Friday, April 05, 2019

Diana Lane is not a person, but a pathway through a natural rocky area. Creating it required several years of diligent labor. The photo above shows the part covered in wood chips that begins on my property. Up ahead and around a slight curve, it connects with Starkey Lane, on my neighbor’s property.

The entire Diana Lane soon will receive a cover of identifying red cinder rock to match Starkey Lane. The red cinder rock will unify lane sections and make everything pretty.

Creating Diana Lane has required digging and moving numerous lava rocks, those that could be dug from the ground. The remaining rocks are solid bedrock, unalterable without dynamite but level-enough to ground, and not particularly bothersome.

In previous springs when wet weather made this hard high desert ground more easily dig-able, I worked with shovels, crowbars, and used a tow strap attached to my Gater to budge huge rocks. By rolling massive rocks onto a sled, I found the Gater could tow away the biggest.

I didn’t undertake this project because I’m crazy, oh no, unless owning horses is crazy (well, maybe so). A need arose from wanting to lead my three equines by foot from my property to a neighbor’s pasture. Avoiding a possibility of meeting vehicles in the neighborhood meant having an off-road path to Starkey Lane. The rest is history.

This spring, with the lanes finally covered in red cinder rock, this project will be a wrap. I won’t again need to hand-lead horses until next winter, as this spring’s new grass is too sugary for pasture hours. But this safe pathway is handy for a horse-pulled cart, leaving the property and then returning, once we’re again driving.

Friends, have a wonderful day, Diana.

Thursday, April 04, 2019

While out running around looking for signs of spring, I paused to fill the horses’ watering troughs and spotted goldfish for the first time this year. Until now, it’s been so cold they’ve mostly stayed below under the heating mechanism and out of sight. But they’re still alive, healthy and thriving.

These fish, some now as much as five or six years old, began their lives in my troughs as former “feeder fish”–small mixed goldfish types that pet stores sell for feeding larger predatory species. Early on, it was a surprise to find they could live long and well in the troughs. They stay warm in winters by hanging out near the heaters, dive low when the horses dip in to drink, and come up for sunshine and float near the top when its safe.

I feed the fish during brief periods when their trough newly is cleaned and its water changed. A couple or three times annually, a trough’s insides are scrubbed clean of algae, which is the fishes’ main food, and so, I supplement. The fishes also get treats from birds perched on a trough edge to dip and soften their catches, sometimes dropping in a little protein.

When a fish looks unwell but saveable, I take it into the house awhile to keep and observe in a little aquarium. As last winter began getting cold, one trough heater failed and I became concerned for its fish. So, through this winter they’ve been insiders.

Before long, it’ll be trough cleaning time and these will go home again.

Aside from the surprise of learning that these little throw-away fish can live for a long time in a confined, relatively unattended environment, another has been discovering that one can become attached to the critters. They grow in varying shades of red, some solid, others splotched, some have long, flowing fins. All are beautiful and they get along well together.

Once these insiders go back home, I’ll add a couple of underwater frogs to the aquarium. I’ve become very interested in frogs.

Readers, thanks for joining me this morning, have a great day. Diana

Wednesday, April 03, 2019

Another day of drizzle, as background to my sad mood from suffering a shingles shot that turned my entire body into a massive ache, that felt like the beforehand of a whale of a cold. By late afternoon and feeling more like myself, I ventured outside to see how these several days of rare, slow rain might have altered appearances. Of course, our rain coming on the heels of three weeks of deep standing snow, recently melted, has transformed the high desert into an environment that seemed to my thirsty soul nearly oasis-like.

Here’s a close-by of that view taken only a month ago, when to reach this spot near the barn required snowblowing a path downward some one hundred feet from my house. Happily, this spring has provided our desert-like environment with nearly adequate moisture reserves.

A natural element here of great interest to me are lichens that are abundant in this rocky area, the aftermath of ancient volcanic explosions. I’ve learned that, similar to our understanding of frog populations in watery environments, lichens are early indicators to an ecosystem’s overall health. They’re very sensitive to pollutants and changes in air quality, and whether the growths flourish or disappear is an important indicator.

