The Northwest Files

Dinosaurs and Dust (or, No Country for Epicureans)

Laura and I have been promising ourselves an adventure for months. This past week, we took that adventure. We had two goals: We set out to see the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, which is maybe two hours east of our home here in Redmond. And we aimed to see the Oregon Trail Interpretive Center, along with a segment of the old trail itself. That’s about five hours east of here.

We had several other goals, as well – these included being well-fed and well-lodged. We were not wholly successful in achieving those goals. But I’ll get to that. First, this: Please click on the thumbnail photos in order to view them fullsize.

The John Day National Monument is composed of five units. We visited just two. Our first stop was at the Painted Hills unit. And spectacular these hills are. They are composed of layers of volcanic ash, debris and chemicals deposited over about 40 million years.

The unit is small, just about a mile square. But it contains stark, amazing beauty – wide, near-horizontal swaths of color decorate these hills, as if some giant, god-like artist took a swipe at these hills after dipping his/her brush into many colors of paint, rich reds, oranges, yellows and white.

And there’s buried treasure there. These hills also are the home of many types of leaf fossils, though I’m sure you’d be prosecuted, shot, then skinned, for trying to find them. But in the overall story of the John Day Fossil Beds, these are small potatoes.

If it’s fossils you want, you have to go to the fossil center itself, a few miles down the road from the Painted Hills unit. Its real name is the Thomas Condon Paleontology Center and it’s located in what is called the Sheep Rock unit. It is spectacular.

According to what we learned there, a 10,000-square-mile chunk of Eastern Oregon is home to the most spectacular trove of prehistoric animals and plant fossils on the globe. The TCPC contains a vast collection of the fossilized remains of those organisms, documenting about 50 million years. It does it through large displays that explain at least seven paleontological eras evident at the site.

The differences between these eras are extreme, ranging from dry deserts to wet, sticky marshlands, to moderate savannas. Our takeaway from this is that Earth never has stopped changing and is changing still.

The fossils run the gamut from predators to prey, to mammals to reptiles to birds, to insects, to leaves, and to fruit, nuts and seeds. The variety is hard to take in.

Next stop was John Day itself, a former booming gold-rush town that now boasts 1,200 residents.

It was here that we got the first clue vis-à-vis dining. There were not many restaurants here. Hey, why would there be? This place is charming, sure, and it rests in a beautiful environment, but it’s tiny.

The solution? When in doubt in Oregon, repair to the nearest brew pub. It will offer pub grub, which usually is pretty good, and craft-brewed beer, which always is excellent. In this case, it was the 1188 Brew Pub. Not a mistake.

Our next stop was Baker City, about three hours east over mountainous roads. This is Oregon’s gold country. Gold is found in quartz, which is found in granite, which is found in mountainous upthrusts that are very different from the vulcanism that formed so much of the rest of Oregon. And these, the Elkhorn Mountains and the Blue Mountains, are real granite mountains, just like the Sierra Nevadas. So they hold gold.

Baker City, it turns out, was the center of Eastern Oregon’s gold rush, which occurred between the 1850s and the 1950s. This was by no means the equivalent of the California Gold Rush, but still it was significant enough for the merchants and bankers of Baker City to become rich.

That wealth today is reflected by a significant collection of magnificent stone buildings that line the town’s wide streets. Those streets today are very quiet, with a number of empty store fronts, signifying that the good times are past and gone. Still, it’s a very pretty little town. I hope that better times are coming.

Those better times would do well to burnish the Geiser Grand Hotel, on the city’s main street, where we spent three nights. Nice old place but to my mind, wanting a bit of a touch-up here and there, as well as some attention to detail.

Not least in the hotel restaurant. We dined there the first night. We vowed never to return. Second night, we hit a brew pub, with the expected satisfactory results. Third night, we hit a Mexican restaurant. It was bloody awful. So back to brew pubs.

We were in Baker City because of the Oregon Trail Interpretive Center, perhaps 10 miles east of town. What a treat that place is. It sits by itself atop a hill adjacent to the old trail, which remains baking in the sun and stretching into the east and west distance, as it has for 175 years.

The center contains a series of dioramas featuring beautifully realized life-size displays showing pioneers of all ilk during imagined snapshot moments of their trip from Independence, Missouri, the trail’s beginning, to Oregon City, now a Portland suburb, where it ended. It includes trappers, teamsters, whites, Indians, oxen, horses, men, women, children. There also are displays of artifacts.

I think what we liked the most, however, was the hour-long film about life on the trail. This was not an easy trip. It took six months and basically cost everything the travelers had. And sometimes it cost more than that. It is said that the 2,000-mile-long trail is lined by an average of 80 graves per mile.

Mortality at this level seems a very high price to pay for the privilege of carving a new home, a new life, out of the Oregon wilderness, which was still many weeks away from this place.

Though choking dust no longer marks the passage of emigrants, the trail remains very well-marked. The steel wheels of thousands of wagons pounded, battered and packed the trail’s surface to the point where to this day, nothing grows in the trail’s ruts, so the trail remains easily visible. You can see it on Google Earth. Or you can go there, as Laura and I did, and walk on it for a short distance, kicking up our own dust.

I’m mighty happy that I’m walking the trail now, rather than 150 years ago, when it would have been mighty hard to find a brew pub. Those were hard people. They had to be.

Sumpter, a dozen or so miles west of Baker City, contains two wonderful echoes of the gold rush. They are the Sumpter Railroad and the Sumpter Dredge. We found the railroad yards deserted. Seasonal tourists gone, the operation is mostly closed at this time of year. All the better to wander, allowing ourselves to be led by our curiosities.

Same with the dredge, which still floats in a pond that it dug for itself. This thing was built in 1935 and operated – basically eating wide swaths of the valley surface in which it sits – until 1953. The damage is so immense, and so permanent, that you can find the dredge’s damage easily visible on Google Earth just to the south of Sumpter. It is not a positive testament to the greed of men.

Our final stop was Joseph, a high-mountain arts/ranching community in the Wallowa Mountains, said to be Oregon’s alps, about two hours north and east of Baker City. It’s a cute little town with a couple of high-quality galleries, plus the foundry in which the bronze art contained in those galleries is cast using the lost wax method.

I’m still not sure I understand how that works, but I now have a much better idea, having taken the factory tour, which happens only at 11 am, just as the workers are about to take their lunch break. It’s worth doing.

So is a lunch break. Having learned our lesson, which is basically that the boondocks of Eastern Oregon is no country for epicureans, we again hit the local brew pub, then checked in to the Belle Pepper Bed & Breakfast, which is contained in a nicely restored old home on one of Joseph’s side streets. Nice place. But they sure do keep the place cold. And if you are not ready to have breakfast at 8:30 am, you don’t get breakfast.

