Autumn Decorating

Autumn Decorating

Not everything is ghosts this autumn.  A warm woodsy color scheme, a pine cone, textured bricks painted a dusty earth color.  A hint of Frankenstein in a painting?  Fabrics compose their own music on a treble clef.  A pumpkin sits ready for carving or pie making. Golden candles invite us in from the windy night.

  

Mysterious Clock

I lived with my grandmother for a month when I was 10.  We were in the middle of a move from Midway Island of the Pacific Ocean to San Diego, and while my parents went house hunting, they dropped us off at various relatives for December.  My brothers went to Aunt Mary's, my parents stayed with Aunt Dorothy, and I was put with Grandmother and Aunt Robin.  In spite of the fact that I had not one toy or book to look at, I survived and got to know my gran better than ever before, and I liked her.  She was very pretty, for one thing.  She had translucent golden hair that appeared like a halo orb above her head when the sun was right.  She was a bitty little thing, barely bigger than I was, and wore those granny oxfords that had heels.  Never wore pants, certainly not.  A sensible tweed skirt and blouse, thank you.  And obligatory pearls, bien sur.

I invented several games to play, including running around the block and drawing with chalk on the sidewalk.  Grandmother lived in a condo in Pasadena (really! like the little ol' lady of song), and there wasn't a single child within MILES.  I found one book of cartoons in Grandmother's bookcase about funny grannies, which I still have.  I was allowed to eat my lunch in the living room watching Sheriff John, but woe be to she who left their lunch plate on the desk.  I inherited the desk and love it.

But the coolest thing she had, that to this day makes me think of her, was a mantle clock.  I had never heard the Westminster chimes before staying there, and quickly fell in love with the clock.  After awhile, the clock was passed down to my mom, and soon thereafter, broke.  Mom thought she wound it too tight.

I've scoped out some clock repair places and meant to have it fixed, when it inexplicably began to work on Thursday.  I have some theories about this.  Hans has been singing "My Grandfather's Clock" all day.

When we were at the store today, I related to Megan how the clock began to suddenly work.  The sales clerk declared that to be creepy.  I could not resist embellishing a bit, and said that not only did it work, it gives a little ping when I walk into the room, as if it is happy to see me, and when Hans and I talk about something serious or sad, it will gong mournfully.  Megan played right along and said (believably) how eerie that was.  The sales clerk didn't know what to think but said it sounded like a ghostly clock indeed.

When we got home, I walked into the living room to show Megan how the clock was working, and the thing chimed.  No way, declared my girl.  Yes, way, I said.  It's happy to see me.  It's 4:30, said my forthright daughter, and the Westminster chimes ring on the quarter and half hours.  We had a good laugh.

I hope that Grandmother is looking back this way and having a good laugh too.

Gills and Hogsheads, Dukes and Earls

We don't use gills as a measurement anymore.  Pity.  A gill (pronounced jill) equals a 1/2 cup.  Handy unit.  We don't use hogsheads much either, but that's a cask that holds 54 gallons.  We Americans say barrels when we mean casks for a barrel is a specific measurement too, holding 36 gallons.  When Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn hide in a hogshead, they are not hiding in the head of a hog, they are hiding in a big cask.

The Victorians were big into social measurement too.  Who got to sashay into into the dining room first was a big matter of concern.  Which came first, the duke or the earl?  The younger son of earl or the baron?  Well, first and foremost, remember at your next dinner party that the Archbishop of Canterbury comes first, dear.  Then a duke, followed by a marquis, an earl, a viscount, and then a baron.  These are all considered peers of the queen.  After that is a baronet and a knight, but they hardly count for anything.  Pish.  That troublesome younger son of the earl?  He comes further down the line than the barons, but before Knights of the Garter.

Social standing is not so antiquated as we pretend it is.  We all see it, we want it, and it happens.  We may not bedeck ourselves with badges of rank as blatant as crowns and stripes, but it is just as much a part of our society.

What can we do when the green eyed monster hits?  When the snotty kids gets the pony we yearned for?  When the pimply faced lazy teenager gets the Porsche?  When the flippant man gets the job we've been working so hard for?  When our fondest wish goes to someone else?

