tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84362760176815445322023-11-16T08:26:06.529-07:00Rocky Mountain Cabin ReduxMore than a cabin was lost in the Hayman fire – here's our story of re-creation.Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-50876356926953140242013-07-25T12:23:00.003-07:002013-07-25T12:26:06.519-07:00A Grand, and Project Filled, Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We're having a shortish summer here this year. Three months instead of a little over four since Bob has to get back to his four month Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum docent training. We're hoping to make it up a bit by coming back for Christmas and New Year. <br />
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As usual, our summers are filled with projects, from making curtains to fire pits. As our time here draws to a close, we're getting things wrapped up and enjoying every moment. A sampling of what we've accomplished...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0Nc76wu21wbvVFjCELJLCHgnEIFwsJIwEmFDrVAR72f2Ol_PW-UH5b18veIT8ZodqvENCEwxAG3_LHu2wWMgpscU81vTMpKG8qJ1XnuapljOvAmtB1wlUBMzs7tWBiLiS3Y0_jyVKHx_/s1600/P7240076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0Nc76wu21wbvVFjCELJLCHgnEIFwsJIwEmFDrVAR72f2Ol_PW-UH5b18veIT8ZodqvENCEwxAG3_LHu2wWMgpscU81vTMpKG8qJ1XnuapljOvAmtB1wlUBMzs7tWBiLiS3Y0_jyVKHx_/s400/P7240076.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of Bob's duties as board member in charge of fish, lakes and<br />
forests, he helps with the farmed trout deliveries to Deer Lake</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fish delivery bonus. Meet Guiness, a 50 day old captive bred Northern Goshawk<br />
traveling with the trout deliverer, a certified falconer. <br />
This bird actually allowed these resident kids to pet him!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6csdPtlx81YMJ5mmJ5JTyqRQgn7vTqAx_tPSsWdFUUcUG3rnEqBTvmIjhFy_68ffDVRKXIFzyEhXMOt4VzMBZjWeTHdWnyJmTlqzm6V8dPHI91rN7k_M1wPg1yndTQxauSPq4Uv3NAg6M/s1600/P6150004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6csdPtlx81YMJ5mmJ5JTyqRQgn7vTqAx_tPSsWdFUUcUG3rnEqBTvmIjhFy_68ffDVRKXIFzyEhXMOt4VzMBZjWeTHdWnyJmTlqzm6V8dPHI91rN7k_M1wPg1yndTQxauSPq4Uv3NAg6M/s400/P6150004.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Provisioning is my weekly 'project'</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob's built four of these bird houses, suitable for either American Kestrels<br />
or Screech Owls depending on where you hang them</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob built a new set of stairs to access the area off the front deck <br />
(where one of the other projects resides...see below)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6PD9-Lq2iLc6kAS4H7CQae4hqpeC9DWIZ_8UAsDH2SJQ8o9Ih-l3N3w7he6YYGp88vT8b9zBIASQiOIHveM2IEr5_u-mxrYXuALRMOfWEq0nbFSKOj-nYYP0ERpxE-9_d3EBRYWPP0Kd/s1600/P7230029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6PD9-Lq2iLc6kAS4H7CQae4hqpeC9DWIZ_8UAsDH2SJQ8o9Ih-l3N3w7he6YYGp88vT8b9zBIASQiOIHveM2IEr5_u-mxrYXuALRMOfWEq0nbFSKOj-nYYP0ERpxE-9_d3EBRYWPP0Kd/s400/P7230029.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My birthday present this year...a camp fire pit off the front deck. S'mores!!!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_YigYlcpORDb45FTlobkis-D2pPuW5zhenAbc0StPriBgkk9bOd2MdBsjQ7SBGsAmtcHzMwKdOGT0pOf4Gx1GOhJD1ryTVZaeqMv5nlKAoXyaVWdffB3OhSzbnsUM08E-s8zqflY20Hy/s1600/P7120011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_YigYlcpORDb45FTlobkis-D2pPuW5zhenAbc0StPriBgkk9bOd2MdBsjQ7SBGsAmtcHzMwKdOGT0pOf4Gx1GOhJD1ryTVZaeqMv5nlKAoXyaVWdffB3OhSzbnsUM08E-s8zqflY20Hy/s400/P7120011.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Babies on board...House Wrens moved into this bird house, <br />
one of three we installed on the back of our cabin, and<br />
now we can hear the chirps of the hatched chicks<br />
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Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-85258091284481936092013-07-12T14:11:00.000-07:002013-07-12T14:11:45.821-07:00Resurrection<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Of the blog. The resurrection of the blog. The cabin we resurrected, Phoenix-like, out of the ashes of the Hayman fire, three years ago. There were a lot of hopes and dreams and fantasies associated with the build, and I documented many of them in this blog. Well, we’re on summer number three, and things are starting to settle. As with anything you pour your future into, the reality of that future is always different from that envisioned. Some things don’t materialize the way you expected; others are more magical than you dared imagine. Intentions are based on many things, but outcomes are often determined by the behavior of others. One thing I’ve learned this year -- everybody gets to make their own choices...including me. This acknowledgement of only having control over yourself (best-case scenario), has been a little sad and a LOT freeing and joyous. Positive change is good and I’m working on that (now and forever) in myself, and hoping others will do the same. In the meanwhile, the Welcome sign still hangs outside our cabin door whenever we are in residence.</span></div>
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Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-71467761029591864452012-07-02T15:58:00.002-07:002012-07-02T16:00:40.295-07:00JUNE -- Heaven and Hell (or damn close by)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colorado Columbines appeared <i>very</i> early this year</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After anticipating our second summer at the cabin since, well, since leaving last summer, it was heaven to finally hit the road and return to our “other” home. It was a joyful second home-coming, returning to a finished, furnished, and equipped cabin (unlike the first year) where all we had to do was to move in our provisions and settle in for the next four months. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lemon glazed vegan gems</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Batty for bat boxes (the first of eight)</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We were quick to renew old routines and start this year’s special projects, hiking almost daily, fires in the wood-burning stove to take the morning chill off the cabin, catching up with our Colorado friends, tending to the forest, and for Bob, constructing the first of many bat boxes. There were cookies to bake and the local libraries to visit, and gatherings with friends and family, impromptu or otherwise. Mountain life is good.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salads, not soups, as the temps rise</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The hummingbirds, mostly Broad Tails, are drinking the quart feeder dry twice a day. If they run out they fly up to us and hover less than a foot from our faces, essentially ORDERING us to provide a refill, FAST! Since we no longer seed feed (too much of a bear attractant) we have to work at birding a bit more than we’re used to, but we are enjoying the local birds which are quite varied and interesting even though it is harder to pick them out in the forest than perched on a saguaro. We enjoy the gyrations of the turkey vultures pivoting in the updrafts in the valley off our front porch. Chickadees hang upside down on the aspen branches, checking for insects. Nuthatches walk headfirst down tree trunks communicating to each other with their weird muted nasal calls. A Townsend’s Solitare sits on a tall snag at the top of our hill every evening at sunset to serenade us with its lovely and varied song. We’ve had two bears -- that we know of -- outside the cabin...one looks to be the same one from last year, only bigger and with an more beautiful cinnamon coat, and one a small yearling, about the size of an English sheepdog. I’ve been working with the Bear Aware program here, helping to educate humans about living in bear country. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Movie night, outside</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Despite our elevation of 8,600 feet, we are not exempt from global warming trends. We’ve had some very warm weather for here -- not as hot as the 109 degree day I spotted on the Tucson weather forecast, but we’ve now had a few afternoons in the low 90’s...nothing to complain about so long as you find a shady spot to share with a cool drink and a good book. Even here I am at times reluctant to turn on the oven to roast some veggies or tofu or bake cookies. Last night we decided to watch a DVD outside, instead of in the warmish cabin. We put the laptop on our little bistro table and us in comfy camp chairs, and watched Sideways (again) with our towering red rocks adjacent to the cabin as a dramatic backdrop -- sort of like a drive-in movie in a dramatic location sans the big screen and the car. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The heat has had other consequences, aside from lots of salads. The forest is dry and getting drier by the day. Wildflowers that were in such early profusion when we arrived a month ago are shriveling now, the scant tenth of an inch of rain we’ve recorded in the past month not enough to sustain their enthusiastic spring growth. Dry warm air, wind, and a crunchy forest are not a good combination and Colorado is battling several wildfires, a few of them big ones. We are particularly sensitive to forest fires as this new cabin stands where the original cabin stood for 40 years before burning in the Hayman fire ten years ago. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLi-GSSPSVmigeygI0HE6RMjPUQFrvyyT4x1YA-VCxFKrDlEKYrDXZmHUqOaEBsV-bRPVlNUgxZRBifmB0TNa1mPszwSvlyqjKAXFkX1ZEK3c6itZXo5GCEyKPPJYHQzb7ZjMrboI-0oQ7/s1600/P6230132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLi-GSSPSVmigeygI0HE6RMjPUQFrvyyT4x1YA-VCxFKrDlEKYrDXZmHUqOaEBsV-bRPVlNUgxZRBifmB0TNa1mPszwSvlyqjKAXFkX1ZEK3c6itZXo5GCEyKPPJYHQzb7ZjMrboI-0oQ7/s400/P6230132.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Waldo Fire, two hours old, <br />
viewed from near the cabin</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We’ve seen at least half a dozen smoke plumes from fires as near as ten miles away and have been enlisted by the local volunteer fire-fighting force, the Mountain Communities Fire Protection District, as we have an excellent long view from the southeast to the north. We followed our tireless neighbor Todd -- site manager of the adjacent retreat, father of three (soon to be four), EMT and chief firefighter of our local station -- through locked gates in the back country to last week’s meeting at the firehouse where we filled out volunteer applications. Before the meeting could start the volunteer firefighters were called out to battle a few of seven manmade fires set in two hours by an arsonist. It’s one thing to have dry lightning start a fire in a tinder dry forest. It’s harder to understand someone who’s either clueless or feels that the fire ban doesn’t apply to him. But someone deliberately setting fires, multiple fires (over two dozen so far)!!!??? Utterly mind-boggling. Cabins can be rebuilt, but forests could take a thousand years to return to their current maturity. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The last few weeks have been tough. Rumors of nearby fires have abounded, some true (and quickly extinguished), and some simply rumors. We’ve had days choked with the smoke of fires near and far. The Springer fire between Florissant and Lake George was scary enough, but was soon overshadowed in a huge way by the Waldo Fire on the western edge of Colorado Springs. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGjEUkR-iLqTRvnf8UFZhGRFqygRNNdv_PFlq4hVryvFIjPgcAG7LC7MbQCfdDTBhOVCXjWkyEw7l-xvJ3H3nHmyGGrHwANCc3y7Yi2wp6Ggi9tOJoMFTphIYUGajF8v_nEk1V917y2rH2/s1600/P6270015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGjEUkR-iLqTRvnf8UFZhGRFqygRNNdv_PFlq4hVryvFIjPgcAG7LC7MbQCfdDTBhOVCXjWkyEw7l-xvJ3H3nHmyGGrHwANCc3y7Yi2wp6Ggi9tOJoMFTphIYUGajF8v_nEk1V917y2rH2/s400/P6270015.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from Divide, eight miles west <br />
after being evacuated from Woodland Park, <br />
five days into the Waldo Fire. Grim.</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Finally I packed us an evacuation bag of a few changes of clothes, things for the dog, important papers and our laptop, binoculars, and cameras just in case we find ourselves in the line of a wildfire and are ordered to get out quickly. I was glad I had when the Waldo fire blew up the day we were in Woodland Park trying to reprovision. We could see a thin column of black smoke near the Ute Pass (Hwy 24) driving into town and by the time we’d gotten the bulk of the grocery shopping done it was churning. We tried to stop at our favorite Asian restaurant only to be told it was under mandatory evacuation. Suddenly I wasn’t so hungry. We tried one more shop on the west end of Woodland Park but it was the same story. Heading 8 miles further west to Divide, I popped into the the smallish grocery to get a few things missing from my shopping list, and in the ten minutes it took me to get out it now looked like Mount Vesuvius was erupting just down the road. Lunch and the Florissant library evaporated from out to do list and all we wanted to do was get back to the cabin. A neighbor called saying she’d gotten a reverse 911 call that she didn’t hear all of, but the word evacuation had been used. I called the sheriff and was told that we were on pre-evacuation and to get ready to leave and wait for word. This later turned out to be an error on the Sheriff’s department end, but it did tend to focus the mind. Waldo now seems to be pretty well contained, but we are aware that until we get a good dose of soaking rain we are in a Red Zone fire area. Forest fires have always been part of life in these mountains, but never has it been so pervasive.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiImh9Jn0_NXTQmmn710FQ1M4iLo_Mh1SaJZsZobDeaH7XTnW5Okm1IjSq0zhjsBpe4f7cPVIvVB4FELElVpx4unOqgsLwyjuey2gun0pmInDqMYBGxJWqzYfHR1nrSivDIfiVLeSWsnS2/s1600/P7010024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiImh9Jn0_NXTQmmn710FQ1M4iLo_Mh1SaJZsZobDeaH7XTnW5Okm1IjSq0zhjsBpe4f7cPVIvVB4FELElVpx4unOqgsLwyjuey2gun0pmInDqMYBGxJWqzYfHR1nrSivDIfiVLeSWsnS2/s400/P7010024.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never too early to indoctrinate the youngest member of the tribe <br />
