Confessions of a Tygh Valley Weed Wrangler

Still catching up her as the last snow of the season falls.   I am acclimating it seems, because I wished for this snow!  This, my third winter, was very mild and I found I missed the magical quality of snow, as someone who has not lived in it her entire life can say.

But to continue the catch up and give you the character of life here:  back to that first year.

Year ONE, in the rear-view-mirror:

Shortly after settling into my cute place on the lake, two events coincided:  my new landlords decided to sell the property, and the kids announced the coming of my first grand baby.  When invited to move closer, I naturally embraced the chance to love on a grandchild, and for a short time, that would mean living in an efficiency apartment connected to their house.  In the span of a few months, I'd repacked everything I'd just unpacked, and moved to join them in the high-desert and unpack again! I traded in my fancy water-proof Bogs boots for gardening boots and leather  gloves and away I went, downsizing yet again, this time to a 300 square feet. That's what grandmothers do...

Life in 300 Sq. feet

I moved in as millions converged a few miles down the road to watch the full-eclipse in 2017. It seemed  fortuitous, but man was it dry country. A water person at heart, I was consoled by nearby White River Falls and the Deschutes River, nine miles away. Within moments of opting for life in a desert clime, I hightailed it to the Falls for proof of being able to get a whiff of mist. I wasn't disappointed.

 

White River Falls

 

We got down to business of settling in and to give you a taste of the first phase of that endeavor, here's a  copy of an article I wrote for the Wasco County Master Gardner's Newsletter. 

Read it and weep.

Confessions of a Tygh Valley Weed Wrangler

Having served in the Peace Corps Africa for two-and-a-half years, before moving to Oregon in 2014, I thought it would prepare me well for living a more remote, less “Better Homes and Gardens” life-style – as was my preference.  And to some extent, that’s true: I actually got better phone and internet coverage in the wilds of Africa than I’ve had in either Cannon Beach or Tygh Valley!  That said, nothing prepared me for the sheer variety and ferocity of noxious weeds and grasses I encountered as the self-appointed Weed-Wrangler of our little piece of property in Tygh Valley.   I admit—it’s not an entirely fair comparison though, since I wasn’t wrangling weeds in Africa.

The kids bought a five-acre piece of property in happy pursuit of the dream of having a big garden and chickens and a family compound of sorts. Surrounded by wheat fields, buttes and breathtaking scenery, the place has delivered on its promise of serenity, sunshine and possibilities.   And then there were weeds …. and rocks… and ground squirrels…. and yellow-jackets … and a badger—all of which had staked their claim on the place during the years of neglect between owners. Although an acre-and-a-half had been (emphasis on past-tense) tamed a few years ago, its return to the wild was complete by the time we took possession.   By the end of day three after moving in, I was a woman-possessed—and armed.  Prepared for battle with heavy leather work gloves, leaf-bags, an arsenal of weeding tools, and a pioneer-spirit, I went to work.

Goat Heads will puncture bike tires & feet

“What the heck IS all this stuff?” I asked a Master Gardner at one of the last Farmer’s Market days in The Dalles last season. She plied me with brochures and resources, then told me about the Master Gardner program.  That was August of last year and I was hooked. So here I am a fledgling Master Gardner-in-training and the answers are/could be/might be: Cheat Grass, Foxtail Barley, Bull Thistle, Scotch Thistle, Wheat,  Dandelions of course, and False Dandelion (didn’t know there was such a thing),  Field bindweed, Puncture-vine (aka Goat Heads) Knapweed, Wild Geranium, ad infinitum.  Add blackberries, flowering rush (I think) and willow along the unlined irrigation ditch and it’s the gardener’s version of The Perfect Storm. In short, most of the weeds appearing on the PNW weed identification site and some that aren’t are in evidence under-foot, in the cat’s fur, in the gardens, and embedded in my shoes.

None of us have had much time for clean-up, but what time there was, had to be sandwiched between a newborn baby/grandbaby and jobs on Mt. Hood. It’s been a harsh learning curve, with many discoveries, one of which was that of the “seed bank.”   Who knew….  This was not a happy discovery as I’d spent a hideous amount of time pulling weeds out of a previously landscaped bed – un-fortuitously situated across the road from a wheat field, only to have it covered with beautiful grass-like sprouts a few weeks later.  Thrilled with the possibility that the lawn grass had “just needed room to spread,”  it soon became apparent that this was not grass.  And that’s when I began to understand the work of a seed-bank and wished my own bank account would yield such a return to abundance when emptied.  

Having given away ALL of my yard tools when I sold my house to go to Africa, I’m in the process of re-stocking. I am now the proud new owner of a stand-up weed puller, which offered the promise of Dandelion control (not so), a hula-hoe (truly God’s answer to a seed-bank) and sundry other yard tools which promised to ease the work-load.