What's even weirder is when someone is jealous of the good that comes your way.  When they won't speak to you because you buy a new car.  When they won't call when you buy a new house.  We'll go for a ride you say.  Come over, we'll have a party.  Those things don't matter, you do.  But they won't listen.

I think the Psalmist had it right when he said my cup runneth over.  No gills or hogsheads mattered to him.  Measuring was of no consequence.  The good he had was endless, it was new every morning.  We can touch the fringes of eternity, which is measureless.  Let that be what we remember.

Elder Care Class

I took a class today, the first of two, to help Caretakers.  The class was touted to help with finding and using resources.  I eagerly picked up the folders, signed in, got a cup of coffee and sat down with pen in hand.  Then for three hours, all the teacher said that there were many resources out there, and that caretakers should find them and make use of them to take time for ourselves.  Right.  I've looked online, I've found many resources too.  You call each one and the person who can answer your questions is gone for the day.  They want a fortune to come elder-sit while we are at a wedding Hans is in.  No, I'm not looking for someone to throw scads of money to so I can just run out and have a day off.

It was such a frustrating class I had to excuse myself and gain composure.

Once I got home, I checked out the Veterans Admin to see if they offered any long term care benefits, as Dad was a vet.  Nope.  Does Medicare pay for any  long term care benefits?  Nope.  Does Tri-Care for Life (the military health care system) pay for any  long term care benefits?  Nope.  COPE and Medicaid will pay if one is really needy.  Mom had some long term care insurance but that got used up.

 One can only hope that the need for a nursing home never arises.  Meanwhile, I am very grateful for the loving care given to Mom by Hans' sister and her husband for part of the year.  But you can be sure I'd recommend long term care insurance for my generation.  The odds that we will need a caregiver ourselves is very high indeed.  Rosalyn Carter said:

There are four kinds of people in the world:

Those who have been caregivers,

Those who are currently caregivers,

Those who will be caregivers;

Those who will need caregivers.

Morning and Evening Light

On Seattle's best fall day of the season, the Fort staff were cooped up in the Great Room without even a door or window to look out of.  We sat on brutally hard chairs for hours.  Sounds like torture?  The time flew by.  We were brainstorming ideas to propel the fort forward into the next decade.  Cool ideas, cool people, and platters and bowls full of goodies.

The fort has started out with promise.  I took these photos in the misty morning yesterday.

Around the back of the granary, the sun just kissed open the eyes of the windows.

Slowly, the light appears through the trees.  Very similar to how confusing the ideas are as we brainstormed and threw out wild notions, pipe dreams, crazy schemes, and perhaps some viable options that might be implemented.

Later, after planting some seeds of thought, we hope the ideas blossom.

A glorious progression for our fort, welcoming the coming years, moving us forward.  We hope to intermingle our appeal, that is to say, keep the same visitors while attracting new ones.

In the end, we hope some bright ideas will cause us to tower above our challenges.  New activities, new volunteers, new outreach.  As Mike McGuire's dad said, the business plan is: "Early to be, early to rise, work like hell and advertise."

"Brought it from Canada"

"See these shoes?" asked my father-in-law once, holding up the item in question. "I brought them from Canada." An noteworthy accomplishment for a pair of shoes, I had to agree, especially as he was not holding them up to put in the Goodwill bag.  Rather it was Christmas eve, and they were on his feet.  The family had left Canada some 30 years earlier, and who knew how long he had them while he lived there?

Reduce, re-use and recycle. It is a lauded mantra of today, and we are composting and keeping separate bins for our trash, recycled items, and compost.  

My husband, Hans, is the master of saving things to use at a later time.  The windows, doors and cupboards in his shop used to be our kitchen.  Countless times, he has needed to fix something and he will come up with some ingenious little repair using hardware he saved from another project.  He pulled out the kitchen counter tops from our rental when we installed new ones, and now look what he did with them, built shelving for our garage.  Costco supplies now have a home:

There are lots of things in the garden to compost, summer corn stalks can eke out a month more usefulness as decoration:

My fabric scraps are piling up and I recently learned how to make a rag rug.  I'm not finished with it yet, but it will look nice in the guest room on the hardwood floor:

I cherish the memory of my father-in-law and his thriftiness.  I applaud that his needs were few and he did not need a lot of things to make him feel blessed.  They took care of what they did have and thus threw very little away.  What a wonderful example for his son.  It speaks of monogamy.   My husband can keep some old rusty hardware and finds a thrill making it useful.  A comforting thought as one gets old and raggedy.