Dinner that night was at the Wallowa Lodge, adjacent to Wallowa Lake, prime fishing water and also, at its north end, the burial place of Chief Joseph, chief of the Nez Perce. Who apparently were not treated well by the U.S. Government. But tell me, which tribe was? And thus do we have America’s original sin.

But now, except for a quick stop at the woolen mills in Pendleton, the trip is over. We opt for the easy way home, much of the way on Interstate 84. Man, this is gorgeous country. It makes me very happy to call Oregon our home, and to be so situated that a wonderful adventure is just a few hours away from home base. That said, however, home remains the best place of all. Plus, the food is the best!

-JFT

Old Friends and Olden Times

If you want history, there are few better places in the U.S. to look for it than Santa Fe, New Mexico. Founded by Spanish colonists in 1610, Santa Fe is the oldest state capital in the U.S. But the city's history goes back far beyond 1610, as the Tewa people lived where Santa Fe now sits for thousands of years prior to the arrival of the Spaniards.

The city itself sprawls and much of it is of little interest to Laura and me. But the old downtown area contains historic buildings, lots of art galleries – many of both of these are found on Canyon Road, a short walk to the east of the city's historic plaza and its Governor's Palace – and many really good restaurants. Here's a shot of John, Dar and Laura. As always, click on a photo to enlarge it.

Last week it also contained our pals Darlene Strayer and John Shureen. So we packed up and flew in for a few days. The payoff was lots of laughter, fine discussions, a wonderful hike through prehistoric Indian dwellings, and several incredible meals. I know, too many modifiers. But hey. It's my blog. At least I know what the rules are before I break them.

 

Santa Fe is at about 7,200 feet of elevation, so the air is bright and clear, perfect for artists and photographers. This is a huge draw. The air also was very dry, so lips chap immediately.

It's possible to walk central Santa Fe in a day, doing enough window shopping – and actual shopping – to last me for at least a decade. Gorgeous stuff in the windows, but spendy. Very spendy. We got that out of the way quickly. Then we wanted to bask in a bit of history.

A bite at that apple involved visiting the New Mexico State History Museum and the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum. Both were impressive.

But we wanted more. So we drove to Bandelier National Monument, maybe 35 miles or so out of town.

This is raw, wild country for the most part, high desert marked by cliffs and canyons. The bottom of a canyon that bisects the Monument (wouldn't some oil wells and some uranium mining look great here, those bastids?) contains a nice visitor's center, through which can be fou
nd a trail leading to several sets of historic dwellings. It's a peaceful place where deer wander unperturbed by human presence.

These are a combination of cliff dwellings and stabilized ruins of pueblos. One of the latter is circular and the other, the Long House, is long and narrow, and is found immediately adjacent to the cliff dwellings. It once incorporated those caves.

A nicely kept trail winds through all this and allows visitors to enter, via sets of daunting ladders, several of the caves.

At maximum, maybe 400 people lived here at any one time. They made their respective livings by farming and hunting. They left their mark not just with the caves and pueblos, but with petroglyphs, art far more lasting than most, carved into the faces of the cliffs.

After a nice hike through the ruins, we drove another 15 miles to the Valles Caldera, the site of an ancient super-volcano explosion – think 1.25 million years ago – that left the surrounding area buried in many yards of ash. The result was a gorgeous, 13-mile-wide meadowed valley where a mountain once stood. We watched a large herd of elk graze before we turned around and headed for home.

This was by far the best day we spent.

The other bests? Food, buddy! For breakfast, we kept to the Plaza Cafe, right across the town’s historic plaza from our hotel, which offers a short menu of really great food, including the best huevos rancheros I’ve found. We stumbled upon a place called La Choza (in English, The Hut), which offered wonderful New Mexican dinners; hot, spicy, and plenty. Also, a long list of custom margaritas. As you might imagine, there was lots of trading of bites.

But that wasn't all. We also discovered La Boca, which specializes in Tapas plates – man, good stuff. Also, Paper Dosa, a restaurant specializing in foods from the southern part of India. This was very different from the Indian food we are used to. We liked it a lot. We did a lot more bite trading, since we all were curious about the contents of the plates of our companions.

The interesting thing about both La Choza and Paper Dosa (a dosa, apparently, is a spicy, flavorful crepe-like thingie, and a paper one is paper-thin) is that both restaurants are so popular that each is jammed with eager customers. When we arrived at Paper Dosa just before it opened, there already were people waiting to get in. Same deal at La Choza. They do take walk-ins, but reservations really are the way to go.

And then it was over.

During a trip last year, we were away for 30 days. Ridiculous. That was far too long. When we finally arrived home, the cats hardly recognized us. This trip was much shorter. We liked that better. But what we liked the most was hanging out with our pals, whom we hadn't seen in donkey's years. We hope to see them again soon – if not in Santa Fe, then here in Central Oregon.

Oh, and when we arrived back home after five days, the cats still hardly recognized us. But you knew that.

-JFT

Light Happiness

It doesn't take much to make me happy. Here's an example of something that makes me very happy.

When we moved into this house 18 months ago, everything about it was very nearly perfect. One small imperfection, however, befuddled us. This imperfection involved the path lighting systems outside. They are inexpensive systems that work well, but are aging.

What I noticed was that the plastic globes in the individual lights had hardened and began to crystallize. To remove a lamp top to replace a burned-out bulb, for instance, was to destroy the globe.

I had a couple of contractors come out to provide estimates on new systems. The first estimate was $2,500. The second was $3,500. Yikes! We left things as they were.

But recently I Googled Malibu Lights, the company that makes the stuff we now have. Dummy! Why didn't I just do that in the first place? Turns out they make replacement parts. Identical stuff. Fifty bucks bought us six brand new complete light units that are so simple to install that even a Millennial could do it. Problem solved.

But that solution was concurrent with the onset of another problem. The timer/transformer that operates the larger of the two systems began buzzing and feeling warm to the touch. Uh-oh. I unplugged it, lest it fail completely and burn the house down with us and the cats in it. But that left our driveway dark.

Once again I went online. I found a new, improved timer/transformer that is a direct replacement for the old one. It even has a solar eye that automatically turns the lights on and off, if you want to use that instead of setting precise times for the lights to go on and off. Cool! Old part out, new part in. Easy-peasy. Even I could do it.

Now all of our path lighting works like it is supposed to work. I like it!

See? Doesn't take much to make me happy.

