Tuesday, July 16, 2019

Oh, the joy of it all, an outing on a magnificent afternoon. The dogs reveling in the pleasure of unexpected freedom and me carrying a camera. Throughout, ours was a nearly perfect world soaked in drifting clouds, sunshine, and flowers.

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My primary goal was to capture changes in the summer landscape, its emerging wildflowers and seasonal critters. It was easy to find plentiful stands of Queen Anne’s Lace, which I love, and dragonflies busy doing their work.

On outings, the dogs are joyous, funny, and rarely under my feet. I never tire of seeing my hound dog, Ranger, racing in search of rabbits with the forces of energy pushing against his floppy ears.

Sometimes, it’s possible to capture beautiful Miles. He’s very fast, always busy, enjoys tracking along by running, full-out and away on the outskirts of our travel path. He disappears behind plentiful rabbit brushes and bitterbrushes too quickly for this camera-handler.

And there’s the always photogenic Osix. She won’t let herself get too far ahead of me; but on the other hand, completely disappears upon deciding arbitrarily to return to and hang out in our vehicle (Miles shares that tendency and I leave the hatch door open for them). This photo shows all the dogs (together, not easy to capture), in typical formation with Miles leading, followed by Ranger and Louie. Osix, has broken ranks and hurries back to make sure I’m still following.

A lovely spontaneous hour or so. In a natural environment with a handful of dogs and lots of sheer pleasure.

Dear Friends: This unusually-cool late July is perfect summer weather. Diana

Monday, July 15, 2019

It’s frustrating to find myself facing a dangling problem–like now, trying to pull from the ground a fence stump that catches and damages mower blades. I’ve a resource for lifting and removing this stump, but it’s a tool, long-not-seen. I’ve looked around and it’s disappeared. One summer, the tool helped me remove several post stumps that were the worst, and now finally, between terrain changes and equipment usages, other stumps have turned into problems.

I’m stymied by a locked-in-the-ground stump. This distressful situation forces me toward unplanned property care. A job I prefer to avoid is cleaning the tack room. Now, I must clear its contents and reorganize a jumble that could be hiding my stump-lifting tool. Tack room cleaning, a whole day job, means shifting through zillions of bits and pieces, to weigh the value of, categorize, and re-shelf. Worst, maybe the anti-stump tool ages-ago got moved elsewhere!

This opens up a chain of time-consuming efforts. Some tack room items should be stored in other, more logical places, which of course will lack space for them. This will force expanded cleaning out to reorganize and move things. It’ll also lead to a major, entire house-cleaning. To be clear, I’m for cleaning! There’s little more satisfying than having a clean tack room, clean storage sheds, and above all, a clean house interior. But with much routine maintenance to accomplish (weather permitting), there’s little time for the luxury of finding or creating proper spaces for everything.

It makes sense to leave the bastard post stump in place, and instead, put my time into resolving other more easily dispatched problems.

Dear Friends: Yet, it won’t quit bugging me–that stump lifter, where is it! Diana

Sunday, July 14, 2019

My friend, Linda, who for many years lived in Central Oregon, moved away last summer. She’s still going through boxes of stuff, over time collected, and recently sent me a book, Desert Sage Memories, published in 2002. It’s filled with the memories of many Central Oregon oldtimers.

In the early 1900s, this region, located in the heart of a virgin Ponderosa forest, became a dream site for the logging industry’s promoters. They worked hard to encourage the building of a railroad from Hood River to Bend, and after 1910, that rail line now completed enabled major sawmills to build production sites in Central Oregon. They thrived, producing and shipping worldwide.

Central Oregon became a destination for folks seeking adventures and opportunities. Many of the area’s long-time household names arrived here in the 19-teens, twenties, and thirties. Many associated to the mills became affluent, while others farmed, ranched, or hard-scrabbled to make ends meet.

