purple Canadian thistle flowers
• the snowy glow of the spent Canadian thistle flowers
• white and yellow sweet clover waving happily in the morning air
• the pale yellow  of the ripening wheat field
• the deep green of the verdant soybeans
• wild canola-like weed thing with dainty yellow flowers
• a sharptail grouse who flushed from the field along the way
• bladder campions greeting me with their clean and fresh whiteness
• pale purple milkweed flowerettes

Ugly things I saw on my walk:

• dried grasses along the edge of the apparently Round-up resistant soybeans
• the harsh woody stems that remain after they mowed.  So many less desirable things growing there after the previous growth was killed off.  Sigh. 
• so many of the milkweeds were brown and dead from apparent spraying. 

A morning walk

To the Clearwater River

I took a walk today.  Google tells me I went 1.8 miles down the road and 1.8 miles back.  

The first mile or so was wonderful.

I listened to the birds sing. 

I heard Gayle's cattle lowing. 

And I was heartened by the gentle soughing of the summer breezes.

I watched the flock of ducks lift off from the wet spot in Ryan and Tyler's field.  I listened to them calling to each other as they circled around briefly, only to land again further on.

I was stalked by a killer bird.  Not really, of course.  But I don't know for sure what kind of bird it is.  But each year, those things drive me nuts.  When they have a nest near the road, they swoop and dive to frighten away anyone who comes near.   And they are quite large.  With a big, long, frightening looking beak.  The kind of resemble a woodcock, but bigger, and with longer legs.  The last few years there have been so many of them dive-bombing anyone who walks along the road.  The one today was not too unnerving.  He or she circled above me squawking and fretting.  But thankfully, I must not have a scary enough threat for the bird to need to resort to the dive-bomb technique.

I don't know what it is with me these days.  I used to be energized by exercise.  But now it just drags and drags.  It's all I can do to make myself keep taking each step and continuing on.  One more step, Mary.  One foot in front of the other. 

I sorely missed my walking ladies this morning.  We usually just do three days a week, but I'm trying to get in five days of exercise each week.  So that leaves me walking alone on some days.  And I find the steps drag by terribly on those days.
. 
But so it goes.

The first part of today's walk was tolerable, because of all the novelties.  I was listening to all the fun summer sounds.  I was breathing the lovely summer air.  I could see the blue sky after several gloomy days, and feel the warmth of the stregthening sun.

Then I started to get tired and bored; and I just wanted to be done.  I felt like a spoiled child. 

"Whyyyyy can't I just be home.?"

"Whyyyyy am I doing this anyway?"

But I wasn't yet to the bridge.  That's where we ladies usually turn around when we walk to the south.  If we're feeling wimpy, though, or pressed for time, we might turn around at the mile road a short distance before the bridge.  That point is 1.5 miles from home, so we get a three mile walk. 

Which is good.  Better than nothing.  And today, since I was alone, I really wanted to turn around there.

Just when the temptation to turn around was pulling strongest, though, I saw an approaching car.  As is typical around here, I waved as the car passed.  But instead of a neighborly wave back, the driver gave a friendly tootle on her horn. 

And I realized it was Louisa.  My Louisa.  My steadfast oldest daughter coming home from her night shift at McIntosh Senior Living Center. 

And that gave me the motivation to carry on.  If Louisa can work all night long, caring for others, and still drive her thirty miles home, I can make it walking those extra few hundred yards on a beautiful sunny morning.

Eventually I did make it to the river.  It was somewhat more interesting than usual this morning.  Because of all the recent rains, the sloughy areas nearby were draining into the river.  And making a rushing sound.  I could almost imagine that the brown sluggish muck that is called the Clearwater River was a clear and shallow mountain stream franticly traveling over round stones and jagged rocks.  

First I peered over the east side of the bridge.  Nothing much to see, but I took a moment to enjoy the sound.  The west side is more picturesuqe.  One this side there is a home nearby.  The river takes a graceful curve.  There is an area of trees branching along this part of the stream.  One can imagine a mystery or two waiting in the unexplored hidey holes along the shoreline.

