The Road to Montana in 2016

Not being much of long-term, way-ahead planner types, we put in our reservations with my parents in Montana for a brief 4-day visit straddling the Independence Day Holiday a mere few weeks ahead of our arrival.  Plenty of room they said. Reservations confirmed.

1.   I then called my sister Wendy and inquired if she would like to rendezvous with us at Flathead Lake as well.  Husband Barth could not make it, but Wendy was game for the trip.  

2.   Her arrival happened to coincide with plans that her oldest son, Andrew, was making to bring his girlfriend Katerina up to Montana as well.  A good gathering so far.  

3.   A nudge to her other son Brian and his wife Amy. They would also like to come- pending getting approval from their employers.  At the last minute they got free and drove from Olympia, Washington.  

4.   We gave our daughter Inga the high sign and suggested she should make the trip to Montana from Oregon as well.  She agreed and booked a flight to Missoula.  
5.   Sister Sheri and Tony had already scheduled a July 4th retreat last year and rented a cabin in Oregon.  Sorry, not able to be a part of the gathering this time.

6.   Our favorite son Grant was on the short list for invitees too, but his girlfriend was starting a job in New York city, so he opted for the bitter-sweet adventure of helping move his sweetheart out of town and into her digs supplied by her employer the Daily Mail (of London) in a swanky flat in uptown Manhattan, instead of chilling with the old family.  Understandable decision. (Word has since filtered back to us that he and Kaileen had a grand time of it in NYC).

Great Gathering of the Suneson Clan (with some notables missing)
July, 2016

First Step

Always a good first step when leaving Dallas is to check in with Sue's brother Bill and his wife Susan in Wichita Falls.  Fighting traffic out of Dallas is slow and maddening start to a long trip.  So an afternoon arrival in Wichita Falls just 120 miles from Dallas for an overnight stay and a fresh and early start from the unencumbered, broad-horizoned, no traffic congestion spot of the North Texas plains is the best cleanest way to start a western road trip.  As a courtesy for putting us up for the night, Sue proudly selected a few tomatoes from her above average garden as gifts for brother Bill.  Once she arrived and looked at Bill's garden and his large tomatoes, Sue had a bitter epiphany: "Never compare your tomatoes with those from a professional and degreed botanist".  Indeed, Brother Bill weeds a mean and superior garden.

Road to Denver

It is good to have friends in high places.  Denver has always been high in elevation, now it is high in the cannabis context too.  We'll take in the thin air and leave the inhaling of smoldering vegetation to others.  Having lived quite happily in Denver back in 1985-1986, we made some good friends quickly, but had lost contact after the years.  Our journalist son, Grant, had done a digital (video) story which was picked up by a local Denver TV station.  Our good (but long lost) friend Cindy saw his report that ended with his sign-off identification... "and I am Grant Suneson".  Cindy wondered, how many Suneson's can there really be out there?  So, through FaceBook she found Sue and asked if we were related to one particular Grant?  Proud mother, said why yes, that is my son!  So, with old friends welcomed back into the circle via digital means unavailable in 1986, we invited ourselves to stay with Cindy overnight both coming and going from Montana.  I'd say it worked out very well.

Dining al fresco on Cindy's Denver Patio
We picked right up laughing a good bit right where we left off with our friend some 30+ years ago.

Race to Missoula

We had to leave Denver early in order to pick up Inga in Missoula at 8:57 PM once her flight landed from Portland.  It is 907 miles to the Missoula airport from Cindy's place. A 7 AM departure should get us to to passenger pick-up zone about the time Inga lands.  We get a text that Inga is boarding as we are driving through Butte.  The race is on; Who will get there first, driving from Butte or flying from Seattle?  Inga landed 10 minutes ahead of schedule, so she deplaned while we were on the outskirts of Missoula.  Plane beats car.

Inga traveling light.  Arrives at MSO minutes ahead of us who
raced from Denver, CO to meet her.