-JFT

Sea Cruise, Part III: The Final Lap, and A Promise Kept

Days 18 and 19 – Sea days on our way north-west to Kuala Lumpur, our final stop before we head back south-east to disembark for good in Singapore. It's not long before we're so far out to sea that we no longer can smell land. We are of course in the watery realm of King Neptune, and today, Day 19, is the day we've crossed the equator. Apparently, ancient naval tradition requires, when this line is crossed, a small ceremony involving Neptune himself, complete with his trident. So that was the big entertainment for us at noon today, with the pool deck jammed to watch the fun. Having achieved this milestone, we now are Crusty Shellbacks. Or so we are told. All in all, kind of a fun thing. A look at just a few of the hundreds of ships crowding Singapore's harbor. Clearly, a whole lot of cargo flows through this place.

There's another important line to cross. That happens, on Saturday, several days from now (today is Tuesday, March 7, I think), when we cross the international dateline again on our way home. Shortly after that happens, perhaps I finally will know, for the first time in weeks, exactly what day and time it is.

Interesting. As we pass Singapore, a huge city marked by many skyscrapers, we find hundreds of ships in the harbor, many of them tankers riding high and dry, waiting for loads. Makes me think of an invading navy. A lot of petroleum passing through this port. A lot of other stuff, too. It's a huge and very busy port that processes something like 90,000 containers per day. Think about that. The ships here comprise a navy of commerce. Overall, the effect of this huge harbor - miles long, the number of ships here, the backdrop of the city, and a glorious sunset, is absolutely jaw-dropping.

Day 20 –Kuala Lumpur. I'm up a little before six and out on our veranda to watch as we glide through a harbor channel to tie up alongside this city's new cruise-ship center. There's a strong chemical smell in the air, the framework of many chemical plants on the skyline, and the sort of hazy red sunrise that suggests air pollution. Makes me think that we in the U.S. are very fortunate that we have the environmental protections that we have. Breathing this cannot be healthy.

Seems like this is a very prosperous place, with, in order, petroleum, palm oil, manufacturing, and tourism bring the biggest sources of income. There must be a lot of it, as this place looks the opposite of Bali - modern and relatively clean.

Our trip today took us not to Kuala Lumpur, the country's commercial capital, but to Putrajaya, the country's administrative capital. We were absolutely wowed. Built fresh from the ground up in 1995, the city is a showplace built to accommodate digital communication. The highways between it and the port are wide and modern, with not much traffic. They are lined by mile after mile of palm oil plantation. The highways accommodate much cargo from the port, our guide said, and that's the reason they are quite rough in places. Weight beats hell out of highways. Here's a look at the so-called Pink Mosque, newly built in the newly-built city of Putrajaya, Kuala Lumpur's administrative capital. Very impressive and very beautiful.

The best feature here? For us, it is a large and very beautiful botanical garden filled with trees and plants we've never seen. We had an hour here but could have spent much more time.

And now it's our inalienable afternoon on board. Tonight we will enjoy a group dinner with the Aragons and the Hooffs, then return to our stateroom and pack for tomorrow, which starts early.  The final challenge? To Web surf all I can, burning my last wi-fi minute at – well, at the last minute. We've had 250 minutes to play with and we've had to husband them carefully. Just as I wish to die just after I've spent my last dollar, I hope to leave the ship tomorrow with my zest for information satisfied and with a zero wi-fi balance.

Day 21 and 22 – Singapore, about 250 miles south of Kuala Lumpur. As I said, we're up early. I'm up at 6 am to shower, dress, collect our passports, which have remained in the hands of the ship's security officers. We grab a quick breakfast and then, at 7:30, we disembark, clear immigration and customs, grab a cab, and check into our hotel here in Singapore.

Man, what a place! Older sections comprised of shuttered, sprawling three-story buildings compete for space with modern high-rises. And what buildings! Lots of interesting and creative architecture here, which we viewed from the top level of a bus.
What architectural creativity and freedom! There aren't many straight lines here, not many right angles. It's all curves and waves, very interesting stuff. And clean? No litter anywhere, men operating miniature street sweepers to keep the sidewalks spotless. You litter, you receive a draconian punishment that might well include being caned, with up to seven strokes. Not good!

The place is incredibly prosperous and very busy. Lots of young people. Or am I just old? (The chorus answers with a resounding "Yes!")

We got an overview today courtesy of the hop-on, hop-off bus, and well worth it. Tomorrow, our last day before we catch our ride home? Not sure. Laura wishes to shop. I'll have go find something to do. Should not be too difficult. The subway here makes this whole huge city easy to access. But after a tour on the bus, we stay close. We're checked into the Royal Plaza on Scotts, a very nice hotel here on one of the city's upscale shopping districts. After 19 days aboard ship, it is nothing short of wonderful to have a real bathroom, a real toilet, a real shower. What incredible luxury!

Fun thing today? We stopped into the bar at Raffles, a wonderful old hotel that harkens back to the heritage of the time of the British here. Our merry band took refuge in the bar at Raffles. The assignment? Sample a batch of Singapore Slings. Delicious!

Very high ceilings, busy ceiling fans, dark wood, and of course Singapore Slings for everyone. The drink was invented here in this bar, so it's something that you just have to do. Delicious, if a little sweet for my tastes. 

Morning ritual complete the morning of Day 22, we're going adventuring, Laura and I. This afternoon, she and Ginger plan to shop. Paul and I will go off on our own, see if we can avoid trouble. Highlight of the day? A trip on the Singapore Flyer, the enormous Ferris wheel, with its air-conditioned pods, for an unparalleled view of this beautiful city and its incredible architecture. And to my glee, we see portions of the Formula 1 Grand Prix track winding past just below that. And the final treat, a trip through the Marina Gardens – not exactly botanic gardens, not exactly not, but beautiful and creative in any case. One of the best things in Singapore? A ride on the Singapore Flyer. We liked it!

Later, while Laura and Ginger shopped, Paul and I made a brief shopping foray into the Lucky Plaza, an incredible, multi-level warren of tiny discount shops. Then we collapsed into a sidewalk cafe to snack and watch the world go by. People-watching always is great sport wherever we go, and Singapore is no different.

Food? Our one exotic meal here is at a place called Kam's Roast at the end of our first day. You can have anything you want, as long as its duck. Cooked any way like, as long as it's roasted. So we both ordered roast duck. It was absolutely delicious, washed down with a couple of Tiger beers. Yes, when we travel, we always sample the local beer. This was really good. The specialty here is chili crab and we badly wanted to try it. But we both were so zonked on our last night here that we passed on dinner.

Day 23 – Up at 4, a cab to the airport at 5 am for our 8 am flight to Hong Kong. Then on to LAX for customs and immigration, then on to Portland, and, finally, a short hop to Roberts Field, the neat new airport that serves Bend and Redmond. It promises to be another very long day.