Hula Hoe

By late-Fall, the debris pile had grown to the size of a small house and burning just didn’t seem like a good idea considering that much of Oregon had recently been on fire. Finding no-one willing to haul it away, we ended up renting a U-Haul truck with the Granny Attic and filled it to capacity, dumping it at the Transfer Station, but leaving at least a third of it for another load.  The next load consisted of 50+ paper leaf-bags transported in style in a shiny new rented box-van.   I’m sure a burn-barrel is in our future—when we can find one.  I know people burn out here all the time, but frankly I don’t want to be the one to set the hill on fire when a flaming tumble-weed escapes before I can bat it down.   As of this writing, much of what was cut away to create a fire-barrier, is now in the process of growing back, so it will require constant maintenance

In the war-against Dandelions, the Dandelions have won. What precipitated this surrender was the collection of a bushel of Dandelion blossoms and seed heads (a half-hour’s harvest), accomplished to the mantra “there are still plenty left for the bees!”  What happened next can only be described as karmic.  As I reached down to pick up an armload to  transfer to the paper leaf bag, I was stung by just such a bee, foraging from the picked supply.   Mea-culpa.    I think Dandelion salads and tea might be my best revenge.

Periodic use of the hula-hoe has been nothing short of magical in making “withdrawals” from the seed-bank with minimal soil disturbance.   A weed-torch has been useful in preparing the 32’x24’ area we’re prepping for the garden which we’ll put in too-late because we’re still hand-digging the thirteen, 28” deep post holes in soil that is at least 50% rock, to erect an eight-foot "deer proof" fence.

Future weed-puller

Yep! We’re the newcomers, city-clickers, novices, dreamers, optimists—so  feel free to laugh and cry at our efforts (we are).  But progress is afoot and I have new appreciation for the Ugandan expression:  “slowly-by-slowly.”  By the time this confession goes to print, the fence will be up and hopefully, our one small “starter row” with its temporary chicken-wire fence will not have been consumed by the deer – or the ground squirrels – or the badger.   And I fully plan on teaching my grandson, that if he’s very good, I’ll let him pull weeds. But he’s still a little young. 

Post Script: 
I'm happy to say, my future weed-puller  likes "working in the yard with Nana," and is becoming a fine puller of weeds (as well as the random flower... and the occasional-but not-often,  cat-tail). Bribery has not been involved.

Been A While

Hello my friends. For those of you still reading, thank you for hanging in there.  For new friends, thank you for welcoming me into your lives.  I'm lovin' my life in Maupin, and still learning how to be an Oregonian; new survival gear is involved: snow boots, rafting gear, ice cleats. Skills to out-smart and out-run a two-year-old are also on the list, though not Oregon-specific.

After Peace Corps, Mexico, and Cannon Beach I sort of fell off the radar when so much new life  (literally) announced itself. Life went into high gear, and the blog fell off the short-list; excuses/reasons will be apparent in future blogs.   

My book about the whole adventure of Peace Corps and more is in the works;  and that took me back to  my blog to see where I left off.  I was a little shocked to realize I'd failed to post the last entry I wrote four years ago. So, while it's old news to some, I'm putting it out there... just because.

As a recycled-Texan, the expression, "I'm back in the saddle again," comes to mind; though the last time I was in a saddle was at a Dude Ranch in 1996 and that didn't end well.  As a new Oregonian, maybe I'm back in the raft? Back on the trail?  Yet all of those feel a little unfamiliar.  Let's just say I'm writing again and it feels good. That actually is familiar ground and makes me happy.

Here's the bit I hadn't posted, from November 21, 2016,  so don't let the timeline confuse you. More to come in bits a pieces...
  
Still processing the aftermath of the (2016) election, I decided to focus on something positive, some-thing a little more uplifting. So here's some beautiful scenery and an update.

At the end of September, my landlords decided to sell the cute little Cannon Beach Cottage and it became time to shift gears again.  Long term rentals in Cannon Beach are non existent, since property owners can earn more on a weekend from the tourists than they can in a month of lease.  The upside was that Travis was able to come for a visit before full chaos erupted and it was like Christmas having both of my wonderful sons here at one time.  It was so much fun sharing this beautiful place with Travis and then being ale to spend time with both of them in Brett's end of the world - Mt. Hood.

Magically, one - and only one - place became available 16 miles up the road, via an acquaintance  I'd made in one of those synchronistic meetings a year ago.  It's a tiny place, overlooking a lake buzzing with activity:  otter, deer, elk and birds. So far,  I've identified 86 different species of birds - but who's counting.  In short - another gift from the universe. Here's a peek.  SO much more open feeling and lots of light.   The people weren't even going to rent it, but a friend of a friend sent them the Peace Corps article that appeared in the newspaper a while back and apparently I didn't look to scary.

After getting my stuff in, I took a break from the tourist craziness of the summer and decided to be one - a tourist, that is - and set off to explore the Olympic National Forest and its Rain forests. Who knew!?  The trip was beyond my expectations and just in time to see the Fall Color.  Had my friend and I started a week later we'd have missed it!

There are four temperate Rain forests just three hours north of here and we explored two of them: The Hoh and the Quinault. Feeling like we were lost in the set of Avatar,  every vista was more mystical than the next.  Take a look -

Tucked in among the dripping leaves, bearded trees and waterfalls we chanced upon Lake Quinault Lodge that looks like the set from Dirty Dancing.  Driving on, the scenery switched back to the eerie beauty of the Twilight movies filmed around here.   And in another heartbeat there was scenery that looked straight out  of Colorado. 

Returning via an Indian Reservation and some iconic fishing villages and harbors, we wound our way back into Oregon, stayed long enough to do laundry and regroup before heading south to explore Mt. Shasta, then back north via the southern Oregon coast.