 Welcoming Party

Emphasis on party.  Everyone had already arrive at the lake ahead of us.  So we texted ahead from the airport to let them know we were to arrive soon.  Andrew had beer on ice, he had also purchased some fireworks from the local Indian tribe and as we pulled in on the gravel drive, everyone was out on the front lawn ready to light up the pyrotechnics in our honor (this being July 2nd).  Brian lit a fist full of sparklers, and that did not end so well.  But the intention was noted and appreciated.

Brian and Wendy
Applaud and Cheer our safe arrival

Andrew starts the gathering off with a spark

After the outdoor show, we gather in the kitchen for some gentle ribbing and enthusiastic boasting between cousins, nephews and assorted kin.

Andrew with an enthusiastic boast to Inga,
while his girlfriend, Katerina (R) looks on in bemusement

Late night game of Camel Up
Wagering on dromedary & dice

And the First shall be last...

I was the first to put in reservations for a stay at Suneson Chalet; but the last to arrive.  Shuffle your feet loose your seat, swivel your head and loose your bed.  Finders keepers, losers weepers - so they say.

Wendy, Andrew and Katerina all came up a few days ahead of us.  So they snagged the 3 upstairs guest rooms.  That leaves the basement and the garage for the late-comers.  Inga and we, her parents, get a pair of mattresses on the basement floor.  Brian and Amy get private accommodations in the camper shell stored on blocks in the RV garage.

Cellar Dwellers: Inga sleeps in the basement along with us.
Fashion Forward decor in brown cubism furnishing - so chichi moderism

Camper Dwellers

 Morning Montana!
We wake up to an early sunrise of the northern latitudes and find ourselves in paradise.

Our morning view as we sit for breakfast

Fruit, cinnamon rolls, muffins, and eggs over easy for me 

Celebration! 60th Wedding Anniversary

Before Andrew and Katerina have to return to California for work, I called a family gathering in the living room.  The joyful cause was to observe and celebrate Grandma & Grandpa's 60th anniversary of last week.  Wendy offered a solemn and spiritual thanks tied to the lyrics of a country western song for the good union and the fine family, now 3 generations, that have gathered.  I composed and read a tall Texas tale in parable format of the mythical (or not?) 'Shugga 'Dillo' who is said to help provide for good and kind folks in thin times.  Those in the room that morning know the Shugga 'Dillo is real.

The Suneson Family Gathers in Celebration

Wendy reads and shares her thoughts aloud
in gratitude and spiritual praise

Grandpa shares his memories and thoughts on courting Grandma 64 years ago.

Sixty years. Well Done!

Activities Woven Around the Gathering

We all mixed in a trip to Glacier National Park, did some hiking (to be posted on a separate post).  There was rhubarb to pick and pies* to be made.  The Arotcas had purchased 2 paddle boards in Kalispel before we arrived, so those had to be part of the aquatic entertainment.  A water color painting session on the back deck and there was a side trip to the National Bison Range by the Suneson girls along with Amy and Brian.  A lot to work in for a brief time.  But we all did it.

* Some have suggested this Montana trip was solely so I could get a rhubarb pie - could it possibly be that simple?

Stalking the Rhubarb stalks

Bhee-Bhop-a-Rhee-Bhop
Rhubarb Pie!!

Mom leads a water color painting "class".
We experiment with color and technique.

Inga scoots along on the new paddle board on the waters of Flathead Lake

Brian & Amy scan the landscape for wildlife
National Bison Range

I see one!

More wildlife. A bighorn sheep

Where the deer and the antelope play
Home on the Bison Range

Chasing Rainbows all the way to Montana

Click on the link in the box below to see an extensive slide show of the Great Gathering if you've got the time and interest to see most of the doings under the Big Sky.