And today, today!  I saw something I'd not seen before.  Flowing from grasses to the north came two small streams.  Very little streams, mind you.  I could just see the paths where the water had thinned out and washed down the grasses.  Two small streams.  Perhaps each only six or seven inches across.  The grasses still arched over these streams, so that although I could tell where the water was running through, I could not see the water.  I could hear the water rushing down the five or eight foot drop from the level of the prairie down into the river.  At the mouth of one of these small streams the grasses opened up.  The stream widened out a few more inches.  I descried the flowing waters.  Minute ripples and eddies at the confluence of the wetland run-off and the river. 

I peered at this little world.  I imagined it in miniature.  Hmmm, maybe I me an I imagined it enlarged.  As if I was in miniature.  The size of a small bird,perhaps.  Then this little world would resemble the mountains and valleys and waterfalls of my native Washington.

But the romance only lasted a moment.  Imagination can only go so far.  I breathed deeply of the last vestiges of the fading notion, so that I could carry it with me along my way. 

I turned homeward. 

For the 1.8 mile walk home again.

I was treated to one new sound on the way home.  At first I was perplexed. Why is the blackbird on the wire making such a strange noise?  It was like a small growl or a scritching sound. 

But it was a trick of the morning air.   The sound was really coming from below.  From the waters of the roadside ditch.  It was the croaking of a frog or toad, singing his morning serenade. 

"Scrrrr-itch.  Scrrrr-itch.  Scrrrr-itch."

A half mile or so further on, a whole host of frogs sang to me from the ditch as I passed by.  Such a fun sound.  I looked at that ditch, green with the new growth of grasses and cattail.  The water reflected the blue of the summer sky.  I spied not a hint of the amphibian villagers that were singing to me.  They were there somewhere.  Perhaps hundreds of them.  Hidden among the springtime stems and leaves.

All too soon, I was past Frogtown.  My steps once again began to drag.  And I realized again, with chagrin, that I am growing old.  Instead of feeling invigorated by my morning walk, I simply wanted to be home.  I craved it.  I could feel my feet aching.  My shoulders hunching in fatigue.  

It would have been different with my walking ladies, but Tuesday is not our walking day.  When I have those ladies along, I can walk and walk.  We talk and talk.  And encourage each other with our friendship.  And before we know it, we've finished our miles or minutes, or whatever our goal for the day. 

As I neared home today, I could make out something out of place in the driveway near Matt's truck.  One of the girls, I supposed.  I kept my eyes on that blur.  And soon I could perceive motion.  Whichever child it was appeared to have seen me nearing also.  She came down the driveway.  And began to cross the church parking lot. 

By that time, we were near enough to wave.  When we got near enough to holler to each other, Stella said, "I'm trying to see if my baby steps or your big steps will win."

And so began our little game.  I lengthened my stride just a bit.  When she saw that her baby steps were not going to get her to the mailbox in time, she also lengthened hers.  A few more strides and we were still neck in neck.  I ran.  She ran.  And my longer legs got me to the mailbox one stride before she arrived. 

We laughed.  And hugged.  And smiled.

And walked hand in hand, back through the parking lot, up the driveway, toward the house.

It's good to be home.

And to think that it happened in Greenwood Park

One of my favorite things to do in the spring is to walk the little loop at Greenwood Park in Thief River Falls.  It's not nearly long enough for my preference, but it's still a gem of a place. 

Nice things I saw and heard today

• Yellow and purple violets
• Canadian anemones
• A very cool looking flower I had to look up when I got home called a uvularia grandiflora aka Large Flowered Bellwort
• The just unfurling fiddleheads of many ferns at the right point for foraging for those who enjoy such delicacies
• birds singing
• deer prints
• A toad sunning himself on a log.  This was so cool.  I did the loop twice and each time, as I walked passed this one spot that was open to the river, I'd hear a plop.  There was a small log wedged into the bank, the end of which was covered with tangles of hanging debris from  the higher water earlier in the spring.  I suspected it was a toad, but I wanted to get a look at him.  So next time around, I appraoched very quietly and walked up to the edge of the bank to peer over.  Just as I got far enough to see the log, I stepped into a noisier clump of grass.  Sure enough the little guy once more plopped into the river.  But I did catch a quick glimpse of him.  I think he was about as big as the palm of my hand.  I waited frozen, hoping to see him return, but after several minutes, I gave up.