Hoping for a little weirdness on Mt Shasta - known for it's mystical happenings and  inexplicable  encounters, we found only great vistas - until we tried to get back to the shore.  Somehow - (used in the true Ugandan sense...) we were routed to a Forestry Road through the Forest Prime-evil devoid of any sign of  humanity except for  dilapidated, long abandoned barns and small signs announcing GOLD CLAIMS!!!  It was a trip back in time and we were lost, running out of gas and approaching dusk. It stirred up some old spookiness about back roads and bayous in Louisiana, and fearing I might have to walk out or spend the night in the car, I threw up my hands and asked the Universe for help I'm happy to say a big black SUV appeared around the next curve. Although very welcome, it too had an element of weird:  not a speck of dust on this dusty road and no identifiers what-so-ever re: Make and Model.

We were looking for weird, not scary, but this slice of  adventure sufficed.  Heading back home,  the north coast welcomed us with characteristic rain, and so another fall begins.    I've settled into a new place, with great new neighbors - both animal and human - and  ESL (English as a Second Language) classes have begun.   Trying to  find a new cadence to life, since this community is so removed and different from Cannon Beach.

Looks like we're in for quite a ride these next few years and in trying to find some solace, what I've come to is a quote from  Margaret Meade:

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed it's the only thing that ever has."   

It's time to act in your own way to "Be the Change."

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/m/margaretme100502.html

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/m/margaretme100502.html

Change - and choice

Hello all –

So I thought I’d completely jettisoned my old self…. but there are some things that are just here to stay… And that was rather the point – to see what remained after all the excess fell away.  Part of the Peace Corps journey was to re-calibrate.  You’ve heard this story before, so no repeating.  In short, I chose an opportunity that would allow me the space to live my work – and not sell it.    I’ve dismantled two websites, leaving behind  sixteen years of history.  I’ve stopped formally teaching the Feng Shui, the organization, dispute resolution, the ADHD classes, intuition, hands on healing.   I began teaching these topics at least a decade before they became mainstream and commercial. I’m glad to say that most of it is now part of the vernacular.  When I started, some of these concepts were only spoken of in hushed tones with trusted friends or others who had experiences that were outside the norm.  Now they are the subject of websites, books, webinars and Oprah.

Suffice it to say, that what remains after all that jettisoning of trappings and overhead, is the spiritual practice in daily life and the essence of that is awareness of what kind of emotion – vibration – energy I am offering to the mix.    Am I a source of light or contributing to the darkness?

Energy – sound – light – matter – emotion: it's is about vibration.  Everything vibrates at its own rate and that makes us all transmitters.  It’s not MAGIC – it’s PHYSICS.    This vibration influences everything around us and is cumulative in its impact.  It becomes and defines the collective.  It’s one of the building blocks  of the principle that thought-creates-form. In Africa, I had the remarkable opportunity to observe the immediate results of the concept in daily interactions.  Here there is so much noise, that sometimes it’s hard to rule out the variables.  

So why am I dragging this out now – after years of hiatus?  Because we, as a nation and as a complex culture, are in a mess - a world of woe.  It’s one we created for ourselves - and therefore a situation that we can choose to dismantle and change before our unconscious actions  or knee-jerk re-actions cement what it now just a possibility into a concrete reality. Regardless of political affiliation, our collective energy has created this atmosphere of escalating divisiveness.   Each political candidate represents the out-picturing of the mass energy – representing in different measures: hope, fear, love and hate.      We have – individually and as a society, allowed ourselves to be distracted by the media’s images of hate, violence, divisiveness and inflammatory rhetoric.   We have either not been paying attention, or often paying attention (aka: giving our energy) to things, thoughts, emotions and personalities that do not serve us well.   But we can change this IF WE CHOOSE.  And choose is an active verb…

Each of us has the ability to change our own energy or vibrational signature if we so desire and therefore calibrate (there’s that words again…) the signal we want to be responsible for sending and TO WHICH we want to resonate. Change the signal - change the path. 

We are creatures of choice and we can choose to be the best version of ourselves or drift along and let others do the choosing.  But what does that mean on a moment-to-moment basis?

In part, it means being acutely conscious of what we bring to every moment, every  action and interaction, every decision about what we re-post on FB, about the stories we tell about others and the worth we hold for ourselves.    In the book The Four Agreements (Miguel Ruiz), there is a quote:

“Be impeccable in your word.”

For me, that means not just to tell the truth, be authentic and honor our commitments. Our “WORD” is actually our frequency – the vibrational  signal we emit.  Sound – as an example of frequency – can destroy or create calm.  Is the signal we emit love or hate, worth or devaluing, supportive or discounting?   We are the tuners of our own devices; we are self-calibrating when we choose to be. 

IFF we want a different world, it means active engagement, but not necessarily in the old ways.  If we choose change, we no longer have the luxury of living on auto-pilot and being asleep to our real value, power or capabilities to shape the world and the relationships around us.  Perhaps we have reached this point of chaos and despair precisely to encourage us to be more aware, more conscious of the responsibility we hold for the choices we make, the actions we take and the words we utter.

Not to belabor the point, but again - we create with every breath, every emotion, every belief, every judgement, every blessing or curse – every word, thought, action (and inaction) – and every FB share!   Frankly, acting from conscious choice all of the time can be exhausting! It means breaking habits, operating out of new paradigms, questioning our motivations – being fully present.