Photo slideshow personalized with Smilebox

Nerdy Numbers
OK, so maybe I don't plan way in advance, but I do like to track numbers attached to this narrative:

Miles Traveled = 3,977
Gasoline Consumer (Gal) = 203.2
Cost of Fuel = $442.19
Average MPG = 19.6

Flying can be nice - or a TSA disaster these days.  
But driving across the western states is a joyous birthright.
Enjoy the journey.

A Once Prairie Home

I've swept pass it at 70 mile per hour at least a dozen times, maybe a score.  I have a good mind for collecting the features along the roads I travel, but this place is a bit more salient in my mind.  Though it is about 280 miles west by northwest of my home, I know it is there, like I would know the feature of a wart behind my right knee - nothing of real significance, but a known feature set apart from the rest of the surrounding flesh or in this case, terrain. 

The stark and fore lorn old prairie home

 Set on a broad curve of US Highway 287 between Estelline and Memphis, Texas, it has always captured my imagination.  I have an affinity for the November-esque spots in the landscape and stark images.  So, I am drawn to the desolation and loneliness of the dead snag of a cottonwood tree beside the hollowed out weathered wood frame of a once prairie home.  I have been interested in this old home surround by dead wood and placed on land so blatantly orange.  I know of blackland prairie here in Garland, and I've heard of the fabled red clay of Georgia, but up here at the Prairie Dog Town Fork of the Canadian River, the land is so orange it seems alien.  I have always driven by this site, my heart says stop and take an investigative look around, my mind says, many miles to go this night before you rest - keep pushing on the accelerator, so I listen to my mind and drive for home when east bound or points west when headed the other way.  This was a heart-inspired stop on our way to Denver and then onto the folks in Montana.

I tell my wife dozing in the passenger's seat, "There is a place coming up in about 80 miles, it is an old house with a dead snag in front and it is built on a landscape that is incredibly orange.  I've always driven by, but almost always I've regretted not stopping for some photos.  This time I am going to stop."  She again tells me of my remarkable gift of landscape memories and for inconsequential roadstops from years back.  I just think, why isn't everyone interested in topography, landscape and mentally cataloging useful gas, food and viewing spots on their travels?  In a bygone era I would have found work as a scout for wagon parties moving west or picking and positioning troops for battle.

The highway is a divided 4-lane road, and I recall that there is a median crossing at the spot where this old home site sits.  I find the cross-over as expected, but the angles and composition of the house the tree and the cultivated orange soil do not line up as a beautifully as I had expected.  Still, I put the 4Runner in park and hop across the highway, camera in hand to satisfy my long desire to record this fore-lorn former farm residence. 

As I move around the old home, I wonder about what has happened here.  Did those who once called this home make good by growing tall cotton in Texas, and with their good fortune just move into a better and more modern house?  Or, did did the farm wife suddenly become widowed and had to sell the land and move on in with her sister in Missouri? How old are the clapboards, 50, 60 or even 80 years old?  Did they get to farming only to have their plantings coincide with the Dust Bowl?  What stories swirl under these forgotten eaves along with the orange dust from the other side of this window?

I see the remains of green paint on the window trim, someone wanted to make the place look pretty and once had given it some care.  They selected green; was it because it was between green and white - and white shows the dirt too easily?  Or, was green her favorite color, the color of lush vegetation, the color of a healthy crop, the color of money?  Maybe green was merely the complementary color to the orange in the cultivated fields out the window.

The fields are still plowed in soil conservation contours, so the land is still worked.  Descendants of those who built this simple home under the old cottonwood tree, or another family that came by this land by means stranger than my imagination's fiction?

To my mind, and mostly to my heart and my landscape-lover's eye, it was worth a stop for a few minutes.  I don't think I have the stunning photos that I was hoping for, but I have an opportunity to be briefly in a place of contrast and stark beauty.  But the story of this place is all left to the imagination.

The Road goes onto to Denver from here.

The Tall Texas Tale of Tree-Toppling Tortoises

Our old peach tree in the dog-legged corner of the backyard has been hammered in the past.  Major limbs have been snapped by storms and on some occasions by the over-burdening of ripe, juicy fruit.  Either way, it became time for chain saw surgery to remove those snapped limbs and let new growth regenerate more boughs that would provide more peaches the next season in mid-June.