And on this 35th-anniversary trip, that promise was kept. We arose at 4 am Singapore time, caught our flight at 8 am, crossed the international dateline so that Saturday lasted twice as long as it usually does, endured two excruciatingly long layovers in Los Angeles and Portland, and arrived home, exhausted, at about 11 pm. All in all, we were traveling for about 46 hours. But it was worth it.

This has been a wonderful experience. I don't know that we will pass this way again, Europhiles that we are. Which is why we have attempted to extract full value these past few weeks. Favorite city? Easy: Singapore. Favorite experience? Great Barrier Reef, in spite of my experience there. Biggest surprise? Bali and the density and poverty we saw there. Biggest worry? Those damned ugly and terrifying Komodo dragons, their sharp teeth and powerful claws. Biggest relief? Arriving home. Biggest joy? The sharp tang of our local juniper forest, which assaults my olfactory senses the moment we step off the airplane. It's indisputable proof that we are home.

Home, you see, always is our best place. I'm sure it is for you, too. But the thing is, I suspect that it won't be long before we're thinking about our next adventure. It always seems to work that way. And as much as we love home, we also love that.

-JFT

Sea Cruise, Part II: The Reef, Dragons, and More

Day 10 – Airlie Beach, a short day, we have to be back aboard ship by 4:30 pm for the run to Cairns, tomorrow's stop. Airlie Beach is a gorgeous little resort town, but very expensive. In fact, everything we've seen in Australia seems expensive.

We took a ride in a tour plane over the Great Barrier Reef, aka GBR.
It is immense, stretching about 1,450 miles along the northern part of Australia's west coast; and, from the air, absolutely spectacular. It is composed of small organisms similar to anemones who live their lives rooted to the bones of their forebears. In a much more complex way, we humans do much the same thing. Anyway, tomorrow, we get up-close and personal. We're going to do a little snorkeling around the GBR. Here's what part of the reef looks like from the air. We arrived home to the news that because of rapidly warming sea water, large parts of the reef are either dead or dying. 

Day 11 – Cairnes, Australia. Up early. It's a 90-minute boat ride from our ship's anchorage out to the reef. Once there, suited up with fins, snorkel and more, we're ready. Laura jumped right in and swam off. She's a regular water babe. I'm next and - I just could not do it. I've snorkeled in situations where you walk down a beach into clear water, then swim out to view the sea life. No problem. But here? I'm getting a gag reflex from my snorkel's mouthpiece. Jumping off the back of a pitching boat into rough seas with that going on? Just not going to happen. I handed the camera to Laura and remained aboard. I got my look at the reef via a small glass-bottomed tender. Meanwhile, Laura got a bunch of really nice photos of the reef and its denizens. Of course she did!  The photos show how close Laura was able to get to some of the sea life on the reef. The one on the right, shows, how shallow the water here is and how close to the surface the reef is.

It's amounted to a full day; we departed for the GBR at about 9 am and we're back on board by 4:15, under way by about 6 pm. In bed by 8!

Days 12 and 13 – At sea on the way to Darwin, our final Australian port of call. These sea days are great for relaxing, doing art, writing, soaking in the ship's many hot tubs, and for checking out the classes and lectures that are offered. Laura has attended several cooking classes. Today I plan to attend one on digital photography.

A truism about this trip, at least for me, is that we have crossed so many time zones, and also the international dateline, that it's tough to keep track of what time and day it is. For instance, today is Wednesday. I think. This morning we turned our clocks back half an hour. When did anyone ever do that?

Day 14 – Darwin. Were not spending any time at all in town. Instead, we're  on a tour of the Territory Wildlife Park, located about an hour out of town. Interesting place constructed around habitat for the animals in residence. It's 92 degrees with 99.9-percent humidity, so while the park's many gorgeous birds are active, the wallabies definitely are not. Instead, they sprawl in the shade, carefully watching us watch them. A trio of dingoes came out to investigate us - perhaps because a keeper was tossing food items to them. Oh, and tonight, our clocks get set back by another 90 minutes. Crazy. A nice shot of an Australian pelican on the left and of a very lazy wallaby on the right.

One more thing – today we're tied up alongside a quay, rather than being anchored out in the bay. This makes getting to and from our shore excursion so much easier and faster.

Meanwhile, back in Redmond today, it's 51 and sunny, a gorgeous day. It might just be spring by the time we arrive back home in a little more than a week. Can't wait to get back to the glories of central Oregon!

Day 15 – And now this trip enters new waters,  exotic waters. We're in the sea between Australia and Indonesia. It's another sea day, with the latest James Bond movie playing in the on-board theater this afternoon. We sit on our veranda pondering the power of this enormous vessel, plowing inexorably through this distant ocean at about 30 kph, no other vessels in sight, but in the distance, off our starboard side, the southern profile of East Timor. It's just us, the endless ocean, and the endless sky, very far removed from the ridiculous tumult in Washington D. C. and  the affairs of arrogant, traitorous men. (The attorney general recusing himself from an investigation because he's guilty of the same things being investigated? Outrageous!) So far, we've sailed about 4,600 nautical miles. We'll sail about 6,000 miles before we're done.

Day 16 – Komodo Island. Today will be civilized, unless of course one of the dragons eats a cruise passenger. It will be civilized because instead of being ready to rock by 8 am, as has been the case with past shore excursions, we needn't be ready until 10:30. There is time for breakfast. Life is good. Komodo Island looked innocent enough on this gorgeous morning, but it is a very dangerous place.

We're up early to watch the rugged, very exotic islands that comprise Indonesia – 17,000 of them – slide by as the ship heads toward today's anchorage. We watch as electrical storms light up the clouds above the islands. The message in those flashes of light seems to be, "Tread carefully here."

Not far from us are such places as Sumatra and Borneo. When we were kids, my pals, the Duryee brothers, and I were fascinated by stories about Borneo's fabled head hunters. But no Borneo for us now. Today it's Komodo. And dragons. We're not in central Oregon anymore.

Again it is very hot, the mid 80s, with humidity at 99.9 percent. The island, like those surrounding it, is a verdant green, with a necklace of gorgeous beaches. I like the irony that we've come from a place called Darwin to a place that figures so strongly in the study of evolution.

This place is a national park and a World Heritage Site. These creatures, which are found only on Komodo and four other islands here, total about 5,000 individuals, live for up to 50 years, weigh up to 600 pounds, and are up to 10 feet in length. They are protected. I think it's us who need to be protected from them, but that's just me. We're told to wear no red and to have no open wounds. These things see colors, are said to be poisonous, and are bloodthirsty. As long as we all are issued automatic weapons, grenades, rocket launchers for use during our visit, we should be OK. Our guide took us to a pod of about a half dozen Komodo dragons and kept us well back. We needed no urging to stay clear away from these nasty things. The creature in the second photo was hissing loudly at us. All the warning I required!

And we were careful. The last time the dragons ate a tourist was in 1973, some Swiss traveler who got careless. The guide said all that was found was his camera. Probably had teeth marks on it. But since then, the ugly bastards also have eaten seven locals. Not good, not good at all. Seriously, these are very poor people and do not need the grief.

Our visit consisted of a walk of about 2 kilometers, during which we saw a gaggle of six dragons resting in shady spot, waiting for an unsuspecting Timor deer, rabbit, or human to stumble through for lunch. We escaped the honor. So to, for now, did the deer and wild pigs we saw on our walk.

Interesting habitat – deep tropical jungle, exotic bird calls, the whole deal. And at the end of our walk, a large shopping bizarre set up by the locals who are hungry for income of any kind. All in all, a day very well spent.

Day 17 –  Bali. An interesting day. Anchored far out in the harbor, we get a whiff of the place - smoke from cooking fires and from the fires used to burn rubbish. It's not at all unpleasant.

We joined an excursion titled "Bali Terraces and Ulan Danu Temple." And that's what we saw, acres and acres of terraced rice paddies and beautiful Hindu temple far up in the mountains. Doing all this required five hours aboard a bus for a 30-minute temple visit, however, so this is not something I would recommend. Bali's rice paddies are small in size and tended by hand. 

From what I could tell, Bali does indeed possess some gorgeous scenery. But it also possesses grinding poverty and excruciating overpopulation, a main city that is as busy and frenzied as an ant hill, with a lack of critical infrastructure just to make things interesting. The traffic here was the most amazing I've seen anywhere, with few traffic controls, people putting their lives in jeopardy to turn left or right, to cross the road - indeed, to do anything at all except perhaps follow the vehicle directly in front of them.

There are plenty of cars, trucks and buses here, but the vehicle of choice seems to be the motor scooter. They are everywhere, and very often are used as trucks and family transport. We saw a guy riding along carrying four big sacks of stuff - one behind him, one on the handlebars, one on his lap and one down on the floor boards. We also saw many scooters carrying entire families - mom, dad, little kids. Yes, up to four people per scooter. Often the adults were helmeted, but not so the children.

The scooters are slow and the roads exceedingly narrow, with homes and shops built right out to its edge, and with cars parked halfway into the driving lane. Yet faster traffic regularly passes slower traffic. An oncoming vehicle? No worries! Maybe we'll be lucky, maybe it will stop before we collide with it. Kinda operated like a weird, barely contained anarchy. You wonder what the traffic death toll is here? About 20,000 motorcyclists meet their fatal doom every year, according to one of our guides. Shocking.

The rice paddies were in various stages – some newly planted, some ready for harvest, all of them very small, nothing at all like the industrial rice farming we see along Interstate 5 in Northern California. No tractors to do the plowing, either. The farmers here use small, attractive cattle for that. Or so we were told by a farmer whose home we briefly visited. The place was very well kept, but I had to wonder about the proximity of the toilet facilities to the well. Oh, and since this country largely is Hindu, those cattle are for work only. They are not a food source. The home of a local farmer was clean and well-kept, but as you can see from a look at the family kitchen, primitive, relative to the way we live. 

Ulan Danu Temple, our second stop, is a gorgeous place. It is a major Shivaite and water temple. Not many structures, but a lot of nicely maintained parkland  located on the shores of Lake Bratan in the mountains near Bedugul.
It's a large, open campus, very well kept but very crowded with tourists, on the shore of a large lake high up up in Bali's hills. Dating from 1633, it presents an opportunity to meditate, to appreciate the architecture and scenic beauty, or, once outside the temple grounds, to do a brief bit of shopping. The temple at Ulan Danu is an expensive, well-kept place. The photo on the right shows just a small, beautiful part of it. 

 

All in all, we were glad to get back aboard the ship, especially because this was yet another port in which we were not tied up alongside and instead used the ship's tenders to get to and from shore. This can be very uncomfortable, as it was today, for the ride to and from was long, the day was very hot, and the tenders completely unventilated. It was surprising that none of the older people with us – and they are many – suffered heat stroke. Getting back to our cabin and cranking up the AC was a very good thing. Getting my paws wrapped around a cold beer was an even better thing. Next, part three!

-JFT

Sea Cruise: Oceana, Here We Come

"Ooo-wee, baby, ooo-wee; ooo-wee baby, ooo-wee; won't you let me take you on a sea cruise?"

My oldest pals, and I mean that in a literal sense, will recognize those lines as a lyric from a Paleolithic pop tune. They also happen be reflect what Laura and I more or less asked ourselves a few months back as we approached our 35th anniversary. So here we are, as today's sun rises, deep into the South Pacific's Coral Sea, about 2/3s through an 18-day celebratory trip through Oceania. It begins in New Zealand, explores the east and north coasts of Australia, touches parts of Malaysia, and ends in Singapore. Sea cruise, indeed.

Honestly, we really didn't mean to do this. But the idea was floated by our pals Paul and Ginger Aragon, who were doing this trip with their pals, Dave and Judy Hooff. Why not tag along? 

Sounded like a good idea at the time and the rates were too reasonable to ignore. We were enduring the worst winter in central Oregon in decades, so a bit of sun seemed like a good idea. Plus it's a significant anniversary. So, why not?

Still, I wasn't sure that I was up to a trip over water. But we think we'd better travel to see the sights while we can. These are uncertain times and the world is an uncertain place. So here we are.

One bridge to cross? Care for the house and cats while we're away. A friend is up from our old hometown to take care of that while she gleefully shops for a new home in our area. And the cats, those same cats who are so shy and careful that visitors never see them, adopted her like she'd raised them. Traitors, I tell you!

We get a sense of what we're in for at San Francisco International Airport, from which our trans-Pacific flight departs. We get it from the throngs of passengers waiting to board the Boeing 777 that's set to take us all to Hong Kong, where we will transfer to a similar aircraft for the long flight down to Auckland. We get it from the variety of faces - Chinese, of course, but also Indian, as well as those of a few westerners, like us. And we get it from the Babel of language that surrounds us. Mostly, this crate is a flying Chinese village. With a few of we minorities thrown into the stew. It's a good thing.

Now it's time to hunker down and endure this long, boring ride. Did I say long? This first leg is long, nearly 7,000 miles, 14 hours in the air. And our connecting flight is nearly as long. In total, we will fly something like 23,000 miles this trip.

It's been tiring so far, and we've barely started. To the airport in Redmond Tuesday afternoon for a short flight to Portland. Where we'll spend the night, the better to catch our Wednesday 7 am flight to Frisco. We both slept badly. Hoping to catch some shuteye on this flight.

Portland to Frisco to Hong Kong to Auckland. It added up to about 37 hours of travel made longer, at least seemingly, by crossing the international dateline. We both love being in new places, but we both despise the process of getting to those places.

But finally we arrived in Auckland on what now is a Friday, where we overnighted in a hotel. Boarded on Saturday, which I will call Day 1 of this cruise. It was a bit of a mess, with 2,500 people herded into a shed and filtering through too few check-in agents. We were told that the process for obtaining an Aussie visa would be conducted aboard. Fine. Here on the right is Auckland, in a shot taken from the deck of the Norwegian Star. As always, to see the photo fullsize, just click on it.

Then it got worse. Hundreds of us were told that we could not board without that visa. The line for that visa, they said, was that long one over there. There was one computer working on the problem, though several more eventually were added.

Then it got worse. At about 4:30, being in line since about  2:15, my turn finally came. The computer at the Aussie consulate didn't like my brand new passport, and refused a visa. No reason given. The rep tried it again. Same result. Totally confused and frustrated, we began pondering alternatives. Setting ourselves on fire, for instance. Or perhaps just renting a car and touring New Zealand, a beautiful place that actually seemed to like us. Then the rep tried a third time and the visa was granted –$20 was the cost. It was now 6 pm, still 90 degrees and very humid, and sailing time. We finally made it into our stateroom by 6:30, exhausted.

We're told that this visa requirement went into effect on January 19, the day before Herr Trump, who insulted the Aussie president, was inagurated. I kinda understand that. But I'm just a bit miffed - peeved, you might say - at Norwegian Cruise Lines. There is no excuse for the mess of a boarding process that they conducted. And there is less excuse for not making sure that the visa problem was handled beforehand with one universal set of instructions. Perhaps in their direction one should hurl imprecations. I'm not sure.

Day 2 – But we at least we're aboard the Norwegian Star, all 935 feet of it, with 2,500 other passengers, and spent a calm night at sea. Awakened in paradise, the Bay of Islands, at the northern tip of the North Island.
Went ashore, toured Paihia, aka "paella," according to one of our companions, a nice little town clotted with  tourists, and then took a ferry across the bay to Russell, which was indeed paradise. Lunch at the Duke of Marlborough Hotel, seafood chowder and beer. Delicious. Then back on board for the two-day cruise to Sydney.

This is what paradise looks like.

Days 3 and 4 - Aboard ship: interesting weather. It's February and late summer here in the Southern Hemisphere, with temps and humidity both in the 90s. Some sun, some clouds, a breeze, some mild seas. At home, there's snow on the ground with daily high temps of 40 and now in the 20s.

We've spent part of Day 3 planning shore excursions. We've got something for every stop, not least of which is a visit to see the Komodo dragons, on Komodo Island. Perhaps we will be afforded the opportunity to feed a Norwegian exec to one of them.

Plenty to do aboard. BBQ for lunch on deck 12, best food so far. The grub in most of the ship's 12 restaurants is, at best, quite ordinary. We find, however, that three of the six extra-cost restaurants do really well. The others, not so much. Our  stateroom came with the Universal Beverage Package, so refreshments are without cost, a benefit which helps assuage the unfortunate fact of kitchen mediocrity. Please think of these comments not as whining, but as reportage.

The Star is huge, 935 feet in length, but if you don't grab a deck chair early, you don't get one at all.

Our stateroom is tiny but comfortable, the bathroom is smaller than the smallest closet at home. Hey, I'm 6' 4"', 250 pounds. I think the same troll who designs airplane seats designed this thing.

We're now in the middle of the immensity of the Tasman Sea, between NZ and Oz. Moderate seas, whitecaps, maybe 7 feet, the horizon so long and unbroken that you can discern the curvature of the earth. Would not care to be alone out here on, say, a life raft. But this is an experience I don't think we will have the opportunity to repeat, so I'm enjoying it to the most - from the comfort of our stateroom's veranda. A serene way to travel, this.  I'm hoping that this photo will provide a sense of Earth's curvature.

The Star rocks and she rolls as she encounters seas and swells. One had best acquire sea legs, and acquire them quickly. This is not for those with vertigo.

Entertainment everywhere. Right now, Beach Boys recordings rocking the topside bar, the denizens of which are nicely lubricated by mai-tais and such. Stage shows, lounge acts,  and more at venues all over this huge ship.  Sadly, no banjo, no guitar, no Americana. But at least a violin/cello duo playing very nicely.

The weather? It cannot be faulted. A few huge cumulus clouds, nature's own top gallants,  ghost along the horizons like a celestial squadron of square-riggers, with a light breeze and brilliant sunshine.

We have had two lazy days of these conditions. That ends tomorrow, when we set foot on Aussie soil in Sydney. We have not a lot in the way of a plan. Just explore the city via the hop-on, hop-off bus. 

The view from the Star's foredeck as we arrive in Sydney's harbor.

Day 6 – Yay! Abroad for the day in Sydney. We like it, a huge, busy, bustling, gleaming city filled with healthy, polite people, but also a quaint old town. Saw immediately that hop-on, hop-off bus was a bad mistake. I guess we're way too independent for that sort of thing. We left the bus and hoofed it around town, seeing gardens, cathedrals, and the most amazing high-end shopping district.

Had lunch in a tower that jutted skyward from an enormous, 6-story shopping mall. The restaurant was one of those revolving things, one revolution per hour. So high that the seagulls needed oxygen masks. Or so I was told. Food was good, the view, freakin' spectacular.

Caught a tender back to our ship after inspecting the city's most historic quarter, complete with cannon made in 1823. Fired 46-pound iron balls. You'd need 46-pound balls to load and fire the thing. Laura lines up the huge cannon's sights.

Day 7 – Wollongong, a town maybe 50 miles south of Sydney, served by Port Kimla. It's a pleasant place anchored by steel mills and surrounded by mountains and forest.  Laura and Ginger visited a Buddhist temple, the largest in the Southern Hemisphere, and had a grand time. Paul and I visited the Historic Aircraft Restoration Society, with features extensive shops and a museum filled with aircraft of all descriptions, in all states of repair, with interesting parts stacked everywhere, and likewise had a grand time. Here's Laura's shot of the temple she and Ginger visited. 

Days 8 and 9 – We're at sea, on our way to Airlie Beach and Cairnes as a school of dolphins races and jumps alongside. These are good days to chill and read, and also to use the many pools and hot tubs aboard this huge ship. I dread this sort of thing because I'm no fan of water for either sport or relaxation, but also because I can be charitably described as a fat old man. I am not at my best in a bathing suit. My 6-pack long ago gave way to a beer pack. But it doesn't matter at all, I find, because everybody aboard - everybody - is at least as old and fat as I. So there is no need at all to feel self-conscious, something I'm good at.

And speaking of all those people: what an amazing polyglot. A few Americans, sure, but lots of others from everywhere else, too; east, west, north and south. All manner of skin colors and languages. So if we were to arrive at our next port to find that some madman had destroyed the world, we would have all the ingredients required to to start it right back up again, with all the same old tensions, resentments and hatreds. I don't know if that's good or bad.

After dinner tonight, we stood out on our veranda and marveled at the celestial display, aided by the profound darkness of the night skies over the open ocean. This featured the constellation we most wanted to view - the Southern Cross. Truly special. Hey, celestial photography with no tripod from above a ship on the high seas is not for sissies. The Crux is either there in the upper right corner or in the lower left. I think, because of the orange color of one of the stars, it's the set tars in the lower left, but I'm not sure. Sorry, it's the best I could do. But one way or another, we've seen it.

The Cross, or Crux, as it sometimes is called,  is to the Southern Hemisphere as the Big Dipper is to the northern hemisphere and is composed of four of the brightest stars in that part of the sky – Epsilon Crucis, Gamma Crucis, Delta Crucis and Kappa Crucis.  I found it subtle, but in its way, spectacular, to see; not least because it is embedded in a broad swath of stars as bright as spilled cream. Kind if a southern version of the Milky Way, or perhaps a continuation of it.

To Be Continued....

-JFT

The Lay of the Land

"All work and no play make Jon a dull boy?" Phooey on that. All work and no play just plain annoys Jon.

So this weekend, no work. No unpacking. Hey, we're almost done anyway. Instead, we undertook to get the lay of the land. Exploration! Yay!

What we found pleased us both immensely. We found a cool winery, a gorgeous state park and the Sisters Folk Festival.

Yesterday we headed north with no greater goal in mind than to reach the little town of Madras, an hour, at most, away. Why? Because it's there.

Got there, looked around, then turned around and headed back with a couple of subsidiary goals in mind. We'd seen signs for something called the Faith, Hope and Charity Winery. A winery in Oregon's high desert? Hey, we just had to take a look.

Maybe 10 to 12 miles to the west of Highway 97, the main north/south road in this part of the state, this place is a little jewel. The wines, we thought, were merely OK. But both the setting and the grounds were gorgeous. We sat under the shade of an awning for about an hour sipping the wine being offered there, prolonging our tasting for as long as we could while enjoying the respite.

Oh, that name? There are a number of wonderful mountains that help give this area its character. They include Mt. Bachelor, Broken Top, and Mt. Jefferson. Three others are called the Three Sisters, named Faith, Hope and Charity. The little town of Sisters is close to their base, which is how it got its name.

Next, on the recommendation of my pal and former colleague Mike Swanson, now a copy editor at the Portland Oregonian, we checked out Smith Rock State Park. What a surprising, gorgeous place. Here are a couple of the photos I shot while there. As always, you can click on these to see them fullsize.

This place is volcanic in origin, and is far more than just a rock. It is an impressive collection of red spires and cliffs that soar above the Crooked River. This is hiking country. Also rock-climbing country. We weren't equipped for hiking, and we're not sufficiently crazy to try to climb, but we've vowed to return to sample those trails. The main one we saw leads down from the south rim of the park itself, across the river, and then either along the river or up, steeply, dizzyingly, up a trail that looks the way I imagine the Khyber Pass might look. I mean, it's steep! But that's after a set of killer switchbacks that start right at the river. I think we'll wait awhile on that one. I plan to explore the river walk, just to check out the fishing.

OK, that was Saturday. Today is another day. As they say. So we embarked upon a different kind of tomfoolery.

Last weekend Laura explored Sisters, the little town I mentioned earlier. She came back filled with enthusiasm for the place.

Sisters is known not just for its quaintness, cool shops and relaxed way of life, but also for its rodeo. And also for its annual folk festival.

Wait, did I say folk festival? Some of you will know that's right up my street. So we went over there today – Sisters is maybe 15 miles west of us – to take a look and maybe catch a little music.

What we found was a town absolutely dominated by acoustic music. We counted at least five large tents, with acts going in each one. We were told that there are more. We also found booths with lots of cool music-oriented stuff, and also food and drink, for sale.

The highlight of the day was catching the end of a performance by Laurie Lewis and Tom Rosum, two bluegrass greats who were here today as a duo, rather than with their usual band.

We stood and listened to their last song, a poignant one in which they had the audience singing the tune's chorus. It was about friendship, love and the shortness of time, and it was brilliant. When it was done, I was wiping water from my eyes. I noticed that Laura was doing the same.

So why weren't we there all weekend? This festival is so popular that by Friday, the day it opened, it already was sold out. So we could walk around and hear music wafting from the various tents, but no way could we get inside and actually enjoy a full set.

Ah, but next year, we will be prepared for all three days of this grand event.

Right? There's always next year. And as far as Smith rock is concerned, there's always next week.

And finally, this: At some point, I'm going to have to change the title of this blog to something that more closely reflects our residential circumstances. I'm pondering this. So stay tuned and don't be surprised by a change in the lay of the land.

-JFT

Hitting the Oregon Trail

No, not that Oregon Trail. Not the one that begins at the Missouri, not the one so heavily traveled by 19th-century pioneers. I'm talking about the one that rolls out from SoCal to central Oregon.

The time had rolled around, see, for us to take a bit of a break. So we did. We've just returned home yesterday afternoon. We drove about 2,100 miles, far too many, but we had a terrific adventure which I will, out of habit, chronicle here.

We left Sunday, a week ago, headed north for Bend, Oregon, and some fishing. We spent our first night at Laura's sister's place in Oakdale, a little town about 20 miles east of Modesto. From there we drove to Grant's Pass, a long haul. In retrospect, we wished we had driven more miles that first day to make the second day more tolerable. But it's always good to visit family.

Anyway, the object of this westward/northward jog early in the trip was to visit my old pal and former boarding-school roommate Lincoln Morikone. Good guy and good friend. He is sure that "doomsday" is going to occur just as soon as the Greek economy collapses, which he seems to think will happen any day now. The financial experts say that just isn't going to happen, but if it makes Linc happy to worry about it, that's fine with me.

Anyway, to that end he's got a home way the hell out in the forest. Nice place. He's put a lot of effort into his gardens, especially, and he's got four cool little Honda Trail 90s upon which to cavort. But what's even better is that there is a really terrific Mexican restaurant in the little town closest to him, a place called Carlos's, in Cave Junction. Damned near as good as Mijares, in Pasadena, still our favorite. Here's Laura at a Crater Lake turnout. As always, to see any of these photos fullsize, just click on them.

From Linc's place, on Tuesday we went up to Crater Lake, which we drove around, stopping, I think, at every last turnout to enjoy the spectacular views on offer. But we stood on the western rim of the lake and watched a forest fire rage off toward the west. 

That was not so beautiful. Sure did fill the skies with smoke.

We spent the night at a tiny el cheapo lodge just outside the national park - very, er, rustic - and the next morning, Wednesday, headed out for Bend, which is not rustic at all. To get there, we had to take a long detour, almost all the way east and south to Klamath Falls, because the fire had closed the much more direct route we had planned to take. That was OK, though. Had a nice drive over highways that are very well maintained and got to Bend without adventure.

What a great little town that is! Terrific environment, pretty architecture, neat shopping and downtown districts, good restaurants, plenty of places to fish and ride bikes - what's not to like? Sure is different from the Lost Angeles area!

We especially liked the Old Mill District, which contains, among other things, a terrific, large REI store and also Ginger's, the best kitchen store either of us ever has seen. Very cool place in which it is possible to do lots of damage to one's bank account.

Through Deep Canyon Outfitters, I fished the Crooked River on Thursday and East Lake, with my pal Eric Herbranson, on Friday. Used a guide both days and caught fish both days. But not a lot of them. I had hauled all my gear along but learned that when one uses a guide, everything is supplied. Cool! I was happy that I had my own waders and boots because they all fit so well, but I will file that important bit of information away for future use.

Fly fishing is not easy and I am quite new to it. There is a great deal to learn. But being out in nature is wonderful, whether one catches lots of fish or not. I would have been as happy, I think, with a camera and long lens, rather than a fly rod, in my paws - lots of animals, lots of beauty.

Saturday we just window-shopped the Old Town District and drove around Bend while our pals, Paul and Ginger Aragon, pointed out the sights. Then we rode the ski lift to the top of Mt. Batchelor with three other couples - the whole bunch of them college classmates of mine - to have dinner and watch the sun set. Got some nice photos of that.

Man, central Oregon is pretty. We saw lots of ospreys, a number of golden eagles, and even a bald eagle. Oh, and rainbow trout, a mink, ducks, geese and several deer. We liked it. We just don't get that here where we live, unfortunately.

Sunday, the fun was over. We drove south to Oakdale again - long but not unpleasant - and then yesterday, home. That was long and unpleasant because of Central and Southern California's traffic, broken pavements and dry, dry vistas.

Anyway, we're home again, and will remain here for the foreseeable future; no more fun and games. Laura's work schedule for the coming months is fearsome, so it's pedal to the metal for her. For me, it's the same old life of the retired gent, which is just fine with me. A life of indolence and sloth, I find, suits me quite nicely.

-JFT

Arrowheads Again

I've got a small collection of arrowheads. These are real ones made by the people who first populated northern Nevada, all collected from within northwestern Nevada's Washoe Valley.

Back in the mid-1970s I worked for a newspaper that specialized in cars and racing. It was a tabloid called Autoweek and was located in Reno. The thing was, we did road tests. Road tests require test cars. All the manufacturers had their headquarters in the Lost Angeles area. So we'd drive a test car that had been through the process from Reno to L.A., pick up a fresh victim, and drive back to Reno.

This trip, which I used to make in two days onaccounta it's about 500 miles each way, would, on the southbound leg, put me in Gardnerville just in time for a cup of coffee.

Early on, I noticed an antique store that was open early. I went in and found an old glass mayonnaise jar, a great big one, filled with arrowheads. The owner of the joint told me that an elderly local gent had collected them over his lifetime, starting from boyhood. Now, when he ran short of money between Social Security checks, he'd bring in a few and sell them to the store owner for 50 cents each.

Over the course of many trips, I bought a bunch of them, one or two at a time, paying $1 each. Trust me, I was working for starvation wages and had no money at all, so I just could not spend any more than that.

After I got a small but nice collection of bird-stun points, hunting points, scraping points and more, I mounted them on a piece of felt-covered board, had that framed, and hung it on a wall.

Well, time passed and life changed. A few years ago I found this framed piece out in the garage. To my horror, one of the points was missing, pretty much screwing up this highly local and authentic collection.

Then, over this past July 4 weekend, Laura and I stopped at a street fair in Bridgeport, Calif., which is not at all far from the Nevada state line, which means it;s not at all far from Gardnerville. We found a booth selling what the owner called "Nevada antiques." I found a small box containing a few pretty good looking arrowheads, just about the size of the one I'd lost. So I bought a couple, $3 each. I brought them home and mounted the best of the two on my collection board.

And that is how it comes to pass that my tiny but meaningful - at least to me - collection of Nevada arrowheads once again is complete. Now much older and wiser, I plan to take pains to insure that it remains that way.

-JFT

Jersey Cows and Jersey Milk Cans

You can always tell when someone knows about Jersey cows. Mostly likely, they've got a milk can from Jersey on display somewhere.

Jersey cows are small, gentle things with pretty faces and long eyelashes. They do not give as much milk as some other breeds - Holsteins, for instance - but their milk is very rich in butterfat. That's why in the world of dairy, there's a strong Jersey subculture, even though there tends to be not as much money in Jersey milk as in some other kinds of milk.

Laura's father, James Pappas, was a noted breeder and milker of Jersey cows. He had a very small dairy but a very large international reputation, to the extent that he corresponded with dairymen on the island of Jersey.

Jersey is a part of the UK. The citizens there speak English - well, in their odd British way - and relish the fact that the island's capital, St. Helier, is a tax haven. But the place-names are in French, and indeed, the island is a relatively short (but still too long) ferry ride from St. Malo, an ancient port on France's west coast.

This photo on the left shows Laura and dairyman John LeFleur, a friend of Laura's father, with one of John's cows. As always, to see these photos fullsize, just click on them.

A number of years ago, in a desperate attempt to escape France and the French, we visited there, even enduring a ferry ride of several hours on the English Channel to do so. As I think I mentioned in an earlier post, we visited some of the dairymen with whom Laura's pop corresponded.

But that's not all we did. We also shopped. We shopped for ourselves and for family members. Mostly we bought milk cans.
We bought one of the real things, as well as several small silver souvenir replicas, some of which we gave away.

What with one thing and another, including the passing of relatives, the ones we gave away have come back to us. They now live in the kitchen, all grouped together, as is appropriate. These milk cans are short and much rounder than the ones you see here in the U.S., which tend to be tall and cylindrical. We like them. Every time I pass them, they make me smile. I thought you might like them too.

-JFT