Things I saw today that were not nice

• cigarette butts
• a beer can
• a Pepsi bottle
• a disturbed geocache container (which said quite plainly on the outside, "Official geocache, do not disturb.")
• much grafitti on the walls of the shelter

Things I saw today that puzzled me

• a solitary solar light and a little bit later, a solar collector and a collection of various garden decorations that appear to be connected to it.  Perhaps all lights?  These have never been there in the past.  They seem too random for something the park dept has developed.  And yet, ...?  What other purpose would they have?  Both times were spots where the foliage was open to the river.  Would they be some sort of markers someone put there to see from the river?  Would the residents across the river have arranged them to see from their decks and yards?  Strange at any rate.

Springtime games

The kids are very eager to be out in the lengthening days and strengthening sunshine.  They play in the wet snow.  They ride their bikes on the freshly clean driveway and parking lot. 

And they absolutely love to be out on our southern exposure front porch.  It's a little pocket of warmth on a sunny day getting the heat from the southern sun.  And our lightly colored home reflects it back onto that little area creating a nice little oven this time of year. 

We also enjoy this little oven effect inside, opening the inside door so we can the enjoy the light and heat pouring in through the window in the storm door.  On a really sunny day, we even open that storm door window and let the warmed fresh air stream in. 

But once that inside front door is open, it's more than the kids can stand.  The simply must be out on the front porch.  And I kind of encourage it.  The sun is good for them.  The fresh air is splendid.  And so what if they get a little chilled.  So what if they drag blankets and pillows out there. 

After a winter cooped up inside, or bundled up in snowclothes, it's wonderful to be able to let them just be. 

Here are a few pictures from yesterday's forts.  I'm not sure what role all the dishes  were playing.  Inge said it wasn't a tea party, but she didn't really say what it was.  They hang the blankets around to protect from the cool breeze and then divide up the porch into rooms or hidey holes.  This was our youngest five.  Ages 5-12, all playing together sweetly for over an hour.

Sophie, Inge and Donna

I was trying to show the little hiding places under and around the chairs, but Donna stepped in at the last minute.  We got a fine view of her Ninja turtle costume, though. 

John and Stella.

Some spring photos after the long winter

I know, I'm jumping the gun just a little here, calling it spring.  But I think last night was the first below zero night in about a week, so really, that's pretty springy if you ask me. 

I was tempted to take my book out on my front porch, well bundled in blankets, and with my coffee in a thermal cup.  Weather underground says it's 7 °F.

That white wicker love seat looks pretty inviting in the morning sun, does it not?

But before I got comfortable, I looked around a bit.

We're starting to see some earth up by the house.  I can't wait for my perennials to start showing themselves.

The snow is mostly melted off some grassy areas near the driveway.  And you can see a bit of soil in the field south of the church parking lot.

It will be awhile yet, before we can get the van into the detached garage.  If you look closely, you can still see the remains of the edge where Todd and others were plowing for us earlier in the winter.  Eventually they just gave up, since it drifted back in every night and often during the day, too.  We'd go out and not be able to get back in.  Or in the morning, the kids racing to school would find the van stuck out there with no easy way to get it out.

I think it will take some time before the mountain of snow from clearing the driveway is gone.

I won't be hanging out clothes just yet.  And that baby swing that hangs from the far end of the clothes line, ...  Yeah, I know, I don't have any babies, ... but the smaller kids still sometimes like to climb in it while I'm out there working, ... nobody will be swinging today.

We won't be getting any laying hens this week.

But the cat has been enjoying the shelter of the chicken house all winter.  Last fall Clara hung a bit of cloth in front of the chicken door.  She put the cat house inside, and hung another old blanket around it to shelter it further from the drafts.  Talk about luxury.  But I think the cat needed it this winter. 