So it was while I was mowing the lawn under the peach tree amply loaded with a fine crop of ripening peaches this season, that I thought to myself; I should prop some support under these heavy limbs.  Well, I fear my thoughts were too late, for my pair of tortoises were noticing the very same peaches I was.

Peach boughs heavy with fruit in early June

Come morning light, I am dismayed by the sight of a toppled center of our peach tree.  I see Chomper the tortoise nonchalantly strolling around under the downed limb.  

Chomper acting like nothing happened - but I have my suspicions.
Here is photographic proof of Chomper strolling around the toppled tree,
coincidence - I think not!

Chomper trying to "act natural"
But I see that little smirk on his face.

I can only conclude that he and his troublesome brother, Isaac, had shimmied up the peach tree in the night, bounced up and down on the limbs until they had their desired effect, to topple the fruit-laden branches down to the ground for easy snacking.  Oh! Those mischievous reptiles!

The damage done

Chomper secretly laughs in my face.

Some suggest that the tortoise may not be to blame.  They suggest that the night's thunderstom's winds and rain collecting on the leaves, along with the heavy crop of peaches may have been the true cause of the tree's collapse.

But I think I hear tortoises laughing behind my back.

Memorial Day Retreat

I flew the Colors from the brick column on our front porch in honor of those who served us and in memory of those who sacrificed for our common ideals and welfare.  I like days when I can fly my American flag.  For Memorial Day 2016 I put the flag on display on Friday morning heading into the 3 day weekend.

We Sunesons have a standing invitation on each and every 3-day weekend of the Summer (Memorial, 4th of July and Labor) plus New Years to join our dear friends the McCords at "The Blue House", their East Texas country estate 106 miles SE of Garland.  After putting out this Country's Colors on Friday, we packed and headed for an extended relaxation time at the Blue House.

Someone in the kitchen with Donna, Someone in the kitchen I know-ooow
A strawbery pie in the making

Fellow guest Brenda had arrived ahead of us, and was set up mixing flavored martinis for broad distribution.  Brenda also had a few light meals ready to prepare for us all.  Our hostess, Donna, was recovering from hip-replacement surgery a few weeks before; so she was especially glad for the company and the help in the kitchen.

We waltzed in with the now traditional Merck's Coffee Cake and a box of ingredients for lunches and dinners in the coming days.

Brenda & Sue in the Blue House Kitchen
Mac & Cheese for Dinner

It is mostly a time of sitting around and enjoying company of long-time friends, with snacks and drinks a part of the social scene.  Our main meal contribution was a couple of bowls of mac & cheese; the cheeses were a soft creamy truffle cheese and a blue Gorgonzola -  your choice (or you could take a little of each), along with a fruit salad and some salami and prosciutto olive and spring onions for added pizzazz.  We alway eat well at the Blue house.

Just a bit of the typical exhuberamnce (after an apple'tini or two?)

Nothing sweet will go to waste 

Sue eagerly volunteered to use her flexible spine and god-given hip joints to insert some of Donna's colorful bedding plants into her garden and empty flower pots around poolside.  Meanwhile, Donna directed Kirby and me to use our chainsaws to do manly things like cut down a oak snag that looked ready to fall where we all park our cars.  I brought my chainsaw, and filled it up with some of Kirby's 2-cycle fuel.  We each tugged half the morning on our respective started cords, but got no sound of a working engine.  I believe it was a bad batch of gasoline that put the kibosh on manly chainsaw activity.  So Kirby and Donna went into town and bought an electric chainsaw.  The new one started right up right out of the box.  We sawed down that old snag.

The last day of the old oak snag
downed before it crushed our cars

Then it was time for another martini.

Ah! Magnolia

Magnolia catching Moonbeams

Ah, the Magnolia, its fragrant blossom an image of the Southland.  

