Fuchsia Farmgirl

Who doesn't  like a flamboyant fuchsia?

Sue loves fuchsias.

I like fuchsias a lot.

Sue's fuchsia hangs from the tower balcony    

The building of the house out on The Pilchuck was not of keen interest for Sue. But where she really got enthusiastic was when the garden and landscape concepts were being discussed.

Knowing her interests, I made sure that in her final days of her summer visit that we indulged in some fancy, flamboyant fuchsia farming. We motored into Stanwood to the farms supply store, found some bedraggled potted fuchsias. I picked up some eye-bolts to screw into the underside of the beams supporting the tower balcony. The lady was excited to get a trowel in hand and do some dirt work, filling the two hanging baskets and replanting the flowers.

With a smile on her face and sandy loam grit in her teeth, she was all atwitter to do some dirty work for the festive fuchsia baskets that had just found a happy home.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

My fuchsia farmgirl in her natural element. 

Oh, you know who else adores fuchsias? Hummingbirds! 

With the flowering and thriving baskets hanging outside my office window, I can often look up and out the window and see a hummingbird drinking the nectar.

I have come to love fuchsias.

Ride the Rails for the Return

 Come by car. 

Return by train.

Inga choses her passage via rail on her return to Portland

Inga and Sean had come north on the Interstate in their Subaru. Sean stayed for a couple of days and then returned solo while Inga lingered with he folks out in the country. Since Sean had driven himself the 200 miles back to Portland, Inga chose to ride the rails for her return to Sean after a couple of days.

Inga had booked passage on Amtrak, boarding in Stanwood, WA, only a few miles from my house at The Pilchuck.

The north-bound train rolls through Stanwood Station first. A few people board, perhaps heading to Vancouver, BC?

We wait a few minutes for the arrival of the south-bound train. Inga, along with about eight other passengers have their tickets punched, or their phone apps scanned and are escorted onboard by the conductor.

The seating is almost all taken already by the time she boards in tiny Stanwood, a few disembark further down the line. Some passengers get off in Everett and Seattle, while more come aboard trying to find a seat on the south traveling train.

In a matter of a few minutes, it's "All aboard!" and the train has left the station. Inga enjoyed the journey home to Portland where Sean was waiting for her.

Riding the rails is easy from The Pilchuck.

Oyster Bar Outing

 Along Chuckanut Drive, a narrow, winding ribbon of pavement carved out of the sandstone cliffs that hang above the salt water of Samish Bay, is the fine dining experience of the Oyster Bar. Sue and I discovered this place on a blustery, icy  late afternoon January day in 2022. We stopped in on a lark, ready to splurge on an adventure. We were underdressed for the upscale establishment, but there were few patrons and nobody audibly complained. It seemed to me that they were happy to take my money after the seafood meal.

Inga had heard of our discovery, and when she was up to the Pilchuck in the summer of 2023, she suggested it would be fun to dine there, since her mother had extolled the pleasures within. I was excited to oblige the young lady's request. It was Inga's last day in the wilds of Washington and it seemed like a fitting finale for her visit. Unlike our first drop-in experience, this time both of the ladies were prepared for a classy date, having packed a skirt and a dress for just such an occasion. Sorry to report, Sean had already returned to Portland.

Inga & Sue at the Pilchuck 'drawbridge', dressed to thrill

We had reservations at the Oyster Bar for three at 5 o'clock. It was yet another afternoon adventure. 

At a wide spot on a bend along Chuckanut Drive sits the Oyster Bar, perched precariously on the edge of the bluff. It is a narrow establishment with an upper and lower tier connected by a spiral staircase. Conifer trees just a few yard beyond the west-facing windows have to grow tall to reach the level of our table hanging over the steep mountain.

I order a Port for Sue and I. We are handed a list of about two dozen varieties of oyster for our choosing as an appetizer. Each oyster variety comes with a short description of its unique flavor; briny, hint of citrus, notes of melon, under currents of seaweed etc. And yes, the oysters we tried, did match their flavorful description. A great start to the meal.