In this unusually wet weather, our locals express a mix of complaints and appreciations. Late yesterday, while out on a couple of errands, I listened to a fellow at the feed store speaking of his love for and dislike of this spring’s onslaught of moisture. When a lady at the grocery questioned my feelings about the rain, my response was mixed, sort of like the feed store guy’s.

Finally coming home, I glimpsed gorgeous sights: swollen tree trunk barks with outstretched dripping limbs, distinctive rocks surrounded by hints of greenery, reflected lights in moisture everywhere. This is a brief respite, it’ll soon end and we’ll head into the dry summer heat that’s not intolerable in the high desert.

Friends, today will be lovely, for being outside, looking around, and enjoying. Diana

Tuesday, April 2, 2019

The rain fell all day and night, it continues this morning. For a change, that’s okay, for I feel under the weather, and blame my stiff, sore body on the shingles vaccine that I received yesterday. That was a second dose and much worse than the first. The rain will be an appropriate background for me staying inside and dozing in front of the telly.

When I feel blah, I think about one of my favorite people, Kate Rockwell, who incidentally lived in Central Oregon. A brave go-getter, she made a fortune entertaining gold miners in Alaska’s early days–and her own early days (she was about 18). A love affair went wrong, and after losing lost all her savings to the charlatan, she drifted south to Oregon. Someday, I’ll write about Kate; meanwhile, on this, my down day, she’s a powerful role model.

Her courage will help me suffer through that annoying vaccine. Maybe the shot makes others feel poorly, too, and it’s expensive, not covered by insurance–maybe because it’s a prevention and not a cure. Developed in 2017, it replaces an earlier vaccine which many (including me) already had received. This new version is touted to be something like 65-percent more effective, and doctors recommend that we go for it.

The two required injections of the new shingles vaccine must be administered at least six months apart. I don’t recall even noticing the first dose, but could feel the second shot in about six hours from unexpected pain at my shoulder’s injection site. This morning, all my joints ache while I’m moving stiffly.

I tell myself that this bit of misery beats an attack of shingles, a painful blistering disease that often recurs. So, bring on the rain! I’ll be snuggling with a dog under a heated blanket, catching up with Netflix, and making plans to blog about Klondike Kate.

Dear Friends: This new vaccine isn’t as bad as coping with the disease. Diana

Monday, April 01, 2019

I’m an fan of Charlotte Bronte, a wonderful writer. Her novel, Jane Eyre, was England’s earliest published work by a woman. Her imaginings arose in remote English moors where she lived, the eldest of four brilliant siblings. Her incredible ability to put mental images into words elevated her to international acclaim. Charlotte wasn’t her family’s lone artist. All the Bronte children could write. Her younger sister, Emily, a writer equally good to Charlotte, imagined relationships differently. Their skills got me into studying the Brontes, and they’re fascinating stories.

Another early English writer I enjoyed, Elizabeth Glaskell, was fascinated by Charlotte Bronte and made a point to get to know the young writer. Mrs. Gaskell developed a friendship with the shy Charlotte and wrote about her at length. In one description, she destailed Charlotte’s lifelong habit of standing in the moors, and at length, silently staring into the sky, studying clouds to evaluate weather patterns. In those days, there was no other way to forecast weather. I remember, from reading this years ago, and today incorporate Charlotte’s habit into my own life.

The high desert in Central Oregon is a place of forests, mountains, sky, and clouds. The mountains influence incoming weather by altering patterns sweeping in from the west. Their peaks capture winds, changing and funneling them toward this high desert; they capture rains on high, freezing and turning them into our snows. Central Oregon’s mountains, constantly interacting with weather, make overhead skies especially fascinating during seasonal changes.

Now silently, I stand watching the skies and often thinking of Charlotte.

Dear Readers, It’s April! And finally, spring. Diana

Sunday, March 31, 2019

For me, summer really arrives once the Mountain Chickadees arrive again in this area. I love the little songbirds, packages of great energy with distinctive feathering, and above all, with a distinctive, charming field call, “Hi-ya, ba-be.”

They create enticing background music to my horseback rides in BLM and forestlands, and as I hang around or do work on my property. I sing, too, and mimic back, “Hiya, baby!”

Regardless that our end-of-winter nutsy weather brings alternating days of freeze, snow, rain, or sunshine, it’s officially spring when the Chickadees start showing up on my feeders.