The kids learned that the electrical box gives off a certain amount of heat.  One of them fell through the snow that had drifted over.  They discovered the little cave surrounding it a few weeks ago. 

It reminds us to be thankful for electricity and all the other many luxuries that make even such an extreme winter as we've had much easier than those through which generations past had to manage.

After my little tour of the "winter into spring time" yard, I decided it wasn't quite warm enough to have my coffee outside.  Even bundled in a couple layers of blanket.

The Pastor Plays and We're Ready to see Matt

Surf's up!

Days 9 and 10, Tuesday, August 27 and Wednesday August 28

We arrived in Escondito, at our friends' the Lawsons', last night at about supper time.  Leave it to us.  “Hi, nice to see you.  Nice to meet you.  What've you got for us to eat.  Oh, and did I mention we need a special diet?”   But Rob and Kristen were prepared, and so good-hearted.   And Kristen was ready for us.  She served a lovely and wonderfully tasty supper for us.

It's kind of a pastor thing.   We know that wherever we are and wherever we go, the pastor in that area will be there for us.  Just as we'd be for them.   It's very good for the men to have a cohort to kick back with and shoot the breeze, and talk shop, etc.  And it's fun for us women to get to know another pastor's wife, and to know that we've got friends all around the country.

We did laundry.  Oh, Kristen, I hope you know how appreciated that is.  We had so much, … smoky from campfires and damp from the rain, ... stinky from sitting in a hot vehicle for several days.  Ugh, this small gesture was say beyond the call of duty.

We made posters for Matt's graduation, to hang in the van windows.  Things like, “Abrahamson, Plt 1070,” “Delta Company,” “Go Matt!” and etc.

The Lawson kids had to go to school today for a short time. But their folks took them out of school early so that they could all take us to the beach at Oceanside.

A little lunch

Our gracious hosts, Rob and Kristen

Rob grilled hotdogs and Kristen had packed chips and cheese sticks, and frozen water bottles.  She also provided the beach towels, so we wouldn't have to pack wet ones up again when we left.   I had a big drink cooler full of water, and a bunch of folding chairs.  The Lawsons had boogie boards and a shade tent thing called an Easy-Up.

Slathering up.

The weather was nicely warm and the waves were just right.   I was so happy that Joe got out there and had fun in the surf.  He body surfed with the kids and bounced around.   The kids did both body surfing and boogie boards.  Those who did the boogies boards ended up with many scrapes and scratches, from being buffeted and dragged across the bottom by their boards.

The Family

I mostly stayed near the edge with Inge, since she was a little bit afraid of the constantly moving water and sand.   She and I stayed in the shallow water, at about knee deep for me.  I was holding her. Some of the waves came up to about my waste.   But because Inge was so nervous, I tried to stay where most of them only splashed her a little as they wrapped around my legs.

"It's coming!"  Emma, Stella, and Donna

Playing in the sand

After awhile Inge was content by herself, as long as she stayed in the very shallow water.  So I foolishly let Joe coax me out to the deep.  I didn't really know what to expect, since I hadn't played in ocean waves since I was on a high school choir tour throughout the south.   One of the stops on that trip had been a day at Padre Island, on the Gulf Coast of Texas. 

Joe went out to where the bigger swells were cresting.  I went out to about waist deep, where the waves would come in over my shoulders, but then rush on past.   I was not quite ready, in my mind at least, when the first crest came.  And it was a biggy!   I turned to press my back into it, thinking that perhaps I could withstand the onslaught and simply remain standing until the swell passed.

But no.

I was standing in waist deep water one minute.  The next I was plunged into the maelstrom, hitting the bottom, sea water forced into my eyes, nose and mouth.  I floundered around, kind of going with the flow, until I felt air above me and sand beneath.   I clumsily found my legs and slowly emerged from the torrent.  Wet, bedraggled, and feeling a bit sotted.