One practice I have found helpful is meditation in general, but I really love doing a walking meditation, whether hiking, walking on the beach or to the store or even driving... it's a good way to focus energies and stay out of my monkey-mind.  Sometimes, it’s a challenge to “sit” and still the mind or to re-frame troubling thoughts and feelings, so I’m sharing a meditation I created for myself, in case it resonates with you or you want to create your own:

·

     

   With every step I take, may all beings walk in freedom 

     May every action I take be one of compassion 

     May every thought I have be in awareness of what I bring to the world 

     May every word I utter be spoken in kindness 

     May every emotion be of love and gratitude 

     May every breath offer a blessing 

     May I see all beings as the divine in form.

Namaste,

Nancy

New Year Wrap-up

Yes indeed, the sun has set on yet another year and  2016 blew in with with gusto and freezing temps here on the northern shore.  Some strange atmospheric anomaly brought with it the tease of seeing the northern lights as far south as Cannon Beach, so in search of a little magic, a friend and I put on one each of the collection of jackets-hats-vests-and gloves co-mingling with the family of boots to drive up to one of the lookout points away from the light pollution of the metropolis of Cannon Beach. 

We set off into the inky night, any glow from the moon obliterated by the giant specter-like Spruces guarding one side of  Hwy 101 and the Pacific Ocean- - blackness incarnate -  on the other.  Headlights are all but useless on this road of hairpin curves and the darkness swallows the meager glow fr m our high-beams.  So we threaded our way out of town into the encroaching spookiness  until we came to Nekehanie lookout where we might be able to search out out some light-play on the horizon. The wind howled with a vengeance on this point as it juts out into the Pacific;  Manzanita to the south and Cannon Beach to the north.  My shoe-box  size car does not like this kind of wind, nor does its driver - so we inched up as close to the wall separating parking lot from the sheer drop into the ocean and turned off all the lights hoping for a light show.   As we waited, the car shook, the cold crept in and the spook-factor ratcheted its way up.   The only light we saw were those of few fishing boats tossing at sea and I again thanked the gods that I was not on a boat tossing in the dark.  As we sat, cloaked in the black night, it reminded me of the William Ernest Henley poem:

Daytime view from Nekahanie Lookout

"Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul...

In the fell clutch of circumstance,

I have not winced nor cried aloud;

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody but unbowed...

It matters not how straight the gait,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate;  I am the captain of my soul."

That same captain saw fit to settle me on this gorgeous coast with the intention of reinventing life and so I am.  The first week of the new year always brings up the urge to avoid New Year's Resolutions, but a review of what's past and what might be ahead always seems to creep in.  While mulling over such things, I began to fall into that abyss of trying to figure out what this time of life is all about.  I've never really understood or identified with the term retirement.  Thank God I was rescued from further ruminations by a phone call from a strange country code: 256...   I answered my dark-ages black flip-phone (yes I admit it...) before the whereabouts of the prefix had been found in my mental Rolodex, for those of you old enough to remember such things.  A resonate voice full of lilting accent blossomed forth....     Identifying the accent, but not the words I knew it was Uganda calling!    A little knee-jerk panic hit as I wondered if  I was going to being able to understand any of this. Historically - the answer would be no:  lousy acoustics of my  phone, poor connection, a vaguely British accent speaking across thousands of miles, old fart hearing and a brain (mine) being out of practice in processing the uniquely Ugandan way of stringing English words together.

• I said: "I'm sorry who is calling ????"    
• The voice:  something unintelligible
• Again, me feeling embarrassed: "Oh I'm sorry! can you say that again?" 
•  The now-laughing voice:  "Your friend!  The former Assistant Rrrrrra D.C. (Regional District Commissioner)!"  
• Me finally: Oh Emily - it's YOU! How wonderful!" I am now choosing words carefully, trying not to "decorate"  language with words that will only confuse.  My English is just as strange to her ears as her's is to mine.

But we prevailed and it was the most delicious, surprising conversation.

She said "It is the New Year and I could not welcome it without calling you!  I have been missing you!  And I love you too much... and I could not start another year without saying thank you for all you have done? We miss you SO much!" 

Oh my, I felt wrapped in love and gratitude for knowing this woman, having lived those years in Uganda,  having  been "enough" to be missed two years later.  Overcome with emotion I couldn't think fast enough to ask her about everyone and when I tried one volley, I could tell there was familiar mis-step in making oneself understood (it goes both ways)  when the crackle of a poor connection took over ... In the next moment,  I think I heard her ending the conversation as it was just beginning. It was a very Ugandan practice - usually without preamble the conversation is simply "finished."  Air-time is a precious commodity and telephone etiquette is just different.  Was that "Goodbye"  I just heard?  Yes - I think so. And I thanked her for calling and told her,  "I miss you and love you 'too much. ' "  And then it was over.   Had it actually happened? 

Wow!  What a gift! What a spectacular way to start a new year!  A with it,  a heartfelt reminder of the impact we have on each other's lives.  Emily - who rescued a toddler literally from the sacrificial alter of a local witch doctor and moved heaven and earth to help me with Peter's horrid school situation had far more impact on my life in Uganda than I perceived  having had while there.  Still, I believe any small act of caring resonates far more deeply that we can imagine.  It was - for me - a clarion call to continue to be mindful of our ability to change the world through small acts of kindness given freely and without attachment to the outcome. And that continues to be one of the repeating gifts from my time there: to simply to the next right thing without expectation of return.  Just do it.