Salmon and shellfish were served after an intermezzo of quince sherbet in champaign. We three enjoyed fine food tucked in the corner where our table felt like we were sitting in the tree tops.

Cheers! 

To a great date with my girls.  

Good Dirt

 Some girls just want to get dirty. 

A couple of those kind of girls happened to be staying with me out in the country where we have 50 acres of good dirt. My wife, Sue, grew up on this very parcel of good dirt and she knows it well. You might say the Pilchuck soil is in her veins. Our daughter Inga, from inside her second floor Portland apartment wishes for a little bit of earth to plant a few of her favorites. The two of them had a few packets of flower seeds and the will to do a little country girl down and dirty therapy.

Sue and Inga get ready to dig dirt

I wanted marigolds to line the recently poured curvy front walk and ramp. Inga had acquired some wild flower seeds and wanted to give them a place to put down roots on the Pilchuck. Baker Seeds supplied my marigolds seeds in a jiffy quick delivery and with the sun out and planting season already far along, it was time for the girls to get into the dirt.

They planted. 

I watered and waited in their absence.

Of the 100 marigold seeds Sue planted for my enjoyment, only 3 germinated. And being late in the season, these marigolds did not reach their blooming potential until October.

I got one bloom for one day before the first frost finished off my memories of summer.

+++

Short-lived memory of summer. My single marigold bloomed in October for 1 day before it was killed by the 1st frost. Next season...

Skagit Saltwater Flats

I belong in the Pacific Northwest. 

I have found my place under the blue sky of July, cerulean salt waters edged with verdant shore grasses mimicking the waves beyond the dun sand bars rising from the shallows at the mouth of the Skagit River.

The narrow farm road, bordered by deep drainage ditches ends at the levee. A few signs atop the berm instruct visitors of proper conduct in this salt marsh preserve. At our feet are a couple of muddy paths leading between and through wild rose bushes and out into the tall grasses rippling in the light breeze. A bare earth trail beckons adventure and the stone hill remnants, like a fortress in the middle distance, mark the objective at the end of our march. Sue, Inga and I are off, down the seaward side of the levee walking beyond the farmland behind us and into the wild landscape that is subject to flood tides at the verge of land and sea, permanently claimed by neither.

Some paths lead into muck; more mud than water in some reaches, more water than mud in others. There are starts in one direction, only to find the chosen way not kind to our passing. We backtrack and wade through another route.

Our reward is a spectacular vista as we climb a conglomerate outcrop brimmed with roses shrubs and saltmarsh brush. The shallow saltwater channel before us sparkles under the summer sun and I am surprised by the blue of the water as I expected murky, sediment laden waters. Sea birds call and circle above. A few other adventurers and their canine companions are on the broad sand beach at the sound's edge. I feel the beauty of this place soak into my hide. I feel radiant and blessed to be here.

We descent from our solid, rocky high ground, kick off our shoes and walk in the fine sand following the tide's retreat.

The Cascade Range foothills are out in the clear air, circled by intriguing clouds. Mount Baker is behind us and the world of sky, mountain, beach and saltwater rings and sings with harmony.

Mother and daughter enjoy their visit and I enjoy all that is mine and before me.

I belong here.

Come join me.

Tea Time on the Deck

 The late light lingers on a Pacific Northwestern summer's day. 

Ladies in my life love to take their tea. No better place than in the shadows of the surrounding cedars out on the south deck of the Pilchuck Place.

Inga takes her summer's late afternoon tea

Sue brings her mug of tea to join her daughter on the south deck

I am busy in the kitchen marinating one of my dinner specialties, 'Startled Pig', a Thai recipe that I am preparing to grill and serve with artichokes on the deck. This is the life, ladies in my company while we enjoy food and conversation in the lasting twilight.