In a story entitled, “The Rancher and The Nurse”, its key characters, Catherine and Priday Holmes, married in 1936. She was a city girl from Portland with a nursing degree. He owned ranch land in Black Butte and described their early life together as an adjustment for her. He explains that the “big house had no electricity, no running water, and no central heating. They used kerosene lamps and a hand pump cistern from a sink, or carried pails of water from the water ditch at the water supply. There were four wood-burning heating stoves and a huge kitchen range complete with water warming reservoir on the side. On the cool side of the kitchen was a 12×14-foot pantry with one-foot thick walls filled with sawdust for insulation. Foodstuffs were stored from floor to ceiling. Laundry was done with a Maytag gas-operated washing machine that had to be run on the open back porch because of the fumes.” He adds that they “raised [their] family on the ranch and stayed in that big house until [they] moved to Redmond in 1963.”

An adjustment for her, indeed. In those days, having the patience to deal with hardships and to keep learning fostered hopefulness, or goals of getting ahead and realizing the American Dream. Many stories in the book are from folks with names today adorning Central Oregon buildings, streets, and public lands. Maybe the history of Bend and its surroundings fascinate because there truly existed a national belief in the American Dream. Today, fewer Americans are certain it’s holding true.

Dear Friends: The magnificent Industrial Age fostered social progress and hope. Diana

Saturday, July 13, 2019

So, I decided to have some extra fun with Sunni and drive her in a BLM-like area under local power lines. The area’s rocky entrance bounces my cart and almost unseats me, so I look down focusing on the wheels and path. When Sunni hesitated, I looked up. A small herd of cows at a nearby fence stock-still staring at us. Sunni’s reins communicated near-explosive tension. If she took off, wheels on those rocks would toss me from the cart.

I spoke softly, “just walk” and thank heavens, she did, while closely eyeing those cattle, which didn’t move. I thought about riding Sunni in years past and felt grateful for occasionally having had her near grazing cattle in herds. Simultaneously, I felt most thankful that the pulling horse was my solid Sunni. Her sister, Rosie, might have leaped into action, as if having spotted Cerce’s aggressive sister, Paisphae, six-headed and with mouthfuls of teeth long as a man’s leg.

Driving a horse is more dangerous than riding. The driver is sitting in a vehicle, about a dozen feet behind the horse, and applying control with long reins. Success rests on a horse’s experience and temperament, a vehicle’s overall stability, and how expertly one handles 12-foot reins.

Only once has Sunni been a challenge, and then, not much of one. Our path went past a couple of penned spotted goats. Upon our appearance, the goats were stationary, but suddenly moved surprising the horse. Sunni turned our cart around, and then, immediately stopped and stood still.

Many times, Sunni and I have driven under the local power lines. We’ve entered and passed that large fenced area without seeing another living being. A lesson for me is to keep one eye up while focusing the other on our pathway. Another is to explore, in my Gater, a new area, for anything potentially frightening, before driving Rosie there.

Dear Friends: Success is a mixed bag, and one must keep trying. Diana

Friday, July 12, 2019

Three days ago, toward evening, I spotted resting on my wooden garage door what appeared to be a giant moth. It had taken refuge for the evening, didn’t even budge as the door rolled up and down. I’m accustomed to seeing insects resting, but never before one nearly a couple of inches long. Here are two views of that moth.

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The next day, I visited a local feed store. On its outside stuccoed wall rested a group of similar large moths. My curiosity grew and I photographed a few.

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I’m no expert on butterflies and moths. In fact, only since retiring to Central Oregon and living on a few acres, has this former city gal found myself looking, closely and thoughtfully, at tiny wildlife. Although this particular example, as species go, isn’t exactly tiny.

Research suggests there are about 150,000 species of moths in the world, and there are about 1200 species in the PWN. These local biggies might be Alfalfa Loopers (common to California), Morning-glory prominents (common to Oregon), or maybe others that look similar with different names. Research explains that moths and butterflies mostly consume liquids, or foods from sources that have begun rotting and are liquefying.

Now these insects have captured my attention, and I must go and try to learn which is who and which is what. One resource will be a recent book which identifies insects and also focuses on PNW moths.

I admit to living with a good dose of obsessional-compulsive behavior. It’s what drives me to move forward and learn. Besides, with increasing information about the environment and its importance, even the smallest creatures take on very large status.