 Three weeks later, life has resumed some form of normality. The elk herd wanders down the street and fat racoons maraud around town at night and the wind blows. 

One big step for me in the ongoing process of re-calibrating and redefining life has been to jettison some of the trapping of a prior life that no longer support me.  The knowledge from and the appreciation of that life remain, as do good friend but other things no so much.  The website I had for 20 years Focus On Space and the email that went with it, along with it the book site are now defunct.  And I will tell you that the conscious dismantling and untangling of a previous identity with so much history was daunting.  It is so much more than I thought and as liberating.  Rather than dragging my history along behind me by default, I decided-to-decide what I would keep.  That said, there is NO aspect of life that that site did not touch:  accounts, online billing, contacts, professional life,  ad infinitum.  As soon as one layer was cleared another took it's place.  But, slipping around in the primordial goo of a new life forming is a distinctly unsettling - if often exhilarating - experience. 

So I am exploring and face it - funds are essential. But  thanks to Peace Corps and  other internal shifts, my relationship with money has changed as has the life-style I choose, allowing a lot of latitude.  But this new life I have here has no real rhythm and that's taking some getting used to.  I've taken on something new for me that stems from the language training in Uganda and my short stint in Mexico, learning how to teach English as a Second Language.   I'm the new coordinator for recruiting students and tutors for a TESL program funded by Clatsop Community College.  It ends in May, when the tourist season starts here and it's been interesting.   It's a bit like herding cats:  finding both tutors and students and then matching them up and finding venues for sessions: different schedules, abilities, transportation limitations, etc. etc.  I'm teaching one class a week that ranges from 5 - 12 students, half at any given time are new... English skills all over the place and great fun.  What a great group of lovely, supportive, funny women.

Cold but beautiful

My role as staff for  Haystack Rock job starts and this year I'm getting paid for what I did for free last year.  That fulfills one of my intentions: to get paid for work I would do (and have done) for free :)  Since that job revolves around low-tide, there's no normality to be found there.  The tide waits for no man, so all other schedules have to dance around this one.  No sense of balance there...   But being paid to be on the beach, talking to people about the wildlife is pretty fine.  However, the first session of beach duty was a little raw: 45 mph winds, cold and rough surf. 

And somehow I've made it onto the front page of the local papers without doing anything illegal or outrageous - yet.  I was interviewed about my Peace Corps experience, so it was fun and lovely to have the chance to the experience.

An that's the news from lake Wobegone...

Wishing you all a belated Happy 2016!   Love and blessings ya'll...

Different Ways to give in this Season of Giving

In this season of giving,   many of us are looking for  different ways to honor the spirit of the season and the sentiments of birth, hope and illumination - bringing light to our lives and the lives of others.   Certainly there are many ways to do this depending on beliefs and spiritual path, one's resources and where we are in life.   Some of us know family and friends who have everything they need and don't really want or need another material thing.  But still, we'd like to give something that makes a difference.

I suppose because of my time in Peace Corps and some hands-on experience with organizations whose stated mission is to help relieve suffering, improve education, health etc. friends have asked me for input.  So this blog is - in part - a response to those questions.  We are all aware, that just because an organization intends or proposes to do "good works," not all of them do.  Many fall short simply because of the challenges of delivering goods and services in a third world country.  Others spend too much on administration and housing their staff.  Then there are those that are inept or just outright dishonest.  I have my own experiences with the challenges of well-intentioned giving with complicated results.  

The bottom line is you need to KNOW your organization.  It - and its governance need to be vetted.  It helps to have some first hand experience or stories regarding the effectiveness of those organizations and how the monies/goods donated are managed and delivered. And DO they make a difference?

I know two such organizations that  really do work by contributing in organic, demonstrable ways to education and training or the delivery of goods that translate to on-the-ground economic development and sustainability.   They absolutely change lives in tangible ways.

1.  A friend recently asked me about Heiffer International, an organization I've contributed to in the past.   I'm happy to say I do have a first-hand story of success from Uganda. Denis, one of our favorite Peace Corps language trainers shared his story of how the gift of a cow from Heifer International changed his family's destiny, which - in turn, contributed to changing  the community's destiny. Every family uplifted in a developing culture, uplifts the community. Because of that gift,  Denis is well-educated, has a sought after job and also has a chicken hatchery. Because of the goodwill represented by  that gift, Denis continues to be an ambassador himself - giving back to his community and assisting foreigners who are in Uganda to help.  It's a gift that keeps on giving you might say. A goat, bee-hive, water-buffalo, cow, clean water equipment,  business launch - the options are endless! All improve the quality and sustainability of life in profound ways that most of us would have a hard time even imagining. To access their wide range of options, choose a country or a cause or give a gift: http://www.heifer.org/

 

2.  Another organization, with which I have first hand knowledge, is the Family Copeland Foundation:  "...established in May 2014 to provide support to the students, teachers, and administrators of St. Mary’s Midwifery Training School in Kalongo, Uganda, in the form of educational scholarships, facility improvements, teaching aids as well as promotion of the school itself."  Launched by Peace Corps friends Bill and Holly Copeland, the foundation is an outgrowth of their time spent in service at St Mary's and their witness to the integrity, mentoring and commitment present  at every level of the school, which also serves as a hospital for the area.