Inga takes a pensive pose before her Startled Pig is served

Unbearable Camano Island Picnic

 

Having just had Maurice the Black Bear amble through my field during breakfast, helping himself to the apples in my orchard; we turned our focus to our planned picnic lunch. We all know that Yogi Bear loves to steal picnic baskets, and thinking that Maurice Bear is also one of those 'smarter than the average bear' types, and Maurice would love nothing better than to not only take my orchard apples, but also our picnic lunch. Therefore, we made unbearable picnic plans.

We were not willing to bear the risk of a stolen picnic lunch, so we hightailed it away from The Pilchuck estate and its bear-infested apple orchard, west to the always enjoyable Camano Island State Park for an afternoon picnic on the graveled beach shore of Camano Island.

We set our box of comestibles on a weathered picnic table behind the driftwood and logs while enjoying the company and the July sunshine. 

We finished feeding, and then naturally took a familiar stroll along the edge of the surf at the  base of glacially deposited sediments forming a cliff. The great thing about strolling along a familiar beach is that many of the details change every time you set foot where the tide had brought new shells and stones in exchange for other seaborn trinkets carried away. 

The family strolls along Saratoga Passage of Puget Sound

Inga repeats a geology lesson to Sean, one she has heard often from her parents at this local

 No bears joined us on Camano Island for lunch, we had our picnic basket all to ourselves.

Look! Over there. It's a bear!

 

Look over there! It's a bear!

We were all preparing to have a leisurely late morning breakfast on July 21st when Inga exclaimed, "There's a bear out there!" 

A young black bear was loping through the fresh mown field in front of the house and was heading for the apple orchard on the south side of the house. We all ran to the viewing deck to watch a black bear coming to breakfast with us. I have been seeing deer eat the fallen apples, but this guy was unexpected and more prodigious than the deer, he could climb the apple tree and knock down fresh apples. Unlike the deer he didn't have to wait for the wind to blow and for the fruit to fall. A bear gets what a bear wants.

Maurice the Black Bear loping across my cut field

Maurice foraging for apples and climbing the trunk to bob and bop some low-hanging fruit

Everybody had their camera out for the photo safari. 

Now, I have apples and plums in my orchard, no peaches. But watching this young bear climb and shake the apples from my tree, the lyrics from the Steve Miller Band song, The Joker, came to mind: 

Some people call me the space cowboy yeah
Some call me the gangster of love
Some people call me Maurice
'Cause I speak of the pompitous of love...

Your the cutest thing that I ever did see
I really love your peaches, wanna shake your tree
Lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey all the time
Oee, baby, I'll sure show you a good time

I christened our breakfastmate right then and there, Maurice. He really loves my peaches [apples], wanna shake my tree...

Maurice had his fill of fruit after about 40 minutes and wandered off into the woods, as bears are want to do. We headed back inside to our breakfast table where we spoke of the pompitous of love -wooweee, (I'll sure show you a good time).

Family Gathers for Summertime on The Pilchuck

 The Western Washington weather is mild, the creek is gurgling through the evergreens and I am delighted to anticipate the gathering of family after months of solitude on The Pilchuck estate. My wife will fly into Seattle and Inga and Sean will drive up from Portland. The house is not quite finished, but it is furnished in a basic manner and livable for the four of us.

I'm delighted to take a break from house construction chores and flip into Summer Host mode. I pick Sue up at the airport and we have a day or two to ourselves before the kids arrive, the kids being daughter Inga and boyfriend Sean. 

Never being constrained by calendar dates, we Sunesons have our own sense of time and our own feeling for what fits the circumstances. It is several weeks past Inga's birthday, and mom knows her daughter is a fool for angel food cake. Let's make sure the girl has an angel food cake for her birthday celebration, even if her birthday was in June and it's now July. We will make this work.

Mom bakes an Angel Food Cake for Inga's birthday - celebrated a few weeks after the fact.  

Sue gets used to the new kitchen that I build for her, asking where I have stored the bowls, ingredients and kitchen implements? I point to cupboards, drawers and pantry shelves. There is so much space that I secretly hope she loves it here on The Pilchuck so much that she decides to never leave and go back to Texas. Yes, I am a dreamer.