Dear Friends: You will share in the key parts of this learning journey. Diana

Thursday, July 11, 2019

Yesterday, I became slightly lost en route to Lebanon on a route I’ve often traveled. I skipped a turnoff at Mill City, a big mistake, for on mountain highways there’s little space for turning around a truck and large horse trailer. It was ten miles past Mill City before I could turn around and try by memory (no GPS signals) to find the road to Scio. After missing a beat or two, I managed to get it right, arriving in Lebanon barely with time to unload and harness a horse to drive.

That horse was Rosie. She, Megan (our trainer), and I went directly onto the streets and began working. Rosie started by jigging nervously on the strange road (with deep culverts on each side). Megan coached me to prevent the horse’s half-trotting and attempts to drift from side to side. I had to move Rosie steadily and keep her in the road’s center, away from the culverts. Once I had Rosie dependably listening, I asked for a trot, and again, worked to keep her in the road’s center. Rosie gave way to passing cars, she’s accustomed to vehicles and their noises.

But, uh oh, the boogeyman, a bridge! She stopped abruptly, tried turning us around. Oh, Rosie! Bridge avoidance is one of your favorite pushy tricks. Back in the days when I rode horseback, she and I worked through this same bossy behavior. Now with Megan’s direction, I pushed Rosie to continue and to cross the bridge. Soon we turned around and crossed again without a problem. To be sure, we repeated this crossing sequence several times.

Now, having had some exercise, Rosie perfectly trotted the mile or so back to the barn. What a rascal! She’d make all the decisions. Well, Rosie, that ain’t gonna happen. You’ll keep listening, and we’ll have more adventures.

Otherwise, all went well. As usual in Sunni’s session, she performed perfectly. When finally, once loaded and headed home, we smoothly found our way via Scio and Mill City.

Dear Friends: Rosie will become the fine driving partner she’s meant to be. Diana

Wednesday, July 10, 2019

With the horses, I’m heading over the mountains to Lebanon, and this time, will take a longer route by traveling through Scio. It’s been years since we’ve gone in that direction, but now, a friend is buying a home in Scio. This motivates me to look again at that lovely little town surrounded by covered bridges and large bee hives. I hope to capture some of its charm with a camera.

Otherwise of course, our purpose for this trip is to have a couple of sessions with our driving trainer. With Rosie hitched, we’ll practice driving on the streets, and with Sunni hitched, we’ll practice driving accurately and rapidly through a complex cones maze (without hitting a single cone).

A big show is coming up, at Inavale Farms (near Lebanon). I don’t feel ready to compete, but next summer Sunni and I will enter. Sunni is a solid-as-a-rock performer, she’s ready to go. But Rosie’s rehabilitation has captured too much attention and energy for me to focus on driving competitively. So, next year!

Dear Friends, What might have been–had I ignored that whim for a horse! Diana

Tuesday, July 09, 2019

I’ve written about the effort it’s taken to rehabilitate Rosie from an old leg injury that negatively had affected her gaits. Over the last months, her wellness and strength have improved and she’s taught me more about driving. Rosie has a mind of her own and handling her requires self-assurance. We assuaged her physical discomfort through medicine and regular exercise until she became strong enough to be hitched, and I could start driving her around in the dry lot. Rosie is a high-energy horse and until my driving confidence grew, I lacked the courage to drive her out onto the neighborhood’s paved streets.

We’ve come a long way, for these days Rosie pulls me through the streets without spooking or misbehaving. She needs a technically-strong driver, to keep her from looking around and moving the carriage as she would. I must focus on keeping her head in a forward position–not letting her look around and twist–and in keeping her direction straight, without repeated waverings from the street’s side, to its middle, or where she wants to trot.

As I drive Rosie, our trainer’s oft-repeated words sound in my head: “Thumbs up, hands parallel, elbows back, shoulders relaxed.” These technicalities work because Rosie notices and responds to my reins. But now, we’re ready for more help.

This week, when Rosie and I travel our trainer, in Lebanon, she’ll be our passenger on the streets and will coach my driving in real-time, helping me understand how to improve in our progress. I’ve learned through Rosie, that while a horse is essential in the driving experience, equally so is a driver’s handling skills.

I’m looking forward to this on-the-road session.