And then I was done.   That was enough beach playing for me until next time.  I returned to the easy-up with Kristen.   Joe needed to play in the surf.  It was wonderful for him to cut loose and simply play.   I got some girl time visiting with Kristen in the shade, as our kids and the dads all played.  It was just what I needed, too.

Kristen and I having some Mom time

Have sand, will bury

Sophie and John flee the maelstrom

The kids were surprised their dad spent so much time in the water. They asked him about it later,
“How did it feel, Dad, to play in the ocean?”

“It was … like a great big release.”  And with that simple statement, I knew that all the work and planning and stress of the trip was oh-so-worth it.  Anyone who knows my husband well will know that “a great big release” was just exactly, perfectly what he needed.

Rachel and Louisa's henna tats

After we were done at the beach, we headed south to San Diego and the Wyndam Gardens Motel.   It's a lovely building with graceful wrought iron railings on long porches across the upper levels.  The foliage is mostly a variety of palms.  Some are kind of short and squat.   Short only compared to the towering ones above.  They have very big leaves that spread upward and outward toward the porch railings.   The littles were very intrigued with these big stiff leaves.   They found it very interesting and cool to be able to stick their arms through the railings and touch these amazingly big leaves.

When we got to the motel, Joe's Mom and Dad were awaiting our arrival.  They had flown in yesterday, and so spent the day today touring the USS Midway.   They took the city bus a short distance, and then met the trolley that took them through Old Town and down to the USS Midway.  It was fun to hear about their day.  The smaller kids enjoyed seeing Grandma and Grandpa in such an unexpected place.  "How did you get here?"

We indulged in a rare meal out that evening, in a real, sit-down restaurant.  We headed first for a barbeque place adjacent to the hotel, that was alleged to be able to serve gluten free food.   But it was packed to overflowing.  The line was spilling out the door and onto the sidewalks.   Since we were a group of thirteen, and several of us were small, hungry children, we figured we better not attempt the wait.

We continued on to Red Lobster.  We had eaten in a Red Lobster once in Chicago.  That would have been about the time Matt was a baby, so, nineteen years ago.  They were able to accommodate Joe and his dad's special dietary needs, and we all had a great time.

After we walked back to the hotel, we got the kids ready for bed and tucked in as soon as possible. They were a little revved up, so it was kind of hard to settle everyone down, but we have an early start tomorrow to all the excitement at the base.  Joe's parents have a room with two double beds, so Stella and John are staying over at Grandma and Grandpa's room. 

I can't believe we're finally going to see Matt!  It seems like it's been forever.

How a Lazy Evening Became Productive

As 5:00 came and went, the school kids had gotten home, had a quick snack, and then were off to Wed school at 5:00.  I had diced potatoes in the oven.  Garden fresh potatoes from Dawn N., with ricotta cheese and home rendered lard stirred in, topped with parsley, sage, and thyme from my beds.

I had not gotten out to mow.  In fact, I had decided not to mow today, since I've had a little nagging sore throat all day.  I had a good school and chore day around the house, so I was using that sore throat as an excuse to watch a movie or something during Wed. School.  I was tired.

Inge, Donna, and Stella asked for a movie so I told them they could watch on the kitchen computer.  But after several failed attempts, they reported that the kitchen disc drive drive didn't work. 

"Sigh," said I.  Then to myself I added, "I suppose I could get off my chair and let them use mine."

I didn't think my disc drive worked either, since it's had trouble with certain formats lately, mostly written material and audio files.  But I remembered Joe saying that different formats read differently, so don't assume something won't work.  We popped Willy Wonka into my machine and voilà.  It worked. 

And so I got up and got busy.  I scrubbed three acorn squash and put them on a lower shelf in the oven.  I may as well get as much use as possible out of the heat that's there anyway, right?  I got the meat for supper ready, but it was too early to put it in the oven, too. 

So I headed outside at about ten minutes to 6:00.  I got the mower out of the detached garage and up to the house to fill it.  I mowed the first few strips and had to empty the bag already.  "Uffda, it's going to be a long job."  That grass was way, way, way too long.

I'm not going to say when we mowed last.  But suffice it to say that if I had a tail, it would be far between my legs.