Funky-villes past and present

West Seattle earns the award for being Funk-ville.  The cute shops, dinettes, bakeries, and antique shops stuffed to the rafters with every kind of "junque", are enough to send everyone from aging hippies to youth with dangling ear lobs  into rapture.  You think youth aren't interested in antique shops?  It was packed with them, finding vintage hats, kid gloves, smoking jackets, boots of every description, and hats from cowboy to Fedora.  I suspect this all had to do with Halloween, but they seemed to think that the coolest stuff was vintage.

As a reenactor, it is amusing to see youth eagerly snatching up artifacts from their grandparent's time.  Not too long ago I had a group of high schoolers come to the fort to see a cooking demonstration in the period kitchen.  Presenting to a group of gum-chewing, cell phone addicted, impatient ragamuffins might be daunting, but I love my topic, love kids, and love telling stories, so no matter what they looked like, in I plunged.

They loved the fact that our ancestors knew how to cultivate, harvest and grow what they ate.  They hated the fact that they didn't know how the things they used daily (i.e. cell phones, computers, cars) worked.  Our daily tools are so complex that if they got time warped back to 1855 they would not know how to make one, nor would they know how to feed themselves.  They suddenly felt dependent, and deemed it a weakness.  In their estimation, people from the past grew  to knowledgeable and capable.  When they realized that the fort people knew about "making things from scratch" they wanted to learn how too.  When we then took them to cook over an open fire, some of them declared it was the most fun they had ever had on a field trip.

Candlelight

 "Candlelight" at Fort Nisqually is an event held after dark and is truly lit by candles.  The reenactors are all in first person, the visitors are considered unseen ghosts from the future.  The visitors are led around by docents from scene to scene, and the unscripted reenactors must carry on with life in the 1850's.  This year we portrayed 1855.  I wish I had some picture of the fort after dark, but once it starts I am unable to pull out my camera.  I do have some pictures of the reenactors getting ready before the sun sets.

                                            

The different scenes are:
          1.  The meadow--Musicians and American settlers gather around campfires and talk or sing about their experiences getting to Ft. Nisqually along the Oregon Trail.  A handful of soldiers are camped here too, as there has been some Indian troubles.
          2.  The laborer's dwelling--on one side men play cards, gamble and joke.  On the other side, women and families spin, knit, and do chores.
          3.  Dancing--under a tent, lively music and dancing goes on non-stop throughout the evening.
          4.  The blacksmith's--The clang of the hammer on the anvil, the red sparks flying, and the hiss of steam make the blacksmith's shop a mesmerizing place after dark.
          5.  The grannery--Among scythes, yokes, chains, and casks farm laborers tell stories or sing.
          6.  The trade store or sales shop--While men argue politics, women might seek silk or a length of lace for their bonnets.
          7.  The Factor's House (front)--4 month old babies, parlour games with all their silliness, dinner parties, men still arguing politics, and the singing of haunting solos or auld lang syne make magic.
          8.  The Factor's House (back)--little children work on their slates, listen to stories beside the fire, and are put to bed.
          9.  The kitchen-- Delightful aromas of lamb or desserts issue forth.  But beware of what also issues forth: dirty dishwater and practical jokes.
         10.  Metis campsite--The Hudson's Bay Co. workers are preparing to venture back into the Cascade mountains to hunt for furs to trade, and have stories to share about their adventures.
         11.  The return to modern life via the picnic shelter--helpful volunteers answer questions and escort visitors to the buses.

We had over 230 volunteers this time, and as always, tickets sell out or nearly so.
 

Preparing

We've got twins coming to visit this weekend for Candlelight at Fort Nisqually! It is so much fun getting their room ready for them and their mama, Heidi.  Heidi's friend Micaila is coming too, and I am like "Lily, the caretaker's daughter" who "was literally run off her feet," from The Dead by James Joyce.  Well, maybe I'm not, for who can literally be run off their feet?  I'd rather be a comfortable squishy Mrs. Bennet, even though she squawks like a gaggle of geese.  She's so delighted in her flurrying!  Flowers in the bathroom, little changing table all prepared, rocking chair at the ready, nightlight on, two twin stuffed dogs standing guard.  All good fun.