The school itself was established in 1959 and it is a testimony to the founders, the staff and the community of Kolongo that it was sustained throughout the 18 years of war in northern Uganda.

It's important to know that the girls who attend St Mary's have already been vetted, as has their family's commitment to their daughter's education.   It's hard to overemphasize how critical that is the student's success and the success of the program. The statement: "It takes a Village" is true and this commitment is continued at the school.

As some of you know, I've had my own experience with funding the education of two young men in Uganda.  My efforts were fraught with obstacles and challenges that are  almost impossible to describe or anticipate.  I tried to do it on an individual basis without established oversight and on-site mentoring in place and the experience taught me a lot in terms of what to look for when thinking of providing a scholarship.  Family Copeland Foundation is the "real deal."

  

 More information that might be useful if you are considering a donation to this organization:

• Over 97% of donations will go directly to St. Mary’s to provide student and teacher scholarships or in some cases teaching aids.
• Holly and Bill Copeland pay for all foundation administrative costs such as website hosting fees, accounting expenses, mailing, promotional material and marketing. The only exception is credit card processing fees which are less than 3 percent.
• There are no paid staff and Officers and Board members do not receive compensation.
• Accounting for the receipt and disbursement of donations will be provided on request.
• The Principal of St. Mary's, Sister Carmel Abwot, along with her staff will decide which students and teachers will receive scholarships.

Agnes, Gloria, Agness and Sister Godliver

Thus far, the foundation has supplied four scholarships. During their trip back to Kolongo in September of this year, Bill and Holly met  those fortunate four, pictured left.   A fifth scholarship of $2300  covering the full expenses for 30 months is well on its way. The fact that tuition, books, housing and uniforms are covered in that amount is part of the program's success, because girls can concentrate fully on their studies. In programs where only tuition is donated, the need of even a book or a uniform can derail everything.  From now until December 31, 2015, Bill and Holly will "personally match at 50% all donations."   Any amount makes a difference to not only the  students, but for the communities in which they will serve. To donate: http://www.familycopeland.com/

However you celebrate and choose to share in the holidays, I wish you each and all the warmth of home, family and friends and an awareness of the blessings inherent in freedom, choice and the options we enjoy.

Blessing to you all.

Thar be Whales and Other Oregon Musings

Another gorgeous sunset at Haystack Rock

It's been too long - I've just been living life - and life is good in Cannon Beach.  When I arrived back in April after my first trip back to Austin, I plunged into volunteering at the fabulous Haystack Rock - the icon for Cannon Beach. It's a National Wildlife Refuge and Marine Garden and only two blocks from my cotage- so it's a great excuse to play and call it work.  Every day at sunset, you can find an army of camera wielding people - only some of them tourists -waiting for the sun to slide behind the horizon.  Yesterday, in the blink before it disappeared there was the "green flash."  It obviously has the power to derail a person from posting a new blog or any productive work.   And there are the tide pools and thousands of nesting birds in the spring and summer - even more temptation. 

Lacy pink Corraline algae with an Ochre Sea Star

But it's not summer anymore and the beach at least has reclaimed its sense of pristine windswept remoteness. 

I've been to Austin and back again (October) and I have to say it was one of the most bizarre trips ever.  Classes didn't "make,"  there was a donnybrook over payment (a satisfactory compromise was reached after much sturm und drang and  emailing...)   One relationship experienced a strange, histrionic demise while others bloomed and some wonderful discoveries were made.  The ultimate distillation of the trip was the realization that my periodic trips have come to a natural cosmos-supported close, just as opportunities are blossoming here. And all is as it should be.  The universe in its infinite order orchestrates the opening of new doors as others close.  This has been an interesting journey as I continue to dismantle aspects of a previous life (websites and an email address I've had for 20b years...) and populate a new one  by fine-tuning older proclivities or adding new projects.   I love that doing things I love at the volunteer level have organically morphed into income.  I think that's the way life is supposed to work.   An idea for a non-profit to keep Ugandan girls in school is  also afoot, but has a lot of development that needs to be done before its launched.  More on that as it evolves.

Gooseneck Barnacles

Meanwhile, back on the beach, volunteering essentially as a Naturalist, I can give myself permission to spend hours at the tide-pools at low tide. That volunteering has turned into a part time job from February through September with a group known as Haystack Rock Awareness Program (HRAP).  We're there every daytime low tide to protect nesting habitat and educate visitors about the birds and marine life, but I confess - it's more like play and an endless source or discovery. I've become a student all over again:  Above is some gorgeous lacy pink algae and what's visible of a Sea Star (aka Starfish), with some seaweed mixed in. The cluster to the right that looks a little like dragon's claws is actually a colony of Gooseneck Barnacles, still a little bit open from feeding.  Who knew that barnacles could be beautiful!

FEED US!

About mid July, I also started working part time at the Visitor's Center - at least it started as part-time. In a town that boasts a population of about 1800,  summer brings an absolute swarm of tourists that can swell the population to 20,000 on any given day. We are hit with the most amazing array of questions and the occasional calamity and have to think fast.  My favorite inane question so far, from a young college graduate:  "So what time are the tides - I mean - WHO DECIDES THAT?"   Patience and a sense of humor rule the day.  It's been a steep learning curve to tell people about an area I, myself, am just learning - but that's half the fun.   Another perk:  this little nest of barn swallows that made a home just to the left of the entrance!   Trying to capture the perfect shot of these little hatchlings,  the mom flew by just as I snapped and all the mouths opened. 