I suppose many folks have a favorite tree, and if I think about it, I am not sure that the magnolia would be my favorite of them all, but after all I did plant one in my back yard twenty-five years ago or so; so I'd say I do admire the magnolia.  I know that my first impression of the magnolia tree goes back to 1962 when we were living on Regalia Court in California, and the landowner next door had a wonderful old house with a magnolia tree planted in the corner of what seem to this 4-year old as an immense walled verdant garden grounds.  The seed pods of the magnolia looked  to me like a pagoda from the mysterious orient and inside this little pagoda of a pod were "beans" that were the brightest of reds, red like the silk worn by a Chinese princess.  And when I scratched these bright red beans, the aroma was strong and distinctive.  I admired the magnolia for is bold and distinctive colors, scents and shapes.  I am pretty sure these memories are why I have a magnolia arching over by back deck in Texas this day.

There are less admirable qualities of the magnolia too, they drop their leaves year round, and some would see the magnolia as only a "messy tree".  But do we all not have a lesser trait or two also?  These magnolia leaves in life are a broad and study waxy green on the limb, and they remain still a broad and study leaf as if they were made of dried parchment when they drop to the ground.  My mulching mower makes the leaves of parchment disappear every weekend with a satisfying pass over the lawn.

The glory of the magnolia is late Spring when the broad white pedals of the fragrant blossom open up for but a day or two as if the broad waxy green leaves have captured last night's moonbeams.  The blossom smells so fruity and sweet that we are want to harvest one of them when they appear on some of the lower boughs.  We place the blossom on our dining table and often bow to inhale its fragrance as we pass the room.  Yet these blossoms soon turn from the soft moonlight white to a uniform soft cinnamon brown that calls to my mind the sun kissed skin of south pacific island maidens.

The magnolia is a delight to the senses.  Perhaps the most of the salient senses of a Texas Spring is the feel of heavy, humid air that comes upon us.  While the humidity is personally not pleasant, the Texas Spring brings other pleasures such as the evening fireflies, fine multi-sensory thunderstorms which waters the magnolia tree and then knock off its leaves, only to grow more leaves along with its large, showy pure white blossoms.  The majestic magnolia, emblem of the good things in life right under our noses.

Thirty

Inevitably around this time of year as we approach our wedding anniversary on March 29th, my sweetheart does the math and coos into my ear, "Do you realize that you have been married to me for more than half of your life?"  I smile and tell and her, "I love a girl who is good with figures".

This year after she did the usual calculations, she informed me that I had been married more years than I had been single.  She then asked what I wanted to do for the big 3-Oh.  Luckily for me, I've learned a few things in my going-on-30-years of marriage, and I had already anticipated her question and had an answer.   I suggested we spend a few days on the coast.  How about a trip to Galveston, the oldest city in Texas?  She said "Hmmm", which I interpreted as "My plan wins".

We are not big planners to the infinite detail, but hotel reservations were made ahead of time, and after that, the priorities were somewhat nebulous, though they included; A) eat lots of seafood, B) tour a World War II submarine like the ones in the squadron that my Grandfather Wilkin commanded during the war, maybe eat some more seafood and enjoy some fun drinks on the beach, and then see what caught our attention (the cheap fishing charter was not running during off-season, so we did not get a chance to catch some saltwater fish).

I had the SUV washed and loaded up on Easter Sunday while Sue did glorious things at church.  She came home by mid-day, quickly packed and then we were off!  A straight shot south on I-45 for 301 miles got us to our hotel.

Easter dinner was a Gaido's (since 1911).  Gulf oysters on the half shell in garlic sauce for appetizers was a very good start for us.   

Easter Dinner at Gaido's

The next morning it was a trip to Seawolf Park, where the city of Galveston had the USS Cavalla, a WWII Submarine set up for a self-guided tour as well as destroyer escort used during the war to hunt Japanese submarines.  Touring these naval war machines was a moving touchstone event that brought me a bit closer to a part of family history of which I knew very little.