Meanwhile, it is a good exercise to ponder what more we may do "to prepare". So as I'm vacuuming, I can mull over how to stand aside to let love enter any room before I do. What sort of herald am I?  What am I trumpeting?  Am I expecting the manifestation of good?  While fussing over details of recipes of things I hope to make, and while driving to the store to get the needed items, I can ponder what "feed my sheep" really meant.  While bathing the dog, and cleaning the bathroom, I can figure out what else can be washed away.

I feel like I've got a Roman Legion leading me onward, with banners snapping in the wind, armor clanging, and horses snorting.  Those horses just better not get any grass stains on the carpet.

Cleaning up after the party and Amanda Knox

Amanda Knox. Amanda Knox. Amanda Knox. News is full of her. Did she do it? Not do it? I've heard it all day as I've vacuumed, cleaned bathrooms, changed sheets and towels and generally cleaned up after Kristin's party.

I thought of her parents and of course knew how I'd feel if it were my daughter caught up in this sordid affair. I can only sympathize with them and applaud their herculean efforts to free their daughter.

They, as well as Amanda, have a lot of cleaning up.  Too bad it is not as simple as vacuuming and changing sheets.  I hope they are able to patch up her life, to tidy up her reputation. We know how transgressions might be cleansed, so I hope she is able to get some hyssop and get to work.

Meanwhile, as one young woman is coming home, another young woman is heading off.  I hope she is surrounded by a dome of protection, that she has prayer in her velcroed pocket, some wings on her combat boots, and angels watching over her.

Duty, Honor, Country

What weird high school girl keeps a copy of Gen. Douglas MacArthur's speech "Duty, Honor, Country" open on her desk and READS it frequently?  Okay, I did not go in for glittery earrings or platform shoes.  I got a thrill looking at Swiss Army knives.  But we each have our niche.

Now my daughter has gone into the Army, and by next spring will be a 2nd Lt.  One prays that she will stay out of harm's way and have a glorious career, but to her, I think it means more than that. 

General MacArthur said that the moral code of "duty, honor, country" animated him.  Here's a quote: "'Duty,' 'Honor,' 'Country' — those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you want to be, what you can be, what you will be.  They are your rallying point to build courage when courage seems to fail, to regain faith when there seems to be little cause for faith, to create hope when hope becomes forlorn. 

They make you strong enough to know when you are weak, and brave enough to face yourself when you are afraid.

They teach you to be proud and unbending in honest failure, but humble and gentle in success; not to substitute words for action; not to seek the path of comfort, but to face the stress and spur of difficulty and challenge; to learn to stand up in the storm, but to have compassion on those who fall; to master yourself before you seek to master others; to have a heart that is clean, a goal that is high; to learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; to reach into the future, yet never neglect the past; to be serious, yet never take yourself too seriously; to be modest so that you will remember the simplicity of true greatness; the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength.

Let civilian voices argue the merits or demerits of our processes of government. Whether our strength is being sapped by deficit financing indulged in too long, by federal paternalism grown too mighty, by power groups grown too arrogant, by politics grown too corrupt, by crime grown too rampant, by morals grown too low, by taxes grown too high, by extremists grown too violent; whether our personal liberties are as firm and complete as they should be.

These great national problems are not for your professional participation or military solution.  Your guidepost stands out like a tenfold beacon in the night: Duty, Honor, Country."

So whether we are on the front lines, or serving at home by helping our neighbor, praying for loved ones, and feeding the hungry heart, we are all animated by these words.  Our duty is to be the best we can be.  To be loving, to watch, to do unto others as we would have them be unto us, and "to be merciful, just, and pure."  Let that be the flag we carry.

Bozeman Bonnet Class

Who doesn't like a new bonnet?  Especially if one is a historical reenactor and gets to put feathers, ribbons and lace on the prettiest silk one can find.



My straw bonnet.

 The ladies of Nevada City (unlike its name suggests, it is actually located in Montana), desired to make bonnets and asked me to help them, so off I flew to Bozeman for a bonnet class.