Inga and Sean fight the traffic north on I-5, rolling up the freshly mown driveway into the estate. We welcome the kids and offer refreshment after their 200 mile journey. Great to have a family around (still trying to get Grant and Kaileen to visit as well).

The plan over the next few days is to not have much of a plan. The consensus is that it is always commendable to have a trip or picnic at Camano Beach. A bit of hanging around and hanging out seems fitting in the long summer days of these northern latitudes. 

Mother and daughter do think about a little back to nature fun and doing some gardening around the place. They will need some seeds and some tools. They will need to go to Arlington Hardware, which is a destination in itself, with century old creaky hardwood floors and Big Foot swag and all kinds of needful things for ambitious or slightly ambitious folks around these parts.

Sean checks his apps to see the reviews on tool brands; he tells me what is rated highly and I then pick out another machete and some lopping shears. We are in business on the Pilchuck.

Sean ready for action after a trip to Arlington Hardware and acquiring tools

One fine evening, I send a pair of Blackberry Ninjas out into the forest primeval to whack a trail through the thicket and hopefully reach the creek from our property on the back 40. A daunting task. They are gloved, armored and powerful with sharpened steel. Onward and farewell with victory in your black berry battle!

The two warriors return for dinner, but report a tough battle, some egress through the dense lines of thick and thorny canes. But, alas, they had not broken through to the shores of Pilchuck Creek. Live to fight another day I say. Have a seat and lets enjoy this day and our supper together.

Taming The Wild

It is the growing season.

I am whelmed and soon to be overwhelmed. I need reinforcements. Who better to call than Bob. Bob has been a tractor guy all of his life. My single blade machete is no match for the 6-foot tall weeds, verdant and robust grasses and most dastardly of all - the black berry infested ground with brambles of vicious thorns.

Bob arrives from 32 miles away in La Conner with his tractor and brush hog implement to do battle over my 50 acres. His arrival in the second week of July in as welcome of a sight as that of the US Calvary coming over the hill to rescue the settler's wagon train in an old Hollywood Western movie.

The 'calvary' rides to rescue. Bob & tractor to battle my overgrown estate

Bob, his trusty Ford tractor and its weed chewing implements are unloaded. I discuss my priorities with Bob and he fires up the beast and gets to mowing. We start with the easy stuff, the tall, but easily dispatched weeds on the 10 acre parcel in front of the house. This will beat back the encroaching and obscuring growth that threatens to overrun my house.

Trimming begins along the driveway supply line

As all military strategist know, it is of supreme importance to maintain open supply lines. In my case, keeping the driveway clear and free from the tendrils of the black berry vines is my vital supply line that must be maintained.

Efforts are made in subsequent days to cut a route to Pilchuck Creek from my back 40 acres. However, not even 50 HP Ford is able to make a complete break through the thicket of blackberry brambles. Creek access from my own property remains unattainable for me, yet I rejoice in any and all progress against the undergrowth.

The thick foliage surrounding the house is cut down to size. A clean, fresh view is welcomed.

Noticeable improvement; Before and After of the 10 ac field

A swath is cut to the water well in what was once the barnyard

Clearing a path into the Back 40 through dense forest.

Bob perseveres for 3 days of man and machine against nature. Much is accomplished, but not without casualties; sheared bolts had to be improvised and replaced, broken welds, a leaking hydraulic line and the time-consuming effort to disentangle the rusty springs and wires from an old mattress left in the grass by previous trashy renters that gummed up the bush hog's blades. It seems, nothing is ever easy out on The Pilchuck.

The place looks far better after Bob's generous time and onerous efforts. There was some doubt as whether the hitch on his truck would hold long enough to get tractor and trailer back from whence they came. The good news is that the hitch, though warped and damaged, did hold and there was no runaway trailer running off the county road careening across Highway 20 on his return to La Conner.

My heartfelt thanks to my sister-in-law Ann, for letting her husband take care of my place at the neglect of her and the numerous chores back on the home front.