I mowed a few more rows and emptied my bag a few more times.  Then I ran inside quickly to slide the meat into the oven along with the other things.  I was feeling very high by that time.  Invigorated and energized.  Up. 

Besides the accomplishment of actually getting started on the mowing, I had much food in the oven.  Squash for a meal, plus enough extra for about three coffee cakes or custards.  I had potatoes roasting, enough for at least two big meals.  And tonight's meat was was easy to pop in, being left over roasted turkey from the end of last week. 

After sliding the meat into the oven, I was right back out to the mower.  Up and down, around and over.  Up and down, around and over.  Empty the bag.  Start again.  By 7:00, the kids were done with Wed school, but I had just a corner of one section left to do.  It was getting dark, but I was determined.  On a roll.  Tenaciously trying to finish.  Perhaps I ought to have waited.  I ended up not finishing anyway, since I ran out of gas with about five minutes worth of mowing left.  But worse yet, I hit a rock under one of our spruce trees and shot it at the garage door.  I couldn't believe it when I looked — a 2" round dent, and triangle of torn metal about an inch long in the middle.

We turned it into a good lesson, though.  I had all the kids run out and look.  "This is why we don't leave rocks in the grass.  And this is also why we don't play near the mower.  Imagine if that was a child's head rather than the garage door."

I had said to a friend this morning, "I really do love push mowing. I love the exercise and the, ... oh, ... exhilaration of the accomplishment.  But I also really love afterwards the relaxation of a summer evening, sipping a cool drink, looking at the nicely groomed green grass and other summer glories, and listening to all the summer sounds. Somehow, the pleasure of it eludes me at this time of year..."

I didn't go out and sit to enjoy the newly mowed grass after mowing this evening.  But I did enjoy the freshly mowed sections of grass much more than I imagined I would.  Even in the fall drabness, those areas that were freshly cut looked very good.  I can't wait to get out tomorrow and do some more. 

A Grand (but very drippy) Canyon

Day 7, Sunday, August 25
We  had planned to do "family church" as we've done in the past, around the campfire before heading out for our day's outings.  But since we no longer had the option of a campfire, and in fact, were packing up to head on to new locations, rather than simply heading out for a day's outing, we, quite frankly, didn't even think of family church.  The schedule was disrupted and the distraction of life tempted us away from what's really important.  But we did have a little "family church" in Las Vegas in the evening.  But how we ended up in Las Vegas is part of this tale, so I'll just leave it at that.

On Sunday morning, we packed up and left our cozy little cabin.  We might have stayed another day, since the cabin was open for that night, too.  But we felt it was a little bit out of our price range for two nights.  We knew we didn't want to camp in the rain.  And rain was most definitely predicted for the next several days.  Apparently there was a tropical storm pushing all this wetness up from the southwest, across the Mexico boarder, and southern California, but toward the northeast and into Nevada/Arizona/Utah.  We could only sigh at the irony of it.  Here we were traveling in the American Southwest.  All of us for our first time.  And where it was supposed to be hot and dry, was predicted to be wet, wet, wet.

And cold in some areas.

Like the Grand Canyon.

But we're pretty tough.  We can handle wet and cold.  Just not in a tent.

So we had more decisions to make throughout the day.

But first to see what we came to see.  We started off our scenic drive past the lake for which our Inn was named, Jacob Lake.  Louisa and Rachel had returned late to the cabin the night before, all giggly and excited about their walk.  "It ended up being much further than we thought.  We need to drive  past there, Mom.  It's so pretty.  I think you'd really like it, Dad.  It's the kind of place you'd like to take pictures of."

It turns out the girls had a surprise up their sleeve.  I had wondered when making the reservation why there were no water recreation opportunities listed in the attractions, "Camping and picnicking, Hiking, Sightseeing, Wildlife viewing, Naturalist programs at Jacob Lake Campground, Access to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, Horseback riding."

Jacob Lake Historic Ranger Station

The girls drew our attention first to the cute Ranger Station on the left.