These forest birds, primarily insect eaters, love sunflower seeds and nuts. In my feeder, the birds and their buddies work very hard to release the large nuts that are bound together by hardened peanut butter. Their diligence and determination, worthy of admiration, are in contrast to their instant flights at slightest disturbances.

Tomorrow begins a new month, and as these birds sing in the background, it’s time to transition beyond any first glimmerings of our new warmth, and now, start preparing for months ahead of dependable summertime and the activities that warm weather invites.

Dear Friends, Appreciate and hold in wonder the fabulous birds that tell us much. Diana

Saturday, March 30, 2019

After referring a person who’s new to Bend to our local Bi-Mart store, I started thinking about why I like to shop there. It’s an experience maybe akin to moving around at home in a robe and scuffing in slippers. For years, I’ve been a Bi-Mart fan. It’s an Oregon chain that encourages folks to roam in comfort. The Bend store, a little small and crowded with merchandise, seems like a very-mini Costco–an attraction for those who prefer one-stop shopping trips.

Most Bi-Mart shoppers are from middle- to old-age, pretty sure what they’re looking for, and Bi-Mart understands their needs. Folks who work there are friendly about answering questions and helping to find items. The store carries common household goods, like storage supplies, paper products, selected animal care items, some canned goods and candy. It has specific-need aisles, like automotive, electrical, hunting/camping, electronic, gardening, and cosmetics. Oh, yes, wine, beer, and children’s toys.

Sometimes (especially during winter), I need to escape my house and defuse in a low-pressure environment. That may mean browsing in Bi-Mart, slow-walking through its aisles, and not wanting products but observing the store’s merchandise and how it reveals the local social environment. Its specificity to customer needs tells lots about this small city, a community of recently-arriving retirees and entrenched old-timers–folks with long-time hobbies and habits who live live in-town or out on acreages.

Yesterday, I went shopping and left Bi-Mart with a 10# bag of russet potatoes (wasn’t looking for potatoes, but at $1.99….), cans of my favorite chicken noodle soup, bags of northwestern-specialty ground coffee, horse mineral supplement, and oyster shell grit for my racing pigeon, plus horse-worming tubes and Melita cone filters. A variety haul, from a single store! Plus, no concerns while shopping about being caught in public wearing ancient field-worn jeans and dry-lot clodhoppers.

That store fulfills a wide variety of needs.

Dear Friends, Enjoy this beautiful spring day. Diana

Friday, March 29, 2019

I’m occasionally plagued with nighttime Charley horses, or involuntary cramps that suddenly seize leg muscles and make either moving or not moving the leg painful. The intense pain that lasts long nearly is impossible to control. I’ve heard of instant solutions for leg seizures, like putting into one’s mouth a some mustard, salt, pickle juice, or black molasses. I’ve saved restaurant packets of mustard in a nightstand drawer, but upon a Charley horse hit, the pain prevents my shifting around to reach that mustard. No telling how folks keep handy such as salt and pickle juice.

My best solution has been to suffer while trying to move my legs enough to get out of bed. Once standing on the pained leg, my weight seems to relax muscles enough to walk, and moving helps most. Charley horses aren’t frequent enough for me to dwell on ways to prevent them; and between seizures I forget they occur. But also, I’ve begun experiencing occasional hand cramps, where one or two fingers seize, stiffen, and feel slightly painful. It helps to wave vigorously and massage frozen fingers with my working hand.

Recently, while at my part-time job in Costco, I overheard customers discussing the benefits of consuming small quantities of unfiltered vinegar and claiming it eliminates their joint pains. I wondered if routinely swallowing some of the vinegar might prevent my leg and hand cramps.

As one of the customers suggested, I poured two ounces into a shot glass and tried to down the vinegar quickly. It’s a vile-tasting liquid that burned in my throat and irritated beyond. For a couple of nights, I tolerated this procedure. Meanwhile, I cringed with every glance at that waiting bottle in my kitchen. I wasn’t cramping, so was it working? Is that evening drink worthwhile?

Yesterday, while contemplating another go with the vinegar, I wondered if mixing it with a different liquid could make the drinking easier. But what to disguise it? And then, I remembered weeks ago stashing in the garage a couple of bottles that I brought home. I believe in the product, which was on sale, it’s supposed to help inflammation, increase strength, and reduce muscle soreness. But it has a very bitter taste.