Chicken of the Woods (?) Fungi

When Brett moved to area 10 years I knew his enchantment with the area meant he'd never leave.   I'm beginning to understand it.  I love my coast better than his trees and mountain, but it's all available and I bought some trekking poles to hike when the wind on the beach is so strong it blows sand in your teeth.  Winds of 80-120 mph are not unusual.  The forest offers other treasures, one being edible mushrooms, but I've not explored that aspect except in pictures. If this orange fungus is what I think it is - it's edible when it's "young and fresh..."  But I think I'll pass.

Amid all the flurry or tourism and visits from friends,  much of Oregon burned over the summer and tourists here were unhappy about the burn-ban.  Really?  In other news,  Marijuana has been legalized and small Cannabis Boutiques have sprung up all over. I haven't sampled them yet.   Toward the end of the summer, we were blessed with an invasion of Humpbacks - cavorting, breaching, diving and generally enjoying a feeding frenzy very close to shore.  They were accompanied by porpoises (rare here), sea lions and the occasional Orca!   Unfortunately,  they were driven closer to shore because of a bizarre low-nutrient warm water mass given the scientific name of "The Blob" and that's a scary thing from an ecological perspective.

So here we are at run-up to the holidays and I'm glad to be out of the fray.   Cannon Beach is a little burg decorated with lights and trees, but none of the hype of bigger cities.  When they say this area is rural,  they mean it.  Christmas tree lots are just beginning to show up.  There's only one radio station I can tune in - courtesy of the sandwiching of the area between the sea and the Cascades - and on that single station, I've heard not a single Christmas carol.  And speaking of reception, Verizon is the only network that works reliably, so if you come with anything else, you essentially don't have a phone. It's a rude awakening for some - but in that regard, Uganda was good training.   I appreciate the slower approach and waiting till after Thanksgiving to sell Christmas.  A big day out shopping here is a trip to Costco and Fred Myer and all the rest happens at small, locally owned stores. 

So that's the news from the strange and wonderful world of Oregon. Wishing you all Happy Holidays to come,  whatever your holiday is called!

Austin in the Rear View Mirror

Once again I have Austin in the rear-view mirror.  It has been classic Austin, wildflowers beginning to bloom – Bluebonnets, Indian Paintbrush, Primrose for starters – and yellow air.  Yes – you read right.  It took me  bit to figure it out until I realized everything was sporting a layer of fine yellow dust – aka Oak Pollen.  Until the rain moved in, the air was dusty looking and allergists are no doubt dancing in the streets.  It’s that time of year again;  between Cedar Fever and Oak season, allergists, and producers of Kleenex, Puffs and antihistamines are raking it in. 

Before leaving I took a detour through Fiesta Mart to pick up Abuelita Mexican Chocolate (fabulous for hot chocolate) and dried Jimaica (hibcus blosssoms) for that glorious red hibiscus tea.  Returning to the car I was dealt a smacking-blow to the left side of my head by something back and soft.  It felt like someone had dealt me a hard blow from a small pillow, which turned out to be a huge Grackle whose GPS has apparently malfunctioned on his glide-path to the nearest perch - a vacant shopping cart.   Since Hitchcock was no where in sight, I am left wondering if this was an omen...  Some people get a symbolic 2X4, in which case  I am thankful for a soft Grackle.  In any case, it was time to leave Austin.

It was misting when I left, making the road slick.  My mother had an expression for that:  slick-as-goose-s**t.”  Apparently, growing up on a farm, she knew a lot about that topic and who am I to argue.  In any case, that was the condition of roads when I left and mist soon turned to a sprinkle, which turned to a light pelting and then to that kind of rain one only sees in Houston and Louisiana.  And coming from Oregon, that’s saying something.  So for 10 hours I drove through a veritable sampler of different kinds of rain until I reached Gulfport.

It was a perfect time of year to do the drive, despite the rain, because Texas road sides are blanketed with wildflowers, thanks to a contest started by Ladybird Johnson decades ago. Districts compete to see who can create the most eye-popping display of wildflowers and the results are just spectacular!

Atchafalaya Basin

The Rous-Ga-Roux

Driving into Louisiana was a stunning reminder of memories from childhood:  lousy roads – STILL.  I had hoped that that particular reputation had changed, but apparently not.  Following Interstate-10 took me across the Atchafalaya Causeway through that long stretch flood-basin with ghostly Cypress trees rising out of  the black water characteristic of Cypress-swamps.  Just plain spooky – and breathtaking - and a death trap…  I passed a six-car collision.  The part of I-10 crossing this swamp is a pair of parallel two-lane bridges 18+ miles long making it the second longest bridge in the US and the fourteenth longest bridge in the world.  Because the lanes going each direction are separated by swamp,  emergency vehicles had to come miles from the other directions, circle back to get on the portion of the bridge where the wreck happened, with bumper to bumper traffic and little way to get through.  But the swamps are beautiful and produced an old familiar feeling that’s hard to describe -  a combination of haunting, nostalgia and history.  Louisiana hasn’t felt like home for many years, but the melancholy familiarity of it stirred my heart and the spookiness of sparked my fear of dark water.  No way I would cross that stretch at night - I'm sure the Roux-ga-roux of childhood taunts lives there.  So many of my childhood memories are involved with stories of the swamps or memories of pole-fishing from a flat-bottom boat in the bayous – catching catfish and perch so fast my dad hardly got his hook in the water, busy as he was handling our catches.  Even as little girls we could bait the hooks with  earthworms, but our hands were too small to take a fish off.  We’d come home sunburned, smelling like fish, exhausted and happy.