Jacob Lake

Then they pointed out the lake on the right.




Not only is the lake on private property, it is really, well, not much of a lake.  Not.  Much.  Of.  A.  Lake  (If you can't get the full effect, be sure to click on the image for a better view of this scenic, .. um, ... puddle.

I asked the girls then, why it took so long for them on their walk, since they had claimed the night before to have walked all the way around it.

"Well,"  they explained, with many giggles.  "We kind of got lost and were wandering around the forest service roads.  Luckily when it started to get dark, we ran into some guys who pointed us in the right direction."

BIG LUMP IN THE MOM's THROAT!  Thinking of what might have happened ...  But as Ma Ingalls always said, "All's well that ends well."

We had forty miles to drive before arriving at the North Rim.  We didn't know where we'd end up by bedtime.  So we headed on toward the Main Attraction.  All we could do was forge ahead and hope the rain held off.

Which it did not.

By the time we reached the tourist areas, the rain had turned from sporadic sprinkles into a steady dripping.  And it just kept going.  Not a heavy rain, mind you.  Just a good steady soaking rain.  The kind the farmers at home would like.

It was cold.  With a little bit of a blustery wind.  Not a whole lot of wind.  But enough to make us tuck our hands into our sleeves and hunker down into our hoods and collars.

We checked out the book store and the Visitor Center first, in the hopes that the rain would taper off a bit.

But it did not.

The standing water in the treacherous walkways

So we finally braved the trails along adjacent to the Visitor Center.  We carefully traveled those wet and windy trails that in some areas have no railing guarding visitors from the edge.  We carefully walked out the rocky promontories where they had thankfully erected rails for our protection, but where the rock pathways were filled with water and a bit slippery.

Louisa and Elsie

A view looking down

Notice again, the standing water in the trail.  Oh, and the lack of railings.

We overlooked Bright Angel Canyon, which we had heard about in the book, Brighty of the Grand Canyon.  We talked about how amazing this was, and yet it wasn't even the main canyon.  We hoped to drive to either Cape Royal, or Point Imperial to take in the view of the main canyon before leaving the area. 

The drippy tourists

Then we shivered our way back up to the Lodge area.














We got to have our picture taken with the bronze Brighty statue.

John, Elise, Sohie, Rachel, Louisa, and Mary

We so totally splurged on a rare treat of a round of hot chocolate at the Rough Rider Saloon.  $30 for 10 hot chocolates.  Wow!

Donna, Stella, Clara, Inge, John, Elsie

But it was worth it.  That's what vacations are for.  Treats and memories.

Mmmmm.

I have a feeling even Inge will remember at least that we were somewhere drippy and having hot chocolate.  And we'll be able to say, "Yes, yes!  That was when we went to Matt's Marine Corps graduation and stopped at the Grand Canyon and it was so cold and rainy."  And then we'll continue with memories of all the other fun things we got to do on this trip.

After we warmed up a bit, we moseyed our drippy way to the gift shop and looked around.  The kids got to pick out a few things to buy for themselves with some Christmas money they had saved.  The first thing John got was a baseball cap, since he didn't have a hood on the sweatshirt he had brought along. 

Besides that, John got a bandana and a sheriff star.  Donna got a nightlight made with a slice of agate.  Inge got a bag of rocks and Stella got a bag of magnetite.  I'm not sure what the older girls picked out, since they had their money in their own care.

After the purchases were made, we sadly headed for the van.  It was still raining steadily.  It was still cold and blustery.  When a family comes to the Grand Canyon with plans to spend three days hiking and other outdoor activities, a rainy several days really changes plans.  We headed toward the Country store that was alleged to be a mile or so down the road and have wi-fi.  We hoped to check the weather one last time and get info on potentially cheap or dry places to stay the next few nights. 

But the store was not clearly marked and we ended up passing it by.

We had a short debate about whether or not to drive out to the other look-out points.  I was all for it, of course, since I wasn't the one driving.  Joe was a little more trepidatious.  The dirt roads were wet.  Visibility was low.  He was driving a new-to-us van that was 20 inches longer than our previous one.  And there were warnings about the safe length of vehicles (30 ft) on the roads out to those viewpoints.  "But we're nowhere near that long," wheedled theMom.  "I'm sure we can make it."

But all things considered, especially the fact that we didn't know how far we'd need to drive that day, we decided to head onward on our way, rather than meandering along scenic drives.  Sadness!  After forty-six years I finally get to the Grand Canyon, and can't even spend any time there.  Alas!

I had to shake myself out of my self-pity.  "For goodness sake, Mary.  This wonderful trip you're on!  You're wonderful family!  And you'll get to see Matt soon!  Get over it, Girl, and count your blessings!"

And so we drove.  And drove.  And drove.  And for the first couple of hours, we enjoyed the scenery we'd seen the day before.  Then we veered off to the southwest, in the general direction of San Diego.  We still didn't know how far we'd go, or where we'd end up.

The immediate goal was the town of St. George, UT, where we were hoping to hit a wi-fi spot to do some lodging research.  We had hoped to go to the public library, having forgotten, once again, that it was Sunday.  See, this is what happens when you miss church.  You're discombobulated for the whole week.  We arrived in St. George around 5:00 and realized we'd not be likely to find a library open at that time on a Sunday evening.  So after we fueled up, Joe asked the station attendant if there was public wi-fi anywhere in town.

And as is often the case, God worked everything out for us just right.  The wi-fi hotspot in town was at the Wendy's restaurant.  And Wendy's has one of the most "official" gluten free menus of any of the fast food chains.  And we were hungry.  And tired of being in the van.  And truth be told, kind of tired of eating food from the cooler.

Now, just imagine what it's like to try to order for our family at a place like this.  Firstly, we are almost totally unfamiliar with the menu.  Then we've got to try to explain it all to the littles.  We usually go directly to a table, until we can get it all worked out.  "A burger or a wrap?  Chicken nuggets?  Or a bowl of chili."  Mom, can I have three wraps and a chicken sandwich?  I'm really, really hungry."  "Do they have fish sandwiches?"  "No. No happy meals.  No. no pop."  And so on.  Until we've finally got it all written down and approach the counter.

And get ready for them to stare at us in wonder, as we continue to order and order and order.

We got our food and everything passed out to the right people.  We got the ketchups and waters and napkins and straws passed out where needed.  I hit Kayak to get some help finding a place to stay.  We'd kind of decided by this point, that it was futile to try to camp.  Our whole route was under this system of rain and storms with only spotty sun.  Without going too far out of the way, we'd not find a dry place to set up a tent.

Where can we get the cheapest lodging in that part of the country?

"Las Vegas, Baby!  Viva, Las Vegas!"

It was a little tricky searching for hotels in the Las Vegas area, since apparently, the system there is to market the rooms at about 1/2 price and then charge for fees and services which about doubles the rate.  As I was frantically trying to figure this all out, the kids were finishing their meal.  And the battery life was expiring on my laptop. 

No problem.  I'll just go out to the van, plug the computer into the power jack, and use the wi-fi from there.  Nope, sorry, the wi-fi didn't reach to the parking lot.

Hmmmm.  Maybe they'll let me plug it in inside somewhere.  I was thinking maybe a table or booth had an adjacent outlet. 

When I re-entered the store, and explained my problem, the manager pointed to a utility sink just inside the kitchen area.  "Hmmm?  Curious," thought I.  "And not terribly convenient, but I guess it will do." 

So there I stood, balancing my laptop on one hand; digging in my purse for my credit card with the other; moving out of the way anytime one of the workers needed to access the sink; trying not to drop my cord into the water; just to start all over again when I got situated once more.

But it was soon done.  Reservations were made.

Anyone who's traveled into Las Vegas from the northeast on I-15, will recognize this view.   The canyon through which the highway is carved is tremendous.  Down and down we went, though layers of cliff.  It was very cool.


Las Vegas, here we come.

Texas Station Casino on the north side of Las Vegas.  $12 per night, plus a $15 service fee.  Two rooms.  Two nights.