into the Healthy Forest Initiative tools of the trade</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Still, we are grateful to be able to be in our mountain cabin enjoying the relatively cooler weather, our local friends, and visits from Colorado family. This montane environment is so very different from that other landscape we also love, the desert southwest. Both places wait for the summer monsoon with its quenching rains, and it cannot come soon enough.</span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-75791709555081448222012-05-09T07:10:00.000-07:002012-05-09T07:12:23.269-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part Last<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">The End of the Year, and of the Diary</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">[With our departure date for summer at the cabin fast approaching and before this becomes a Christmas in July story, here's the final chapter of our Christmas trip.]</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSJZZHn39o3-C5_ScipYRRWEJ39N7OoI4itDPNAQNpLSxKwIJ83_-klYLHTGnIDZoUMVi7JmFWWFigU_ZSKus4MJxTasvyo4Xf7cepazQPmOQwW_OPGjfJqRLUzRmjFhiXtIM98VYdxZb/s1600/PC290007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSJZZHn39o3-C5_ScipYRRWEJ39N7OoI4itDPNAQNpLSxKwIJ83_-klYLHTGnIDZoUMVi7JmFWWFigU_ZSKus4MJxTasvyo4Xf7cepazQPmOQwW_OPGjfJqRLUzRmjFhiXtIM98VYdxZb/s400/PC290007.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snowshoes!</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There was a nice shift in our mood this morning. Bob managed to get on the Internet last night at the Ranch House and a review of his email confirmed what we’d expected -- that there was nothing urgent that had been misguidedly sent via email while we were essentially off-the-grid. We noted that watching the fire behind the glass front of the wood-burning stove is far more interesting that most of the things you see on TV. And realizing that we’ll be gone from here in just a few days had a way of sorting us out too.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We had a really good visit from a neighboring family (mom and dad and three youngsters, two of whom were part of the home school Bob helped out with last summer) this morning. It was fun to put the apple juice on the stove with the mulling spices and pull out the cranberry loaf. While the boys played upstairs in the loft, alternating between working on the current jigsaw puzzle, playing a game of Sorry, and perusing The Dangerous Book for Boys (a great favorite of my husband’s grandsons), we sat downstairs and chatted, delighting in their tow-headed two-year-old daughter. They had happy news of expecting another baby in August, and we were all glad that we’d be here for that addition to their family. It was a good visit, and visits are so important up here where you can go days without an interchange with anyone except your husband or your dog. Living in such a remote location, especially at a time of the year where there are so few others around, can be challenging, but the challenge is tempered by the pleasure in solitude.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After lunch it was my turn to try the loaner snowshoes. Bob had given them a go the day before and was quite enthused about them. I parked myself at the end of the deck, a perfect chair height, and Bob helped me into them (a pleasure in itself). I had a brief case of the Uh-Oh’s as they were being strapped on, a short case of dejavu from my brief, and miserable, attempts at skiing -- first husband (ski patrol) sending me off with no lessons, finding my attempts at the rope tow hysterical, my falling as I tried to ski off the chair lift and being unable to get up while those behind us basically skied over me sidesplitting, and then sending me down alone while he, off-duty, attended to two women with broken legs, my mission to get the ON-duty patrol to come do their jobs. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The climb up with the tube;<br />
mind the stump...</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">I had what was probably a quite moderate and very wide slope to navigate down a couple hundred feet. As I snow-plowed as carefully as I could, back and forth across the slope, making little downward progress, something went wrong and I found myself in a huge face-plant with my legs crossed and my skies, which hadn’t released, doing a deep face-plant of their own. I couldn’t move and couldn’t see. At least I’d had my poles appropriately strapped to my wrists, so after a minute or two of trying to twist out of the position I was in, and failing, I began stabbing wildly with my pole for the ski releases. Just about then I heard someone ski up, stopping with an experienced swooshing sound, and say with a slight chuckle, in the most gorgeous male voice I’d ever heard, “Do you want some help?” And I will never understand this, but I said “No”. Humiliation? Fearing that he’d be Robert Redford? That I’d rather die? He said, “Are you sure?” And I, of course, said “yes”. So. He skied off and I kept stabbing wildly and finally, mercifully, I got one ski off and could untangle myself and and remove the other. I tucked those skis under my arm, walked down the hill to the ski patrol booth, completed my mission, and never, EVER, put them on again. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wheeeeee........</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So it was a bit unsettling to have Husband Number Two affixing some different, but just as implausible looking snow gear onto my feet with which I was going to have to get up and move. But these were shorter and fatter and were for anything but going fast. In fact, I found them pretty darn easy to walk in as we headed down the drive and up to the saddle. Heading off-road, down the slope and into the forest, was wonderful...we were in one of my favorite parts of our land, heading back towards the benchmark that I always seek out whenever we near that corner of the property. I took two tumbles, the first probably tripping over a piece of downed wood under the snow -- or maybe over my own snowshoes, and the second near the benchmark as I tried to turn around. The good news was that it doesn’t hurt when you fall down in a couple of feet of snow. The not so good news was that it was reminiscent of trying to get up with skis on, but not quite as difficult. But for the really great news -- this husband didn’t laugh.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A kid again...</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">With this snow sport success (well, not a failure anyway) under our belts our walk the last day before leaving found us in the meadow. Huge fat inner-tubes lay at the bottom of a steep embankment, the "sled" run we'd been told about. Our 60-something selves gave in to our inner child and we each, after wondering about the wisdom of it, took a turn trudging up to the top of the hill, plunked down in the tube, wondered if we were completely mad, and scooched on the snow until gravity took over and the thrill unleashed joyous whoops (mine was more of a scream). Those few seconds of pure joy was the pinnacle of the Christmas trip for me, and will inspire other slightly risky, slightly imprudent, but inspiring decisions in the year to come. A good way to end 2011 and start 2012. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It can't get better than this!</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">And summer is not that far away.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-39440914385304599752012-03-06T11:55:00.000-07:002012-03-07T21:53:45.189-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 11<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Just a Touch of Cabin Fever, December 28th</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We’ve had just a touch of cabin fever the past couple of days. It came on shortly after a too brief visit from our friends across the lake...just enough time for a cup of tea and a little get-away from their own kids and grandkids, a half an hour stolen from the afternoon they were heading back to town. They’d bought us a pair of snowshoes to try out, and we had dueling conversations in too small a space, and it left us feeling a little bit lonely when they left too soon. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The sun set just as they were leaving, shortly after 4 PM. The winds that had been kicking up for a couple of days whistled around the corners of the cabin. We thought it would be a good night to pull out the Netflix DVD we’d brought with us, and we set up the laptop on the coffee table and got lost in Snow Flower and the Secret Fan. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dreaming of the ease of summer hiking...</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the summer we make regular weekly trips to town to provision, poke through a few </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">shops, make a stop at the hardware store, visit the farmer’s market, have lunch, and most importantly, go to the library.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The cabin gets no cell phone reception and we don’t have Dish or a TV.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We have a land line, but no Internet which is the hardest to deal with.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We can go to the Ranch House, a mile up the road, and hope the satellite Internet is working and hasn’t had it’s daily megabyte allowance used up by someone downloading 47 pictures of a new granddaughter.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Even in Tucson we eschew cable, but do enjoy streaming Pandora during the day and an episode of something or the other on Netflix most nights.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We are on the computer at that “other” home quite a bit, and like email and using the web for news and as a reference.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We just plain miss it here, especially without our weekly wallow in it at the library.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...while enjoying the novelty of winter hiking</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After about a week of being in the cabin with no trip to town in sight, having fully provisioned for two weeks due to the shortness of our visit and the iffiness of the weather, our joy and the novelty of being at the cabin and the magic of a couple of snowstorms began to collide with missing our normal mod-cons and our primary summer activities that keep us outside most of the day. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We’ve actually be doing great with outdoor time, walking two or three miles a day along with other outdoor chores like snow shoveling and firewood hauling, but next winter when we come up we’ll have more outdoor toys (snowshoes at a minimum) and some better winter gear so that we don’t feel quite so cabin bound. We know this is a fast moving “fever” and our bliss will be back soon.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-41284702016576401382012-03-03T10:36:00.000-07:002012-03-03T16:42:26.702-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 10<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Boxing Day, December 26th </span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pygmy completes the Nuthatch Trio</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After another good, deep cabin sleep, we woke up to a relatively warm, 28 degree, dawn. High thin clouds turned shell pink in the early light. Most of the snow was out of the trees. The weather forecast called for a warming trend, and no hint of a coming storm that could complicate our departure a week from now.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I enjoy Christmas, but when it’s over, it’s over. I still enjoy the lights and decorations and the tree, at least until January 1st, but in the music department, I’m done. It was great to find a little early Jackson Browne on the iPod, and turn up the volume while doing a little cabin-keeping. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We had a new visitor, and some old friends show up at the bird feeder. I’m thrilled to have the two Nuthatches -- the white-breasted and the red-breasted -- at the feeder, but I noticed a new bird today. It looked like a Nuthatch, but different...smaller and a softer gray with a slate gray eye-bar. Juggling my binoculars and my bird book while reaching for the camera, I discovered it was the Pygmy Nuthatch, a new bird for me here. A Trio of Nuthatches to complement the Trifecta of Juncos! Also at the feeder were a pair of Cassin’s finch, the crimson tinted head on the male a dead give-away and such familiar feather friends from the summer. Now if only the Evening Grosbeak would make an appearance.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When we left in early October the elk were bugling all over the hills surrounding the cabin. We saw them frequently, along with the deer and even bear that call this habitat home. Oddly, aside from birds we’ve see no wildlife this trip except for the odd tree-squirrel. During our walks we always look for animal tracks in the snow. Rabbit tracks are everywhere, almost more like a full body impression. Lacy rodent tracks etch the surface of the snow. And today we saw deer and elk tracks, lots of them, where yesterday there were none. The meadows were a maze of rambling tracks, crisscrossing each other. Wherever they went to weather out last week’s storm, they’re now back. We’ll be keeping our eyes peeled.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suddenly, tracks galore!</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">We have a swing at the top of the rocks behind the cabin, a favorite sunset spot for us for many years now since long before we decided to rebuild the cabin...the Trailer Days. My romantic husband thought we should head up there late this afternoon to watch the sun set over the snow-covered hills. I was less sure about this, but game, so we bundled up again and climbed around the backside of the hill to the swing, cleared off the day before by Bob, and mercifully dry. It took about 20 seconds, enough time of one big appreciative “ooh-ah” at the spectacular view all the way to the distant mountain range, to acknowledge that with the stiffening breeze it was bloody cold. Having trudged up there against my better judgement, I was determined to wait the five minutes to see the sun disappear behind the nearby mountain. That done we beat a hasty retreat with our disgusted dog, and spent the next our in the warmest part of the cabin, the loft, finishing a new jigsaw puzzle of a wildlife scene in the Sonoran desert, a location and topic that helped banish the chill.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Dinner done, Bob returned to his Kindle and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, an astonishing novel by Jonathan Safran Foer. I’d finished reading it since arriving at the cabin an suggested it to him as a possibility following his finishing rereading Jeff Shara’s books on the Civil War. I’m happy to report that he’s hooked, even though he’s having a little shut-eye, stretched out on the couch with his sleeping Kindle in his lap. Lots of fresh, chilly air at near 9,000 feet will do that too you! I think I’ll try to quietly bundle up one last time and take the dog out for the last time today...could be exciting as it’s gotten quite windy outside -- I can hear it and the swaged Christmas lights are dancing on the front porch. It will certainly feel even colder than it is with the wind-chill factored in. No worries... warm bed snug with flannel sheets awaits.