A well-mowed field is a welcome sight. My weeds and cortisol level are reduce proportionate to the reduced size of the once overgrown estate.

Summertime, and the living is easy - after a lot of hard work.

 

Return to the Wild - Video Addendum

 The black berry canes encroach from the beneath the alder grove, creeping across my driveway. They seek to block my access to my house and takeover the place by persistent pressure, making it all a big briar patch.

I survey the battlefield. The calvary will arrive next week, the calvary being brother-in-law Bob and his tractor and his efficiently cutting brush hog implement. 

I walk up my country driveway, a 0.15 mile gravel lane, and video as I approach the "Y", the place where my drive branches; to the left is the house, to the right is the back 40. Mr. Redtail, the circling hawk vociferously cries for his mate. They nest in the fir tree halfway toward the house. 

Return to the Wild

 

Standing 6' tall, I'm over topped by an overgrown malicious black berry cane

Return to the wild.

I left my home on the 50 acres along Pilchuck Creek, with construction work still in progress. I have another home and my first wife back in Texas. It is difficult to handle the home duties of two disparate places that are 2,472 miles apart. I can not be in two places at once, so I split my time.

My Texas time, a pleasant three months and a few days with my beloved down south, spanning from St. Patrick's Day through the Summer Solstice had come to an end. I was a called to return and attend to the completion of the house and all the wild wood that encroaches upon it. 

The vegetation surrounding the Washington house had grown vigorously and verdant in the lengthening days of spring and early summer. The place had grown wild in my absence. I fear that the encroaching scenery will cover and consume all of the hard work to carve out a new home on The Pilchuck. Driving through the gate on this late June afternoon, I was stunned by the intensity of the greenery and somewhat demoralized by the savage and aggressive dominance of the cursed black berry sticker vines.

I imagine I can hear the creeping stickers extending their domain at night, pushing their tentacles ever closer to my house, threatening to swallow me up by morning. I look around in the daylight and consider my odds; it seems I am one against a million stickers. My machete blade will never be enough to staunch the green menace. I call for reinforcements.

I survey the view from my deck, I need a mechanical advantage to battle the berries. I call brother-in-law Bob, 35 miles up the road in La Connor, he has a tractor with a brush hog.

The Pilchuck has grown wild. The view from the driveway

Weeds and grass march boldly to my front door

The field daisies are pretty, but I truly need a clear, neatly trimmed field around my house. The forest and field are aggressive and do not welcome my home built in their midst.

Bob, as always, is helpful and is willing to haul his tractor over and spend his time mowing my acreage. I'm very thankful for his willingness to help out. I will need to rent a trailer for him to move his tractor over to the Pilchuck. Some of the best money ever spent I think to myself. Unfortunately, we were coming up on the July 4th holiday, there are no trailers to be had for hire. The mighty mow will be postponed until the following weekend.

I am overwhelmed by the 'before' look of the place. I am looking with great anticipation to the 'after' look once Bob and his tractor work are finished.

Spirit Animal in My Travels

 Have you ever wondered, 'What is my spirit animal?'

Or what would appear as your mystical Patronus guardian and protector if you pulled off the magic 'Expecto Patronum' charm?  

The 'Dillo, my spirit animal is conjured in Clayton, New Mexico

I have been conjuring armadillos for some time now, off and on; mostly brought into two dimensional reality to celebrate birthdays and other positive milestones. Perhaps the 'Dillo is my spirit animal, maybe even my Patronus guardian.

Having returned to Texas in March from my home-building project in Northwestern Washington; I reluctantly acknowledged my yet unfinished business in the Pacific Northwest. It was now the last week on June, I packed for my return to the construction site. I had enjoyed the renewed sense of being married, sharing a home and the underrated blessings of a mundane life with my wife. I found an appreciation in the normal tides of life's chores and the casting of plans for some special nights out together.

With Amarillo in my rear view mirror, I drove west on I-40, cutting north up the western edge of the Texas panhandle before turning west and crossing the border into New Mexico. Clayton, the small historic cattle drive town makes a good and frequent place to stop for lunch in my travels.