Back to the hotel to slip into beach clothes and walk across Seawall Blvd just outside our door to stroll along the sands edging the warmish waters of the Gulf of Mexico.  Then a little guilty pleasure of an afternoon toddy, and then we had to make a choice for the location of our next seafood dinner.

In the morning we wandered to the far eastern end of Galveston Island and found an isolated beach and bird sanctuary, where we moseyed at a pleasurable pace, viewing a variety of avian wildlife, and the shipping traffic offshore.

USS Cavalla
WW II Submarine Tour

Of course, more seafood and then some beach time before we headed for the historic downtown area known as "The Strand".  We had lunch (not seafood) and did a bit of window shopping before we came back to the hotel and selected our next seafood dinner.

Strolling along the Galveston Seawall

The Galveston Seawall

A non-seafood mufaltta sandwich
in the Historic Strand District of Galveston

This time - Italian seafood for dinner

It was a very good 3-0 anniversary. I Put together a little slideshow presentation for those interested in a more thorough look at what we did in Galveston.  Just click the arrow, sit back and I do believe you'll enjoy it. 

Customize a free photo slideshow

Easter House

The theme of Easter, the holiest day on the Christian calendar is resurrection; "Behold, all thing have become new!" writes Paul to the church in Corinth.

Feeling the coming Pascal tide, Sue declared in mid-March, "Easter house!"  Time for the old to become new.  The primary focus of the renewal activity was in what we refer to as "Grant's room", though he has moved out, gone to college, and we are proud to say, has since found work and does not seem to be coming back to reclaim is former domain.  We, his parents are grateful.  The old "Grant's room" is to be transformed into "guest room".

Major mucking was his mother's first chore, though not herculean, it was a challenge.  A phone consultation with the former resident as to what was sentimental and a 'must keep' vs the mother's prodding of what 'really must go'; rules of engagement were established.  Some things were transferred to Inga's room (no resurrection here - yet) and some went to the Goodwill.  With the room cleared, it was more than obvious that a new paint job was in order.  My artistic sensibilities were called upon, and I chose a color scheme of light green walls with two accent walls of a contrasting creamy golden yellow.  It works.

There is a TV commercial that has been running for years locally featuring Hall of Fame baseball pitcher Nolan Ryan, pitching for a foundation repair service.  Nolan tells us, "Cracks are bad - especially around doors and windas."  As usual, Nolan is right.  Here we had half a dozen significant settling cracks in the drywall going back to the great drought of 2014 that wreaked havoc on our foundation.

So before we painted, I insisted that a silver dollar-sized hole in the bedroom drywall needed to be patched.  And as long as we were summoning the powers of resurrection, it was time to fix those bad cracks around the rest of the house.   I taped, scraped, mudded and feathered repair compound around and over the cracked drywall for several days.  Layer by layer.  Then I applied knock-down spackle, primed and painted.  I wish I took a before and after photo of my work, as it turned out, behold! I have the power to make old flaws pass away and the walls to look like new.  My handiwork looks really pretty good.

With the muck gone, a fresh coat of paint in a snappy color combo and the furniture rearranged to accommodate guest better, we have a bonifide guest room.  It is a resurrection miracle.

Y'all come by and see us now, ya hear?  

Together to the end

We've all heard the story of the faithful, old married couple who lived and worked together for so many years, and then when one of them suddenly dies, the other spouse then follows them in death within hours.  Such is the sad but true story from our household.

They were side-by-side for 28 years, and as things go nowadays, they all say you'll not see the likes of a pair like that again.  They both served us diligently and without complaint since they first arrived as a part of our household back in 1988.  We were still kind of newlyweds, had just bought our first house and knew we needed a pair like this.  Sue searched the Consumers Reports magazine in the local library, as there was no such thing as the internet, and she made an excellent decision when she selected the both of them to come aboard the Suneson household.  It was an unlikely pairing, somewhat like the Montagues & the Capulets, the Sharks & Jets, or maybe the Hatfields & McCoys.  He was a Maytag, she a Whirlpool.  