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-10467853766663549362012-02-28T10:30:00.000-07:002012-02-28T10:33:45.329-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 9<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A merry, and very white, Christmas!</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Merry Christmas! What fun to have it be a snow-filled white Christmas, the first we’ve had together, and the first for me in a long, long time. We watched the sun hit the mountain across the valley, coffee in had, fire roaring. We tossed an extra ration of seed out to supplement the feeders for the cold and hungry birds. It was a bright clear day and we had a piece of the Cranberry-Orange Walnut bread to hold out for a big brunch later in the morning -- a big scramble of potatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, olives, tofu, and spinach...well seasoned and very welcome.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Around 1 PM our newly arrived neighbor buzzed over on his ATV to invite us over, their present opening session and lunch finished. They have family with them, their daughter and her husband and two grandchildren -- all of whom we’ve known for some time now. Just before leaving the phone rang and it was my daughter, calling to wish us a Happy Christmas from her husband’s family home in San Luis Obispo. After a good long and cheerful conversation we headed down the hill and past the lake and headed up their steep drive to their cabin. The drive was being plowed by none other than Santa! Or at least it was being cleared by a guy driving a tractor with a plow who was wearing a Santa Hat. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Margaret and Harry’s cabin is one of my favorite places to be, and nothing is better than coming in out of the cold to their enchanting space with a fire roaring in a big stone fireplace. There was a real Christmas tree decorated with flickering lights, incredible German decorations and music boxes, and a huge spread of homemade traditional Christmas cookies, some from recipes over 100 years old. I’m always grateful to be in these friends’ presence. Soon we were joined by “Santa” and his Dad, visiting from Texas. Conversations swirled in the cosy cabin, sugar cookies were washed down with hot tea, and every where you turned there was someone else you were anxious to talk to. Margaret encouraged us to stay for dinner, but she already had a houseful and we made a plan for them to pop over to see us in the next day or two, and made a date for them to have dinner with us late in the week. It was a bit of a shock to step out into the late afternoon cold, the sun close to setting, but we had our own warm cabin to return to, and a dinner already prepped to finish up and pop in the oven.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Holidays are a bit of a test with our newish vegan diet. I make the rare exception for desserts or dishes that I figure contain some butter, eggs, or milk. And it can be challenging to come up with something fun and satisfying when tradition dictates a roast turkey or beef occupy center stage. We had all the sides instead -- roasted acorn squash with a maple syrup glaze, a truly delicious vegan bread stuffing baked in a pan, homemade whole-berry cranberry sauce, and steamed broccoli. We ate a little too much, out of obligation, and passed on dessert after having had our fill of Margaret’s wonderful cookies. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Just before 9 PM, our usual bedtime (if we last that long), the phone rang and it was my husband’s grandsons. Sitting next to him on the couch I could hear their excited voices, but not every word. An animated discussion about glow-in-the-dark dinosaur puzzles and rocket ship PJ’s followed. Snow levels of here and Denver where compared, and sledding possibilities in both locations discussed. Tentative plans were made for a quick trip to Denver to see them before heading back south to Tucson. For my husband especially, a perfect end to an otherwise very special Christmas.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-71687878304297010382012-02-05T08:52:00.000-07:002012-02-05T10:37:06.769-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 8<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Late afternoon sun streams in on Christmas baking fresh from the oven</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Christmas Eve. Baking. Obviously.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We’re hoping to get some company during the next several days, both the just-dropping-by variety and friends for dinner. Christmas is tomorrow and I was feeling festive and decided to lean into a bit of vegan baking, something new for me. I made Cranberry Walnut Oatmeal Spice Cookies from Vegan Planet...pretty tasty through they didn’t flatten out like cookies. I use a cookie scoop and the second two dozen I flattened with a wet hand before baking and they looked more like you would expect of cookies, though they make me want a cup of tea when I eat them. In keeping with the cranberry theme, and much more successful, was a Cranberry-Orange Walnut bread -- almost as wonderful as the Silver Palate’s recipe (though that one had a lot of eggs and an embarrassing amount of butter). </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Santa Watch</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Christmas is sort of soft-pedaled at our house. I love to decorate, but don’t go crazy. We enjoy the Christmas lights on the front porch at least as much as the few folks that will see them. I love the music we listen to for only a couple of weeks a year. It’s fun to be with family and friends at this festive time, be we also enjoy some solitude during these longest nights. We’re living in our forever-more Christmas present to ourselves, the cabin, so there is (at least currently) nothing under the tree for either of us. And that’s fine, especially since we recently gifted ourselves with a new iMac and Kindles. We buy presents for my husband’s elementary school-aged grandsons and shoot for something that strikes us as just right, without going consumer mad. This year it was space-themed pajamas, jigsaw puzzles, and games. I like to think of them opening the presents from us with all the excitement Christmas morning brings to children, and hope they like what’s under the wrapping. We also hope that before too many more Christmases have passed they’ll have opened at least the gifts from us here at the cabin.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow angel -- next year I'll work on technique</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This afternoon we took a walk towards the meadow on the plowed dirt road. At our turn-around point my gaze fell on an almost pristine expanse of snow, untouched except for what looked like the faint track of some small rodent. Something from long ago triggered a memory of making snow angels. I couldn’t quite remember exactly how to get down in the snow to create the perfect impression, but after careful consideration I decided my falling-backwards days were over, at least in snow less than three feet deep and this was half that much. I lowered myself down, stretched out tall...feeling how strange it felt to voluntarily lay down in the snow (actually not bad at all)...and moved my arms up and down to create my wings. It’s certainly been over 50 years since I last did that. Some things are worth repeating as an adult; I think we appreciate their particular fun more that when all the world was nothing more than our playground.