Spring Hill church, where we held the class.



Starting work. We didn't expect to get much past making the bonnet form on the first day.



Breakfast provided by Phyllis.



Phyllis's lunch spread. Yum. She spoiled us.



Chris.



Sophie's wee bonnet she made for her doll.

I wish we'd had more time to get to the fun part, which is the covering and decorating.  I hope that the participants were able to follow my notebook of instructions and photos in order to complete their bonnets.  I look forward to getting pictures from them.  But bonnet making is like costuming in general, one must have the proper foundation in order to get a good finished look.  So we spent all day making the buckram form.

Isn't that the secret to life in general?  All the hard work and integrity of proper foundation is unseen. Whether one is laboring over a corest, buckram, research, manuscripts, or prayers, the quiet meadows of thought are what makes the glorious finished product.  No one is a philosopher who has not first been a shepherd.



Visiting the Bozeman sheep ranch.



Willow Spring sheep ranch.

Escaping from a forest fire



Escaping From a Forest Fire

We had planned a wilderness canoe trip to the Boundary Waters in Minnesota for several years, and our trip started Sept 7, 2011. We are not wilderness rookies, nor new to canoeing, our canoe club that has been canoeing together for 6 years. Dick (far left) is a former national champion canoeist from the 1960’s, and has been teaching kayaking ever since. Second from left is his wife Sue. My brother, Clark, (third from left), and his wife Ann (far right), are ardent backpackers who teach outdoor skills to Boy Scout leaders. Judy and Dave (fourth and fifth from left) have been on wilderness kayaking trips for decades. I have cooked for and led wilderness canoe trips for more than 20 years (I’m second from the right). The two in black are my husband Hans and Sue’s friend Gail.

                                                                       Our crew

The rangers who issued our permit told us that there was a small fire that had been started by lightning on Aug 18^th, and that a backfire had been lit by firefighters at the portage between Lake One, our put in, and Lake Two.  They said some of the campsites were a little smoky, but other than that, our itinerary would quickly have us out the area.

                                                             Backfire at Lake Two

On the second day we went through Lake Two, Three, and Four, then into Lake Hudson.  One of our party became suddenly ill, and we decided to stop and rest for three nights and only take day trips so that she could recover.  We had alternative routes that allowed for this.  The weather was very warm, up into the high 80’s.  We could see smoky clouds from the fire back by Lake One, but every morning the smoke abated.  We swam, paddled into nearby lakes, spotted beavers and even a mama bear and her cub swimming to an island.  We did not know that two days after we left it, that campsite was burned.

Swimming at Lake Hudson

Looking Back at Lake One

Hans Portaging

A Day Trip

Now that our party member was feeling better, we decided to take a long portage into Lake Insula, a large lake. On the portage we met a man who was traveling alone.  He was 75 years old or so and had been coming to the Boundary Waters since 1954.  This was almost his last trip, he did not know that he would have to paddle by moonlight to get out of the fire. 

We found a simply beautiful campsite and had a moonlight paddle around some islands in on silky smooth water.  However, the fire cloud was getting bigger, and the southern half of Lake Insula would be burned to the ground the next afternoon. We did not know this of course.



Portaging into Lake Insula



Our Camp on Lake Insula. It is now gone.

Moonlight paddle with Clark and Ann.

The fire cloud is growing.

In the morning we wondered if we should stay at Lake Insula, which we thought was a long way from the fire, or head north via a shortcut and resume our original plan.  Our lazy days had been so fun, there was some thought of staying put.  Then some canoeists came by and told us the fire was growing and that they had closed Lake One, Two, Three, Four and Hudson, where we had just been.  We jumped up and began hurrying to break camp, not because we feared the fire, but because we felt our trip now demanded we paddle more each day in order to make it back to our cars on time to catch our planes home.

We ran into some bad wind that day.  At first it was at our backs, from the south, and we were headed north.  In a way this was good as it pushed us along, but it was also bad for several reasons. It fanned the fire until it got out of control and became not only huge, but hot enough to jump out to the islands. The south wind pushed it right at us.  The other was that the waves were really high. We found the 75 year old man camped on an island and told him that the fire had spread and that the lower lakes were closed and he could not get out via Lake One.  He was not too worried.