We placed them side-by-side in a small utility closet, I was thankful for their presence which brought to an end the days of wasted time and memories of  my squandered youth, as I waited with a pocket full of quarters in the laundromat for my clothes to cycle through wash and dry during my college years.  Mr. Maytag was a washer, nothing fancy, no computerized electronic gimmicks, bells or whistles, just a straight-up analog turn-the-dial and let-me know-how-you-want-me-to-handle-your-load-of-dirty-laundry kind of guy.  His faithful companion for lo these many years was Mrs. Whirlpool.  After Mr. Washer had done his usual yeoman's job, she willing took in the water-soaked load and tumbled them until they where fresh, warm and dry.  So nice.  Neither of them ever expected a fist full of quarters to do their work.

So, it happened like this, on Saturday morning, a usual load was accepted by Mr. Maytag washer, he filled filled his basin with warm water and began to agitate the soapy water with a load of denim and terry cloth.  Then suddenly, he let out a piercing squeal.  Sue ran to him to find that he was in a bad way and was smelling bad too.  She eased his burden and put a stop to the laundry load.  I opened him up as a measure of first aide, and found a pile of rubber shavings and diagnosed him as needing a new belt.  We let him rest comfortably as Sue took a basket of half-finished soggy jeans and towels to the local laundromat. A call to Staten's Appliances on Monday morning had a Mr. Staten's son out at the house by 9:45 to look over the patient.  We were told the sad news that it was not Mr. Maytag's belts that needed service but rather his transmission had failed.  Sadly, there was no hope of repairing his transmission.  With a lump in my throat, I consulted my wife and we decided to pulled the plug on Mr. Maytag.

The very next Saturday, after we purchased a used Whirlpool washing machine and had done just a single load of wash, I went to place the wet laundry into Mrs. Whirlpool dried, only to have her refuse my instructions to begin drying. This had never happened before.  But she just would not, could not respond.  She too had given 28 years of service and was now also done.  Another call to Staten's Appliances and I was walked through the diagnosis over the phone, no house call necessary.  In Mrs. Whirlpool's circumstance, she needed her door safety switch replaced.  Once a used part was put in place she began to dry again once the door is closed.

Mr. Staten tells us the new appliances are filled with electronic controls that do not hold up for more than 4 or 5 years in the humid environment of a laundry closet.  America used to build washers and dryers with mechanical controls that would go for 25 to 30 years.  But that quality of machine was an "unsustainable economic corporate manufacturing model".  Old Mr. Maytag, you were made right and ran well, you were what was right and good about America.  So sorry to see and the values you held go to the junkyard.   

It Sure Smells Like Dinner at 4:20

We never really had much a winter here in the Dallas area this year.  Spring seemed to creep up on us around February.  Come early March, I was feeling rather mellow (quite right) and I thought my eyes caught sight of a hazy green look to the air.  This is totally a far out trippin' kind of look in my backyard.  I attribute the hazy atmospherics to the first day or two when the leaves on the trees first start to bud, leaving no discernible leaf shapes but just a hint of a green aura around the still dominant view of the bare branches.

Feeling the need to munch, I rolled out my charcoal grill to the back deck and lit the coals for a couple of thick porch chops for dinner.  On the way through the patio door out to the back deck, I passed a bowl of dried herbs that my wife had sitting on the counter top for the past several months.   I though, "Wow dude!  Wouldn't those dried herbs be real fine if I hand-rubbed them over the grilling meat, adding an herbal savor to the pork chops?"  So I did.

As I rolled the dried basil between the palms of my hands, inevitably some of the now finely crushed basil drifted into the heated updrafts emanating from the red hot coals and was immediately incensed.  There was no mistaking the aroma from the burning of the powdery herbs; it was the smell of a rock concert (or so I am told).  I wondered if botanically speaking, basil is related to cannabis?  You know, mary jane and her wacky weed.