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We’d left shovels at the bottom of the drive and collected them on the way to our friends’ cabin across the lake. They were coming in late that evening after a big family dinner and we wanted to at least break through the three foot snow berm at the foot of their driveway that the plow had kicked up. We went on to clear enough space for them to park a car before hiking up to their cabin, which was going to be anything but easy.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Over a simple dinner of our favorite vegan chili and some yummy pumpkin biscuits (Vegan Planet), we talked about Christmases past. We’ve the last nine of them together, but both of us have memories of Christmases when we were kids, and when our children were kids. It was odd how little we remembered about the gifts themselves...it was so much more about the experiences -- where we were living, who was with us, family and friends. Later we settled down in front of the radio to listen to NPR’s A Christmas Carol, narrated by Jonathan Winters. I never get tired of that story, and never give up hope that we can all learn the important lessons of kindness and caring, and remember them all year long.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We no longer have to go through the motions of leaving cookies and milk for Santa (no wonder he’s so chubby!), but we did decide to leave our outdoor lights on for our late-arriving neighbors...a little cheer before they reached their cabin after a cold, dark hike up a steep hill in two feet of snow. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-59412912224422723052012-01-22T10:18:00.002-07:002012-01-22T10:23:32.776-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 7<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYTU9RVrwGwHSSAL8f-7PgPgSNvT4x4my7_sysxf3BBpc8Xmb2iWwBLLhkKxFMiOribDjnw7bAhD1fZf539C7-gSK16PouPpuHDzNSdDok4gVbcJ6dClVSvVCcpm2rIfwPkHMjCvLLx40G/s1600/PC230021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYTU9RVrwGwHSSAL8f-7PgPgSNvT4x4my7_sysxf3BBpc8Xmb2iWwBLLhkKxFMiOribDjnw7bAhD1fZf539C7-gSK16PouPpuHDzNSdDok4gVbcJ6dClVSvVCcpm2rIfwPkHMjCvLLx40G/s400/PC230021.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hard work, and a little patience required</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Santa Arrives Early (on a grader!), December 23rd</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was zero at dawn, and fell to minus 3 before we’d finished our coffee. We weren’t surprised -- a friend in Chicago had called and checked for us online while we were on the phone and the prediction was for even colder than that. And the night had been clear, so no coverlet of clouds to keep in whatever heat we’d gained during the day. With first light the birds hit the feeders and suet block hard, and Bob scattered some seed just to facilitate their breakfast. The pines and firs were laden with snow caught up in their needles, but it was dry and powdery, and even a Mountain Chickadee hammering open a seed on a branch could send a plume of snow falling to the ground. With no more snow predicted, we knew this was the epitome of our snowy Christmas -- and yes, it would be white (our first ever together). </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj61rwpzS_JGUD3YG9e6cmnSKOLYf6ru-j0PR3vV4bJWfqag7iCcYUGD6ZIHFdNiAZGRfxhMp90vO1My5TL4gDXvhyphenhyphen27s6upYDczaBvG5Ej5AyvFy4ZD6xJoRCtrnYuKiFQ0__UP5OkJHpS/s1600/PC230024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj61rwpzS_JGUD3YG9e6cmnSKOLYf6ru-j0PR3vV4bJWfqag7iCcYUGD6ZIHFdNiAZGRfxhMp90vO1My5TL4gDXvhyphenhyphen27s6upYDczaBvG5Ej5AyvFy4ZD6xJoRCtrnYuKiFQ0__UP5OkJHpS/s320/PC230024.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading down the driveway</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It warmed up to around freezing in the early afternoon, so we bundled up and headed out for a good walk. It felt terrific to stretch out our legs after and lazy day inside during the storm. Bob did some shoveling, but abandoned it when we decided to break our way through the snow on the drive on foot and walk along the plowed road below the cabin. The bright sun was just beginning to do its work, melting a bit of the snow off rocks and plants, and letting the evergreens lose some of their snow load, bough by bough. We were pretty quick walking under snow filled trees, knowing we could end up getting quite a load of the cold white stuff dumped on us without much warning. Pictures I’d taken a few days ago, impressed with the decoration of the four inches we’d gotten the day after arriving, were now totally obsolete with the addition of another 10 inches, so there was nothing to do but retake them.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jT9QD1Z17F8_kgdmmX0yLxyBQlRCBKjB7X-ZI2usarbZK5qcLvAEU9M8m663sGpJHKEeNeGxzRwLnjSmPgoNgfxkxZREcs-i6c-B20agurfnSgxyCAgSuW5P8rby4N5wKWTU5kN6Df3Q/s1600/PC230031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jT9QD1Z17F8_kgdmmX0yLxyBQlRCBKjB7X-ZI2usarbZK5qcLvAEU9M8m663sGpJHKEeNeGxzRwLnjSmPgoNgfxkxZREcs-i6c-B20agurfnSgxyCAgSuW5P8rby4N5wKWTU5kN6Df3Q/s400/PC230031.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walkin' in a winter wonderland...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8FuboPR1B4oSkGPA37NOPzouJ7pEmA57hp_qelBPPzpyecOMwxsKbgpdqwiF3wyrh-5xkwaS_Y2h0qprq7M_kwnnYjQdSyM_bBuVOLQJVOdUdN5Eo6GLWICF4sjA06mJQ-HEm0a6liCP/s1600/PC230026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8FuboPR1B4oSkGPA37NOPzouJ7pEmA57hp_qelBPPzpyecOMwxsKbgpdqwiF3wyrh-5xkwaS_Y2h0qprq7M_kwnnYjQdSyM_bBuVOLQJVOdUdN5Eo6GLWICF4sjA06mJQ-HEm0a6liCP/s320/PC230026.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last summer's rose hips</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">We made, at my suggestion, an ill-advised attempt to break through the snow to the meadow. With us tripping over unseen rocks and snags under the snow and the dog floundering in what was chest deep snow for her, we gave it up and discussed getting snow-shoes for next year on the walk back to the cabin. I’m a little bit more superstitious than my husband, or maybe feel that getting sucker-punched by The Universe is not outside the realm of possibilities, and I figured that getting snow-shoes would mean we’d never see much in the way of snow up here at Christmas again. It is, we’ve been told, more unusual than it is usual to have a thoroughly white Christmas up here. And I’d hate to mess with that. But hey, what about a sled!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtaZXXiIhUc7vPYh9JGgqQIbiwlYwLNSC4oJ4eg7Pgxazn8_5L6wFoB3JkmdGrk_6KJu9YZR8lolB9KY0LpXe7EPP2Rh1IR0amW6FA4t0nXOxEE7G58i9qcKorDPFxw7dO3tu9z8vgbwmF/s1600/PC230028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtaZXXiIhUc7vPYh9JGgqQIbiwlYwLNSC4oJ4eg7Pgxazn8_5L6wFoB3JkmdGrk_6KJu9YZR8lolB9KY0LpXe7EPP2Rh1IR0amW6FA4t0nXOxEE7G58i9qcKorDPFxw7dO3tu9z8vgbwmF/s400/PC230028.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow and ice; rock and lichen</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Shortly after we got home Santa arrived early for us in the guise of our neighbor with the road grader, making short work of clearing our driveway. It was going to be a Merry Christmas.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-46101749033935121792012-01-15T09:10:00.000-07:002012-01-15T09:10:42.592-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 6<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Winter Wonderland, December 22nd </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">No other name could apply. We were living inside a snow globe.