The configuration of the lake soon meant that we had to paddle with the waves sideways to us, which is scary in a canoe.  One canoe took on water, and we paddled as hard as we could to get across.  The whitecaps were tipping us so that I could not help screaming once or twice.

We came to the portage at the north end of Lake Insula, and it was the longest portage of the trip, 185 rods (a rod is about 16 feet, or a canoe length).  The wind was howling now, and the trees were whipping.  Dick was carrying two packs when he heard a tree cracking, and looked around to see if one was about to fall.  He couldn’t see it, and something told him to RUN.  He ran 5 or 6 strides, and a big birch tree hit the ground 5 feet behind him.

Coming back to the beginning of the portage for my second load was when I got worried.  The sky was very red and the wind was very high, blowing the fire right at us.  The air was dark and smoky. The fire was gaining on us.  We had no idea how close it was.

Looking back, it appeared to me that the fire must be closing.

We did not know it had already reached the southern end of Lake Insula and was nearing our campsite of that morning.  The campers on Lake Insula were fleeing for their lives by this time, including the old man.

Time to pray.

As we went into the next lake, we gained some distance from the fire, but the clouds of smoke were huge, soaring upwards thousands of feet.

Smoke clouds

Praying harder.

We canoed through small Lake Kiana and into Lake Thomas.  So many canoeists were fleeing the fire that campsites were hard to find.  We got into Lake Thomas and had to pass by the first camp site, which was occupied.  The second one was not big enough, the third one worked.  However, now the wind was howling and we feared that the birches surrounding us might topple.  Looking back at the fire was the scariest part though.  By this time it was halfway up Lake Insula.  It was approaching fast.

That's me in the blue hat on the left.

We already had our tents up, but were thinking it might be time to take them down, put our gear into the dry sacks and sink our canoes.  If we had to get into the water, how long would we have before hypothermia set in?  Would the smoke be so dense that we would be asphyxiated?  Often in super-hot fires, the air is so hot that humans can’t breathe, the hot air enters the lungs and cooks them. 

The fire coming.

It is getting hotter and brighter.

I think we were all actively praying by this time. Ash was starting to fall.

Thunder.  Huge thunder.  Mighty peals of it warned us to take cover, and then the heavens opened up and poured down rain and hail.  Dave, who was pumping water, had to run.  No one even had time to get into their tents, we hunkered down under a tarp.  The hail pummeled us to hard it hurt to hold up the tarp, they were the size of large mothballs and hurt like bullets.  The lake was churning with them like a maelstrom.  The storm did not last long, only 15 minutes, but that was enough.

It hurt to hold up the tarp.

Dave (far right) is still holding the water filter.

Sometime later, the hail is still present.

We could no longer see the clouds nor the fire.  Later in the evening, we saw a red glow on the horizon, but slept soundly. When I woke up worried about the wind, I prayed that God had a dome of protection over me.

In the morning, we paddled as far as Lake Ima, but the winds were so high we had to stop.  The portages were crammed with people fleeing and we took the first campsite we could find.

The temperature dropped and the wind was horrible.  We feared we should flee, but the winds and whitecaps were so bad it did not appear wise.  We wound up staying two nights there, even though it was cold and windy and we really wanted to be somewhere more sheltered.

Looking out the tent window at the wind and rain.

We spent of lot of time in the tents out of the rain. The temperature has dropped dramatically, down to 21 degrees.

By the time the wind calmed down it was too late to move camp.

The next day was breezy, but we got up before dawn and crossed the lake to the portage.  We had a beautiful day among small lakes, thankful that the thunderstorm had put out the fire, as the small lakes afforded little protection if we had been overrun by the fire while in them.  Instead, we were able to appreciate their beauty.

On the move again.

What happened to 85 degrees?

Hans' frozen sock.

Frost on the canoe.

The last people out met up with us on the last portage, and we canoed across Snowbank Lake to the take out. There we met some rangers who said that whole area we were in was closed.  We asked if anyone had been hurt or if there had been any structural damage.  They said no one had been killed or hurt, and only one structure had burned but no one had lived there.

At the take out.

Here are some pictures of the fire from the Internet:

The islands are burning too.

A satellite view.