Could combining two awfuls create a less-awful? That question was paramount as I poured a shotglass of vinegar into a cup of cherry juice. Closing my eyes, I quickly glugged, and yes!, the combo tasted less awful.

Whether I continue downing this combination will depend on non-recurrences of cramping, and particularly Charley horses. I’m not recommending to anybody this experiment with a possible home remedy; but if it prevents future cramps, I’ll share the news.

Dear Friends, Thanks for journeying with me to wherever. Diana

Thursday, March 28, 2019

Up in the Cascades and under a moody sky, the mountains may be invisible in a huge space of sky with distant cinder cones. It’s a powerful view compelling attention and inspiring imagination. These elements, in a conflicted sky straight out of Wuthering Heights, seem brooding and anxiety-causing.

It’s a view that distinguishes Central Oregon’s high desert, an environment merely a stone’s throw from the west side of those mountains. Over there are lush forests, gushing rivers, and meandering streams. Typically, travelers heading toward either side of the Cascades wind up in very different worlds. West of the Cascades they’re in damp greenery, and here in the east in sandy, dry desert.

Then on days like yesterday, spring weather blots all our senses. Starting in early morning and for about five hours, we in the high desert were on the receiving end of heavy snow. Shortly after snow ended, the rain began and continued on and off for most of what remained of the day. But before everything was over, there were ten or fifteen minutes of hard hail. Most of that day, everything over in the west was invisible; nothing existed except one’s small island of home.

It’s only another transition to spring, we tell ourselves while holding a cup of coffee and waiting for the weather to settle. When it’s quiet enough to go outside, we’re once again into a quiet world, finding ourselves in slippery mud, but at least not icy snow.

The horses are wet and hungry. We stand at the far barn door, listening to their comforting munching and looking to the west, hoping for a sight of mountains.

Dear Readers, Have a lovely day. Diana

Wednesday, March 27, 2019

Recent writings by a couple of my favorite bloggers has me considering more signs of spring than searching for new greenery and emerging plants. Those springs behind us are memories, and those ahead are spring-like visions. Anyway, I started thinking about my stash of Wedgewood Bone China. Its pattern, “Campion” depicts flowers of the “pink family”, pink and white with notched pedals.

Many years ago, while in England on business for about a month, I decided to acquire some real English pottery and for weeks searched, examining carefully the patterns on every bit of porcelain I came across. All I knew about bone china was that it’s pretty to look at and not heavy to handle. I enjoyed the idea of drinking from cups that allow natural light to shine through. I returned often to the Campion pattern, which was problematic, for it wasn’t highly popular and not easily obtainable in the U.S. Anyway, I went for it, had a set shipped home to California.

Unfortunately, the package arrived (finally!) with many broken pieces, and by the way, a lesson-learned. Nevertheless, I had enough pieces to support embracing tea-drinking as I’d done overseas. Over time, teas became secondary to trends like Starbucks and emerging better coffees. Eventually, my purchase of a Keurig sent the Wedgewood into semi-storage–in a glass display case, where often I paused to look at it.

Sometimes I’d remove a piece of the china and look closely, wondering what had attracted me in the first place. I still loved the pattern, and oddly, it didn’t occur to me that its strength was related to the subject of spring. That’s the unfortunate way of a working city girl, who neither gardens nor nor much breathes deeply in natural surroundings.

It wasn’t accidental that upon retiring, I changed my intense, focused life for one that’s semi-rural, casual, and smack in the middle of Oregon. Only after retiring did I become involved with nature, which unexpectedly arose from my impulse to acquire a horse. My horse carried me on local trails and high in the mountains, where for the first time, I moved in oceans of wildflowers and smelled varying airs of the seasons.

This morning, I pulled out a Campion mug, examined more closely its pattern and could see spring itself. After all these years, I reached into myself and experienced more than a delicate arrangement of pretty florals. I could see and feel the season ahead.

And now, I raise a coffee-filled Campion mug in salute to those bloggers who’ve encourage me to reconsider old perceptions. I’ll appreciate more this oncoming Spring, thanks to an unknown and talented pottery artist, who’s sweet signs of what’s ahead are in my sights.

Dear Readers: Renewing old perceptions takes time, effort, and focus. Diana