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It was still snowing at dawn and we had seven inches on flat surfaces around the cabin that had been cleared the day before. It was 11 degrees, which sounds cold, and is, but so much better than the minus 13 we’d experienced last year. We layered up, put the coat on the dog, and went outside to clear the decks and shovel a few paths around the cabin. Bump went charging off down the drive, coming to an abrupt stop when the shoveled path ended and she met a near two foot wall of snow. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihy0qL47YHVweP5o-LHrIybv4L0pKlZJ38eWNNjN8d4Fm1QoHHaecHA0aVsh_XynjW3vfoMqkbZwcG6N1ZndGDyjc2iQlXc-W_yKEUmdbCDMuSZpzwxl-SM2o86diXt0NnXCQgSpqt2iGm/s1600/PC220042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihy0qL47YHVweP5o-LHrIybv4L0pKlZJ38eWNNjN8d4Fm1QoHHaecHA0aVsh_XynjW3vfoMqkbZwcG6N1ZndGDyjc2iQlXc-W_yKEUmdbCDMuSZpzwxl-SM2o86diXt0NnXCQgSpqt2iGm/s200/PC220042.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flocked with the real stuff</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The birds were busy at the feeders, flitting around the deck chairs, sheltering underneath them. One of them caught my eye...it looked familiar, but different somehow. Our regular Gray-headed Junco had been joined by two other juncos, the Slate-colored Dark-eyed Junco and the White-winged Junco, neither of which I’d seen before. A Junco Trifecta! </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS1eNNDe_6uWVEHi8QqIPV8YARpw1zxOVVAIOl9AWv6jw8zwZZ6ywwms9wYhV40GEHQtnF-igrrVlOwL5JM52U_wOcVQyblz1RCdnm4s0jedOkgMYMlSDPVElfcvniVWokLeCsTZIkcHr2/s1600/PC220010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS1eNNDe_6uWVEHi8QqIPV8YARpw1zxOVVAIOl9AWv6jw8zwZZ6ywwms9wYhV40GEHQtnF-igrrVlOwL5JM52U_wOcVQyblz1RCdnm4s0jedOkgMYMlSDPVElfcvniVWokLeCsTZIkcHr2/s400/PC220010.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near the fire, a Kindle on your lap, a dog at your feet <br />and a snow-covered landscape outside...bliss!</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It was a perfect day to stay inside near the fire, read, and watch the snow drift down. The loft, always cosy and warm, had a puzzle of Colorado landmarks to be finished, and Bob was up to the task. By sunset, shortly after 4 PM, the snow had stopped and it’s blanketing whiteness was as unmarred as it would be. We counted ourselves lucky to have gotten a good snowstorm two years running, at least until we thought about how we’d get the car down the drive. Oh well, we’ll worry about that some other day.</span></span></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-48248588122229138762012-01-08T07:53:00.000-07:002012-01-08T08:08:32.789-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 5<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHmX31QhVhDOSq68Xsdevs_UN-rBO6_SnGcMQlsJaSB1XU1MR6AJF4qibmAFoKH_0H3gxJ2hefWY-J3pWzIsOahSpsULy_0ZZcSIFE8pXeCFY4QFkaAjfYT4JJV4H8cVMW3690zIu3LCgr/s1600/PC210014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHmX31QhVhDOSq68Xsdevs_UN-rBO6_SnGcMQlsJaSB1XU1MR6AJF4qibmAFoKH_0H3gxJ2hefWY-J3pWzIsOahSpsULy_0ZZcSIFE8pXeCFY4QFkaAjfYT4JJV4H8cVMW3690zIu3LCgr/s400/PC210014.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A snug cabin in which to ride out the storm</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Storm Warning, December 21st</span> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It’s nice to welcome winter in a place that has the quintessential look and feel of winter. Snow on the ground and dusting the evergreens, a nice contrast and keeping it from looking at all bleak as it might in some landscapes, the temperature in the low-20’s appropriately brisk, to say the least. Our wireless weather station has flashing snowflakes displayed for a “future forecast” (bit of an oxymoron, me thinks). The sky is clear and a light blue at the horizon, intensifying at the zenith. We’re hoping for several hours outside again this afternoon, knowing it might be the last comfortable outside time we get for several days.<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prepared</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There’s a winter storm watch on from this afternoon and through tonight, tomorrow, tomorrow night and into the following day. We could get nothing, or we could get the 2-5 inches they’re predicting, or we could get more. Most assuredly we’ll dip down into single digits (on either side of zero degrees), but our cabin is so snug (thank you builder Brian), and our wood supply is essentially endless. We’re provisioned well for a month (less well until the spring thaw). We have little to worry about with a storm, and that is more than offset by the excitement (weather junkies that we are). We have two big bookshelves filled with fiction, non-fiction, and reference books on nature and cooking, Kindles loaded up with reading material, an absolutely full iPod, NPR on the radio, one DVD to watch on the computer (Snowflower and the Secret Fan), jigsaw puzzles, games, two laptops, a sewing machine with projects galore, three different places to nap (the loft is the warmest), a phone to call family and friends, the chains on the SUV, a good dog, and binoculars near every window for bird watching. And, thank goodness, we truly enjoy our own and each other’s company.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sharing the road for a bit</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After lunch the temperature climbed to near 40, so we put on a couple of layers plus our fleece vests and headed out for a pre-snowstorm walk. It had clouded up and was looking quite gray in the northwest, so we knew we wouldn’t be going far. We headed down the drive and up the main road in the opposite direction to Tuesday’s walk with our happy dog trotting out ahead. We rounded a corner and found a neighbor’s dog lying in the road, keeping an eye on things. He joined our dog for half a mile or so and then scenting with his nose deep in some tracks in the snow, headed off into the forest. Bump took a few tentative steps to follow him, ended up in chest deep snow, and thought better of it, rejoining us on the road. About a mile along we turned back into an freshening breeze and a darkening sky, and retraced our steps. The snow scrunched underfoot, and with the increasing chill we were glad to get back to the warm cabin.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This way home...or maybe <br />
we'll walk the driveway</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It started snowing around 4 PM, and half an hour later we had an inch on the deck and were losing sight of the features across the valley. We know that landscape so well that as it disappeared from view we still thought we could see the ghost of the mountain forming our horizon, but it was gone. I took extra pleasure in making us a hot dinner -- oven roasted potatoes and a Greek veggie-tofu scramble -- which we devoured with a glass of Malbec. The evening was spent with the porch lights on, watching the snow thicken and the depth increase. We went to sleep snug under the quilt, unable to shake the vision of swirling wind-driven snow, wondering what we’d see when we looked outside in the morning.