It was time to serve the grilled herb pork chops, and so I brought them in and set on the table between to two of us.  I helped myself to the first moist and tenderly grilled entree.  Sue took the remaining chop and asked with an eyebrow raised, "Humm, what did you put on the meat?"  I replied casually, "cannabis".  She said, it sure smells like it.

It was already half-past seven o'clock, but I am sure dinner is being served at 4:20 somewhere.

Saucer Magnolia Puts on a Show

Subtitle to all of my posting here is that these are "essays on the mundane".  So be it.  I am fortunate in that I do find enjoyment of those mundane things that pass all to quickly through my life.  My example this week is the Saucer Magnolia, or Tulip Tree that I planted in our side yard two decades ago.  If the frost has not been too severe and if it does not come too late in the season, we are bound to get a good show for a few days from our Saucer Magnolia.   I am delighted to find such a display in my side yard each year if the weather has been kind. This year we have a bounty of brilliant contrasting dual toned blossoms of gaudy pink on the shy undersides and a pure pacific creamy white on the upward showing face of her showy flowering. 

With many petals already fallen and strewn at her base as if she were the princess leading the procession of the coming spring, scattering radiant pink and white favors across the greening carpet, I took the opportunity to quickly catch a bit of what I know to be in the realm of  the mundane - because it happens every year.  But I think such fleeting moments are worthy of note:

Enjoy along with me the Show of the Saucer Magnolia -

Good Seed

I have not gotten around to creating and mailing Christmas cards for many years now.  A few folks still send us their seasonal greeting cards, despite my lack of reciprocity.  These are good people, though the list of people that still have us their mailing list is composed mostly of Sue's friends from undergraduate days plus a smattering of close relatives of mine.

But one of the consistent correspondents that regularly fills our mailbox toward then end of the year is the seed catalog companies.  Sue says it is a dysfunctional relationship, where she buys items like foxgloves (seen blooming in high rocky mountain meadows) and then plants them in thick, hot-humid aired Dallas, Texas; only to see them fail to thrive and then ultimately die a death from heat "protestation".  This sad misalignment of botanical expectations and climactic reality has played out more than once - for more than a handful of species.

But the lure of the winter's seed catalog is powerful and well nigh irresistible for some.  Last month, Sue was thumbing through the colorful pages of vegetables and posies, each with seed variety advertised with photos along with encouraging captions like; "this hearty variety is easy to grow and produces abundantly!!!", or "summer-long bounty of beautiful colors can be enjoyed in any garden north of Tierra del Fuego!!!!", "you and all the butterflies in the world will be attracted to this bloomer, well-suited to any sunny garden spot!!!!".  Such are the claims in the seed catalog.  Sue would read and consider each and every claim in her seed catalog, and then she would dog-ear a page that had a promising packet of seeds for her garden.  By the end of the evening, she had dog-eared 81.47% of the seed catalog pages.  Her reasoning: For a very minimal cost, I can try these seeds out.  What's the harm?  She is hooked.

The seeds have arrived along with high expectations.  Her plantings include: Globe Artichokes (she has grown a tiny French artichoke the past 2 years), tomatoes, bell peppers, fennel, heritage banana squash, garlic, spring onions, Milkweed (for the migrating Monarch butterflies), sunflowers, Asian poppies, zinnias, marigolds, plus her Christmas gifts of crocus and daffodils that went in late, but are coming up nicely at this writing.  An empty egg carton serves as the nursery for some of the seeds. This nursery bed of a dozen seedlings is lovingly transported from kitchen table to back deck during the day and then back inside for the evening - depending upon the forecast low.

Each and every tiny seedling is encouraged and exhorted daily with daily words from the gardener; "You are such Good Seeds.  Keep on growing!" 

Archival photographic proof that Sue can coax her seeds to do good things in our bad dirt: