Another Foggy Sunday

Our home sets at an altitude of nearly 5000 feet in the San Bernardino Mountains of southern California with winters that are typically mild with only three or four significant snows in a season. Around 40 inches of rain fall during an average year. This has not been a typical year. We’re at 60 inches, and the winter–which season I generally love– hatefully drags on, as persistent as the ring of robocalls. The fog–since first light to this hour of early evening–has been as thick as cowboy coffee, and the thermometer hanging just outside my kitchen window refuses to stretch to the 40 degree mark. Within the last hour I saw a report of tornados touching down in central California, an extremely unusual situation.

So, for the second Sunday in a row, we did not go to church. We just don’t do fog. Last Sunday on my Facebook account I mentioned what a blessing internet live-streaming of church services is to Jerry and me, and how it provides the opportunity of being with groups of people all over the United States as they worship God. First thing this morning we went to church in Indianapolis with Pastor Mooney, then to Alexandria, La. with Pastor Mangun. We watched both Brother and Sister Larson minister in San Diego, then this afternoon Cherie Wilkins texted me a link to her church in Texas, pastored by Brother and Sister Tuttle.

Because we couldn’t go to regular church, we ate. Splurged. Indulged.

Sorghum Molasses

We’re now a bit on the lethargic side.

We’re warm and cozy.

Weather forecast: Rain all night. Possible snow from 1 to 3 am. Rain all day tomorrow.

Hmm. . .wonder what I can whip up!

Of Daffodils and Forgiveness

My camera has been in the shop, the weather has been the wintery kind that lectures people with bodies a bit on the agey side such as mine to stay indoors, and I’ve been busy with the wrap-up of Dream Shards. Such are the reasons I have not taken many pictures lately, and why my photography fingers have been itchy. (NEW SUBJECT stuck right here in the middle of this paragraph: I’ve decided to take up word invention. Consider the word right there in the third line–agey. My dictionaries indicate there is no such word, while my common–or inventive–sense tells me there should be. Aged is available–a regular, ole word, but that just does not have the right sound–or look. So, agey it will remain, at least here on my column, although my smarty-pants dictionary built into my Mac snarks a red line every time I type the word!) Anyway, I got my camera back, tugged cleated boots onto my feet, slipped my hands into warm gloves, plopped a fuzzy cap atop my head, and set out.

The grey birdbath aligned by the side of these daffodils is filled with water that through the weeks of this long winter has alternated between a state of frozen slab and of liquid thin enough that the occasional bird has dipped its head, and taken a drink. At the slender feet of these magnificent flowers is a spread of white, a remnant of the record-breaking snow and rainfall we have experienced here in the San Bernardino Forest this year.

We have planted bulbs since we moved here, adding to the number that pushed through the earth and revealed themselves the first spring we lived here in Crestline. When the daffodils are in full bloom, as they are now, they sketch a golden swath of color across our front bank, truly magnificent.

Ken and Nancy, who live across the street are the best neighbors anyone could have. Three of their grandchildren are visiting now, and a couple of days ago they came onto our front deck. “What’s up, kids?” I asked them

Jake, the eldest, handed me an envelope, even as he was chattering away. “We’re sorry . . .about the flowers.”

Krista is a beautiful little girl with long black hair. Six years old, I think. Her face wore fright and sincere sorrow. She said nothing.

I opened the envelope and read the notes.

They’re allowed to play in our yard, and in the neighbors to our right, for their grandparent’s property has little flat ground. It seems they had started up a little business; selling daffodils to each other. Our daffodils, and Kerry’s who lives two houses away.

I told them it was okay, and that I knew they wouldn’t do it again. I really can’t even tell any of the flowers are missing. “Kerry thought it was a really bad thing,” Jake said in a defensive, little bit arrogant way.

A couple of days after this happened, as Jerry and I were walking back from the woods, I looked intently at Kerry’s yard. They have no daffodils. Every single flower is gone.

But Krista’s letter. Did you notice it? At the bottom, I believe she said, “Do you forgive me?”

I do. I hope Kerry does.

The Surprise Anniversary Dinner

“Don’t plan anything tomorrow,” Jerry had said to me the day before our anniversary. And yesterday, the big day, he told me his plans for us to go to a very fine restaurant in Lake Arrowhead. Our daughter Rebecca would be coming up around 2:30 and would join us for an early dinner.

So, a rather routine day found us eating bacon and eggs for breakfast, no lunch, just snacks here and there, and around noon I tackled a yard job of raking up pesky leaves from our multiple oak trees. I filled a large, heavy duty black bag, swept the stepping stones, hosed everything down, and watered all the plants in the back yard.

A bit after 2:00 Jerry and I were relaxing in the living room when Rebecca drove up and came in with her charming dog, Paisley, and a beautiful basket of strawberries, chocolate candy, and green beans she had picked up at a farmers market. We kissed and hugged and I read aloud the sweet card she had brought.

“Well, I suppose I’d better get dressed, ” I said some time later. I paused, then added, “I feel like ordering in McDonald’s.”  I grinned.

“Or pizza,” Jerry said.

We  looked at each other, snickered a bit, then I said, “Why don’t we do that! Nothing says we have to go out anywhere.” We had nothing to prove, no one to impress, and besides I could stay in my less than spectacular clothes, and my dusty feet would be just fine for a few more hours.

Rebecca looked up the number to the local pizza joint, Jerry pulled out a credit card, and over the phone we ordered our 62nd anniversary dinner. Rebecca and I made a salad, we grabbed drinks from the fridge, and carried our dishes and pizza carton to the back deck. We dined!

And kissed.

Rebecca smiled.

We watched as our finches joined in the celebration by chowing down on the seeds  they pull from the sock that swings from the deck rails. Nearby, hummingbirds swigged their sweet nectar. A beautiful, balmy summer day in the San Bernardino Mountains. Perfect setting for a significant meal.

The air grew chilly, a bit of wind picked up, so we moved inside. I took a carton of fine vanilla ice cream from the downstairs freezer. Rebecca poked about in the cabinets, found three decent cookies, cleaned the strawberries, then piled them on the ice cream I had plunked into three glass dishes. The Keurig gurgled, and whiffs of fresh, strong coffee swirled among the items of celebration.

“I’d better go,” Rebecca said. “Want to get down the mountain before dark.”

Thanks, hugs, kisses, good-byes to people and to dogs concluded the Buxton family celebration. How sweet it is.

 

An Unexpected Storm and Manzanita

Rain last night, accompanied by such lightening and thunder as we seldom see here in Crestline. Our forecast indicated a slight chance of rain, with no mention of thunderstorms. When I heard the first rumble, I looked across the living room and quizzically stared at Jerry. “Is that thunder?”

It was, and thus began the hours-long visual display of lightening, and the drum-like sound of the accompanying thunder.

Much earlier in the day, well before we drove away for our Sunday morning worship, Jerry and I had walked with Winston. On leaving the house, I saw that the light was glorious, carried my camera with me, and snapped these two shots of the men in my life.

Winston’s placid moments were to give way to sheer panic, though, when in the evening the thunderstorms moved in. He was terrified. Once when he went out in the back, a thunderbolt sounded so loudly, that he hid under the ground-level stairs and would not come up, necessitating my going down and carrying him into the house. He trembled for hours. Nothing we did seemed to calm him. He spent the night under our bed.

The storm raged for hours–throughout the night, and has continued today.

Between showers we took our Monday morning walk, and I snagged a treasure. I had eyed the gem from time to time as we walked between our house and the woods near Thousand Pines Camp; today I decided to take it home with me. The small manzanita branch was red, full of leaves, and when I bent to pick it up, I found it to be slightly attached to the earth on the side of the hill. With one firm tug, I uprooted the woody piece, and began the short drag to our house.

“What are you going to do with that?” (Guess who asked.)

“Oh, I’m not sure. Lay it around somewhere. Look how pretty it is.”

“You’re a sight dragging that branch down the street,” hubby sweetly noted.

Manzanita is beautiful wood, drought resistant, and our variety presents itself with  a rich mahogany color. My piece has small orange leaves and resides now on a table that sets on our front deck. Its final place will change over the course of the months and years, for despite its humble delivery to our home, the formation is suitable to anchor a centerpiece for the most formal of occasions, or to be plopped onto a rustic plank in the back yard for a picnic or a barbecue meal.

The storm is reluctant to leave. While I have composed this piece sitting on our living room couch with a small fire burning within a few feet of me, Winston is still hiding, for numerous showers accompanied by persistent thunderbolts and flashes of lightening continue to fill the air here in the beautiful San Bernardino Mountains.

A Day of Beauty

A couple of errands I needed to run led me traipsing about the majestic San Bernardino Mountains today, in particular through Crestline and Blue Jay, then into Lake Arrowhead. The weather was perfect; azure skies against which now are flung golden leaves and red and scarlet.

Along the roadway I traveled, a rusted truck stays parked. Today I noted a person near the pumpkins that were in the back of the truck, so I pulled in beside it to say a friendly hello to my fellow mountaineer. As I drew closer I was surprised to see other “persons” in the truck cab. They were of a friendly nature and didn’t seem to mind my snapping a few shots.

A splendid cabin set nearby, and once a young man walked close to me, and asked if I needed help. “No, just taking a few pictures. Thank you,” I replied.

“Have a good day, Ma’am.” He grinned and returned to his work.

Within a couple of hours I was home again. I’m quite interested in our world, try to stay abreast of what’s going on around me, and of course current news reports are jammed with accounts of our election progress. No one asked me, but I’ll tell you anyway; the whole thing is a mess. I’m sad at the depths to which our glorious country has fallen.

So . . .tonight I checked out of all that. Jerry built a roaring fire from eucalyptus wood our son Steve brought to us a few weeks ago. Indeed, it is glorious. The perfect ending to a beautiful day.

Day 12 of 16 with the Grands *Afternoon at Lake Arrowhead*

After Gentry finished his schoolwork, and after we had eaten lunch, I loaded the three youngsters in the car and we drove to Lake Arrowhead Village. We walked the entire mall, in and out of stores, spent some time down by the water, played around in a small park there, and ended our spree with a stop at McDonald’s for drinks.

“Take my picture here,” Cole said.

Little sweet rascal.

Others visitors were there.

The day was magnificent.

Lake Arrowhead, spectacular as always.End of the outing: McFlurries

Turban Squash, the Woods, and Us

Although we do not have as large stands of color as is seen in wooded areas in the midwest and in the eastern parts of the United States, the San Bernardino mountains where we live do boast some rather spectacular scenery this time of the year. Our alpine forests gleam, their deep green splashed here and there with swathes of red and gold that when illuminated by slants of autumn light are little short of spectacular.

Jerry decided to go with me last Friday when I said I wanted to tromp through some areas around here hoping to get a few good photographs. The hour was toward noon before we left, so I whipped up a couple of fine sandwiches, filled a slim thermos with freshly brewed coffee and snagged from the cupboards a hand-full of fun-size candy bars. Winston made three of us.

A few weeks ago when i bought pumpkins and other fallish items to create a display near our entrance door, included in my purchases was a turban squash which was so beautiful that I moved it into our house and set it on a chair in the study. I loved the way those two simple items looked. Then I envisioned them set among thin weeds in the woods.

I carried the chair and the squash to our trusty Jeep. i drove, looking for the perfect spot.

I stood on one of the highest reaches of Crestline when I snapped this picture which affords a stunning glimpse of highway 18 winding its way from the valley floor into these mountain communities. But it was when we drove down a canyon trail that I found the spot.

I moved the chair about until I found the right place with the best light. . . .and then it was as I imagined.

The temperature hovered around 40 degrees, a bit chilly for an authentic picnic, so as we sat inside the car, we ate the delicious ham sandwiches and drank the steamy coffee. Winston sat on the console between us, looking from one to the other as he begged with his round glossy eyes.

Not one car came by us on the canyon road as we lived out the afternoon squash/picnic/photography spree.

A beautiful spot with streaming light lay across the trail. I moved the chair, and when Jerry and Winston had sat down in it, I shot the final photo of the day

Mountain Prowling with Winston

On Thursday I went to the dentist twice! Broken tooth, crown problem! Bad news. $$$

Friday we had a couple of workmen scheduled to be at our home; one who could clean carpets, the other who would caulk around our large windows off the front deck.

“I think Winston and I will be gone,” I told Jerry. “We’ll prowl around the mountains, do a little leaf-chasing, shops . . . such as that.”

We did, and though I never forget, the day’s sights caused me to remember again how blessed I am to live in this stunning part of the world.

Lake Arrowhead seen from North Shore Road.

Over the blue water and the marina below the magnificent tree beside which I stood extended a slender limb laced with orange and yellow leaves.

Winston wore his red tie to celebrate as we made our rounds.

Ah. A couple of hours such as these make it easier to endure the painful, mundane, unwelcome parts of life. Clears our thinking, focuses our vision, eases the tremble of our hand and of our soul.

God made it. Spoke the word. There it stands.