The Dairy Queen in Clayton is now closed. But, when it was open and serving throngs of Texans passing through, it had historic photos from early 20th Century Clayton on the walls. These photos included scenes from the 1905 hanging in town of the notorious train robber, Black Jack. If one were seated in a specific DQ booth, consuming a basket with a Beltbuster burger, fries and a DQ Blizzard; one of the old photos on the wall showed that the hangman had made the noose at the end Black Jack's rope too long. If one looked closely, it was apparent that Black Jack's head had popped off at the neck when he dropped through the trap door, leaving the formally dressed body slumped beneath the gallows and his head at the feet of the sheriff. Alas, that lunchtime oddity is no longer open for business.

While in Clayton I've enjoyed great chile rellenos at the old Hotel Eklund, roadside taco stands and Tex-NewMex at the Rabbit Ears Cafe. This afternoon, I was seated on the patio of the 87 Restaurant. I was hoping for a chicken fried steak. No dice, they just ran out. Note to self: next time drive faster.

While waiting on the back patio for my enchilada dish to be serve to my table, I noticed boxes of colored chalk available to the patrons. Most people who took chalk to hand merely wrote little passages extolling the virtues of their hometown. I opted to conjure a dining companion. I invited my chalk-rendered armadillo spirit animal to my table, where we discussed our travels. If my dining companion was a fabled magic Shuga Dillo, then he had the power to bless and protect my journey in the coming days. 

My spirit animal rode with me in imaginary form into Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho and finally to Washington. I left the chalk dust visage of my spirit Dillo to remain behind at the table to delight later diners with his company. 

I expect he was hosed into oblivion at the close to the day. But I remember his traveling graces fondly from Clayton, New Mexico and the 87 Restaurant.

My advice: Enjoy the journey - and conjure your spirit animal to travel as your companion. But don't get caught robbing any mail trains in Clayton.

Backyard Baby

 Sue's backyard baby has been faithfully cared for; watered, cooed over, exhorted with plenty of CO2 over her dark and handsome foliage.

Hibiscus baby sat there taking it all in on the back deck. Plenty of tropical sunshine, pleasant temperatures, all setting the stage for a magnificent bloom.

She developed a healthy looking bud, teasing as the bud swelled with daily hints of being ready to unfurl her finery... each morning she seemed ready to open up -- but only another tease.

Sue had obligations scheduled far in advance to head-up a youth camp in East Texas, she packed and headed out the door Friday afternoon with the parting admonition; "Be sure to water my Hibiscus baby."

Of course Saturday morning was the long anticipated day of Hibiscus baby's first flower. And what a prodigious, showy first peek came into view with the morning sun.

I took a photo of baby's first steps and texted it to the expectant mother out in East Texas.

I love the rich, sassy beauty of this species. We've had orange and yellow hibiscuses before, but I think this one out shines them all. 

Al Fresco's Dinner Invitation

 The sun hangs low in the western sky. The early summer breeze is light. The intoxicating scent of the magnolia blossoms can faintly be detected.

I tell my sweetheart, "We just got a dinner invitation from Al Fresco, you wanna join me?"

"Al who?"

"Al Fresco. He's a fun, outdoorsy kind of guy. Com'on, it'll be fun!"

She catches on, "What should I wear?"

I wanted to tell her, "Just a smile - and you can leave your hat on," but we both knew that any of our neighbors driving down the alley could look right through our steel picket fence and see us dining al fresco au natural, and that would be inappropriate. Beside the mosquitoes would enjoy us as much as the neighbors. 

"Al Fresco says come as you are. I add, you look lovely in your purple dress."

She sets the table, I select a bottle of wine. With my shrimp alfredo cooked to perfection and served al fresco, we waltz out the back door to our patio and enjoy the company of Al Fresco and intimate little dinner party in the twilight of the Texas sunset. 

Fun al fresco dining & an empty bottle of red wine - with our clothes on