Dear Friends, It’s a dream-come-true, driving this interesting, talented Rosie. Diana

Monday, July 08, 2019

Often, while working at Costco and taking breaks, I’m at the books display. Weeks ago, I saw a recent translation of The Odyssy, by Emily Wilson, professor of classical studies at U Pa. If I could relive life as I wish, I’d have become immersed in a specific area of the literary world. Over time, I’ve done this casually by becoming an armchair expert on the poetry of Emily Dickinson, Jane Austin, and Edna St. Vincent Millay. I couldn’t resist bringing home Wilson’s Odyssey.

While working through her version of Homer’s poem, another recent book popped to my attention. It re-visualizes the mythological Odyssy character, Circe, by Madeline Miller, a classical scholar (who like Wilson) lives in PA.

In Homer’s poem, Circe, a daughter of the god Helios and the nymph Perse, grows into a beautiful goddess of magic who eventually has a complex affair with Odysseus. In Miller’s Circe, we follow, in first person narrative, the goddesses’ life from birth onward.

Most striking about Miller’s accomplishment is letting her reader sense the reality of Circe’s life and thoughts, and also recognizing that Circe is a dreamy, physically shapeless myth, like all else in that world–gods, goddesses, and landscapes. Miller forces a reader’s brain to shift from a character’s reality in thoughts, ambitions, and interactions–to its dreamlike, non-physicality. I’m astonished how well this narrative reflects typically common conflicts in human perceptions.

Of course, that’s why ancient mythology forever lives and captures imaginations. Regardless of what anyone perceives about today’s mishmosh of politics and sociology, this is a time of wonderful artistic creativity. Artists have the freedom and courage to look anew at things, and the modern rapid technology to share their visions with the world.

Dear Friends, Humbly, “courage, freedom, technology” also includes blogging. Diana

Sunday, July 07, 2019

My trio of African Dwarf Goats consists of a mom, Sego Lily, and her twins, Breeze and Poppy. The twins were born in 2009, and mom (a rescue from a goat herd) is of undetermined age and also now arthritic. They began living with me when the twins were six months old. Over the years, the three have participated in parades, and otherwise, shared a large pen with several hens. The goats protect and occasionally provide transportation for the hens, who in turn care for the goats by plucking bugs from their coats and cleaning the corners of their eyes.

This gentle group adores feeding times when grains arrive to supplement the less exciting rations. The goats clamor around a common feeding bucket–eating, head-butting, and pushing one another–while the hens keep wedging-in to grab grains.

Supposedly, goats like to eat grass but mine typically don’t have grasses available. A few years ago, my neighbor Frank opened his grassy field to my goats. They seemed uncomfortable about being free in an unaccustomed large space. They didn’t appear to know they were supposed to like grass. They simply followed me around, in what became a failed experiment, and eagerly returned to their own pen, where they’ve happily remained.

This summer, unusually high rainfalls resulted in bunches of weeds–and worst of all, the despised Russian Thistle (a big tumbleweed with stickers). My grounds aren’t dry enough to spray weeds, so I’ve spent time riding a mower, which became troublesome and went to a repair shop. I worried about the remaining high weeds in a fenced quarter acre that’s reserved for my dogs. I decided to prevent the dogs entering that area, and instead, teach the goats to enter and rid it of weeds. I got the goats from their normal environment by rattling a bucket with grain, which they willingly followed, and in the dogs’ area, dived-in to eat and head-but. But upon finishing and finding themselves in a strange place. Uh Oh!

They tried to follow me by running along the fence, or appeal to me by huddling against the fence. Meanwhile, they eagerly were nibbling on weeds and giving me hopes for success.

I was scheduled to work for only a few hours, and so, left the goats to think and adjust to changes. When I arrived home, they were happy to see me and not noisily complaining. They were beyond delighted upon hearing rattles, and spotting a grain bucket that invited them to follow it home. They did, and in their pen eagerly chowed down.

That was a start, and today, we’ll repeat the process. This couldn’t have happened earlier, for the special area fencing only recently was installed. It’s proved a wonderful space for the dogs, and now at times, will provide a safe alternative place for the goats, where they can freely and really, “be goats”.

Dear Friends, I’m mowerless, and with a renewed appreciation & love for goats. Diana