Bayou La Batre Shrimp Boats

Today took me through Mississippi and Alabama and a different set of memories.  Road signs for Pass Christiane,  Pearl River and Bayou La Batre called up memories of the sailboat trip my ex and I took the year I turned thirty.   We noodled our way east from Galveston, through the Inter-coastal Canal, sometimes off shore and sometime snaking through swamps – anchoring in muddy water with five feet of silt – so deep it was tricky getting an anchor to bite.  Once it took five attempts to anchor, pulling up a foot of sticky slop on the anchor before it would hold, only to be told to move by a concerned shrimper. Seems we’d anchored in  the informal shrimpers’ channel and had we stayed, our boat would have been toothpicks my morning.  I couldn’t leave the area until I left the highway to scope out Bayou La Batre, which my Garmin announced as Bayoo La Batter.
 
I found the drawbridge and the bayou where I’m sure I amused the drawbridge keeper when I parked my car to take these shots. Travis suggested I was lucky not t be arrested as a terrorist for taking pictures at/near/from a bridge.  Hadn't thought of that. Stopping at a café near the bridge, I found a group of older men telling fish tales as I chowed down on a huge breakfast for the unheard of price of $4.16!  Home made biscuits, grits cooked by people who know show to do it, eggs and four slices of bacon.   Oh yeah – and that included orange juice!

Ginnie Springs

Arriving at Travis', I finally corrected the error I made in Austin: missing my Chile Relleno and Chicken Enchilada with Tomatillo Sauce aka Chuy's Combo #5. Having rinsed down our grub with a Texas Martini (pitcher of Margaritas served with a Martini glass) and polished it off with a shared Tres Leche dessert, we waddled home and caught up on the past one and a half years.  Today Travis showed me the two favorite places he dives... Little River and Ginnie Springs.  Gainesville is an epicenter for cave diving and while I don't know if I will ever brave an underwater cave,   I certainly got the allure of it after seeing the cave entrances.  They are gorgeous, cool (72 degrees) spring fed waters, with a clarity I've not seen outside a bathtub!    

Little River: note the black water

The upward flow-pressure (termed the boil) of the Spring is usually enough to keep the tannins that leach out of the Cypress knees and turn the water the color of strong black tea, confined to the river.  Somehow appropriately the two most popular caves at Ginnie Springs are called: Devil's Ear and Devil's Eye.

On Wednesday, I sadly said goodby to Travis and navigated my way to the northwestern corner of Arkansas amid the worst 18-wheeler traffic and wind I've met since traveling the eastern corridor around New Jersey.  I love Hissy Fit, but she was tormented mightily by strong cross winds made even worse by the the turbulence created by the big-rigs, outnumbering automobiles 12/1. It was not a happy drive, but the serene route into the Ozarks with roadsides peppered by Redbud and blooming Dogwood almost made up for it.

Eureka Springs' historic downtown is a mini-San Francisco with old Victorian houses perched on hilly streets.  It's known for it's healing waters and ghost stories.  Even the little Swiss Village motel I stayed in had its own assortment of things-that-go-bump-in-the-night and did they bump!  

The weather was beautiful until the moment I left under those egg-carton skies known to produce hail.  Racing to get out from under those before the heat unleashed their bounty, I was relieved when I stopped for gas two hours later only to be told they were under a tornado watch.   Wind and more big-rigs completed the picture all the way back into Texas where skies cleared and traffic thinned.  It was a fine Texas welcome!
 
What brought me to that quaint little town  of Eureka Springs, was the Ozark UFO Conference, now in its 28th year.  In part I came to explore more fully the experiences I have had over my lifetime - and those my children have had in early childhood.  

To the left is one of the paintings that emerged from that period when we were all having experiences and none of us were telling the others.  The kids didn't know it was unusual.  In Uganda, an enormous silver saucer type hovered over my house and I continue to have related experiences, thus far positive in nature.   This conference offered the opportunity to speak with credible researchers and others with similar background.

I'm whizzing through Austin once more to attempt to pick up a pair of lenses for new glasses.  The lab has managed to confound the process, messing up the lenses multiple times and once again, I am leaving without them - I think.  I'm not gone yet.  And to continue the Grackle story,  sipping coffee at Mozart's on the lake a few days ago, I was again in the Grackle flight-path and involved in a near-miss as yet another Grackle flew by inches from my ear, screeching his raucous message as he flew by.   Since I don't speak Grackle, I have consulted the internet and various interpretations were offered:  "things are not as they seem," "quit talking...  and DO,"  any of which could have relevance.  i.e  Shut up and write the next book!

Getting new tires this morning to continue this epic road trip taking the southern route this time, stopping along the way to see friends in Phoenix, California and southern Oregon.   On the off chance that "get new tires" was included in the Grackle's message, I would like to say, you have been heard on all levels and it will no longer be necessary to throw yourselves at me.  A simple wink will do.

Missing the beach!  The journey continues...