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-74518819196486897522012-01-07T06:48:00.000-07:002012-01-07T06:48:51.592-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 4<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snowy dawn</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: small;">Ten Years Ago Today, December 20th</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Dawn brought a winter wonderland scene of snow-flocked evergreens and a cloudless sky. Sometime in the night it had actually warmed up to 16 degrees - a heat wave. It was clear that at least another inch of snow had fallen during the night, bringing the total to three or four inches over 24 hours. There is nothing quite so lovely as a blanket of freshly fallen snow, sparkling in the sun. It made me think of this same day, ten years ago, the day I arrived in Tucson to take up residence. This is at odd place to be on that anniversary, at a high elevation cabin in the Colorado Rockies surrounded by snow, but there is a connection. I’m here with the man, now my husband, who was my neighbor and the first person I met in Tucson, ten years ago today. As they say, nowhere in my wildest dreams...</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arrival in Tucson, December 20th, 2001</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our cabin retreat, December 20th, 2011</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At mid-morning we heard some sort of vehicle, the first we’d heard since our arrival. We got out the front door just in time to see our neighbor, the site manager of the adjacent retreat, heading back down our drive plowing our road. This is one of those things I so love about being here at the cabin and in such a remote location. Neighbors are much more likely to lend a hand, and to do it without being asked or negotiation. And it all works out. My husband has helped this neighbor by teaching a few units of science to his home schooled kids, and I’ve baked the cookies that are the post-lesson treats. We help other neighbors move wood and get hand carved bears in return. Baked goods change hands, and there’s always a hot cup of tea or cold beer for anyone dropping by. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUoen-KpuDBkiff_EqRwP3IdMel3NzQvusMqmwNd2htrBb0fX-PpTlInZmHF9qVwyCI62WciqmM0L6QRt4Eohi61HXu_H1Ek3wb-v90NSGdd7nKnGzn9MEhRUc2T9Qe0zuUP13rDGCVYS/s1600/PC200049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUoen-KpuDBkiff_EqRwP3IdMel3NzQvusMqmwNd2htrBb0fX-PpTlInZmHF9qVwyCI62WciqmM0L6QRt4Eohi61HXu_H1Ek3wb-v90NSGdd7nKnGzn9MEhRUc2T9Qe0zuUP13rDGCVYS/s320/PC200049.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Icing</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">By noon the temperature was just above freezing so we put on a few layers, boots and hats, got the coat on Bump and headed out for a walk. With the long driveway cleared walking was easy and pleasant, and it felt good to move after being two days in the car and a snowy day inside the cabin. We headed down the road enjoying our frisky dog’s antics and the warm sun on our backs. Last summer’s fields of wildflowers were now carpeted in smooth snow, unmarked except for the occasional string of wildlife tracks. Caps of snow helped define the rocky outcrops. You could hear the creek gurgling under it’s iced-over top. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Back at home after an easy two mile ramble it was, at 36 degrees, way too nice to go inside. We decided to hang our one string of outdoor colored Christmas lights, and made a quick job of it, and still didn’t want to go inside. I have little experience with snow aside from living in Michigan until I was nine years old, so I am alway surprised how sitting in a sheltered sunny spot in a snowy, near-freezing landscape can be so blissful. Our south-facing porch is just such a spot on a calm day. With the afternoon sun low in the sky we sat in sweaters on the Adirondack chairs, basking like lizards, soaking in the sun and were totally comfortable. Even our once snow-phobic dog settled down in four inches of it just off the deck, laying in the sun. But the minute the sun got near to setting behind the mountain across the valley, the sun’s rays diffusing through the tops of the pines and firs, we began to feel the chill.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A vegan dinner, the better to have more anniversaries</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Retreating inside on this last day of fall, celebrating my arrival in Tucson and our first meeting, we made a dinner of roasted portobello mushrooms stuffed with a savory mix of brown rice, lentils, and cashews mixed with fresh parley and lemon thyme I’d harvested from our Tucson herb garden, and braised brussel sprouts. We poured some wine and reminisced about the crazy set of circumstances that brought and kept us together. Neither one of us could have imagined anything more unlikely, or so right. It almost makes you believe in fate. We count ourselves very, very lucky.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-74985864759044617472012-01-05T22:21:00.000-07:002012-01-06T06:37:53.399-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 3<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let it snow!</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Deck the Halls, December 19th </span> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After a good 8+ hour sleep we woke up to clouds rolling in with the first few tiny snowflakes falling. Before long the mountain across the valley disappeared in the snow and low clouds, and over the course of the day the snowfall increased, the light powder blowing off the trees and roof in displays of aerodynamic physics. We put out seed feeders and a suet block for the birds, and didn’t have to wait long for them to show up. Stellar’s Jays, Mountain Chickadees, White-breasted Nuthatches, Juncos, and and Downy Woodpeckers were soon sheltering in the ponderosa pines near the feeder. The larger Hairy Woodpecker rode the suet block, hung from our hanging basket hook, like it was a Tilt-a-Whirl.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bump the Snow Dog, decked out herself!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPWrkfbnbHd6u35bHdy-xBCxQiKyvSNY69IDcO5AJ6g7I75S-1-VQ-9GiGfi108hqQs2Ut9R8nO2I4kPLwQB8UG2mz3CD2mYYGZryS4wVbAJeFMxxEcAZKY9zWj2rpgkR7hhB3xkmeghX/s1600/PC190014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPWrkfbnbHd6u35bHdy-xBCxQiKyvSNY69IDcO5AJ6g7I75S-1-VQ-9GiGfi108hqQs2Ut9R8nO2I4kPLwQB8UG2mz3CD2mYYGZryS4wVbAJeFMxxEcAZKY9zWj2rpgkR7hhB3xkmeghX/s320/PC190014.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homemade soup with Tina's great whole wheat bread</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We spent the day reveling in being at the cabin, fortifying ourselves with good from-scratch food like oatmeal with tart dried cherries and toasted walnuts and a sturdy vegetable soup with red lentils and ruffled campanelle pasta eaten with a fantastic loaf of home-made whole wheat bread given to us by our Tucson friend, Tina. We got out the Kindles and read by the fire, watching the snow swirl outside. The temperature had descended all day, from 24 degrees at dawn to 11 degrees at bedtime -- and it was hard to get our desert dog, the one with no undercoat, but a real cute over-coat from L.L.Bean, to go outside to do the necessaries. We all bundled up and took a few chilly walks to the top of the saddle, returning covered in snowflakes, and ready to warm up by the fire. But we had one other “chore” to get done, one we’d been looking forward to...decking the halls.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZno36-HOQaYHMvLOTj9HDGG44nhqHrBRTAh39YBJ-7CgMnK3w0jmDSBmACfU2TTu0U-IiZhYGmQb_hd02idriFT7YYq1eNKNDemhbLMJjxSLaDt3D-OTJAm_bftuRa2LgecgS4eGr9rKO/s1600/PC190011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZno36-HOQaYHMvLOTj9HDGG44nhqHrBRTAh39YBJ-7CgMnK3w0jmDSBmACfU2TTu0U-IiZhYGmQb_hd02idriFT7YYq1eNKNDemhbLMJjxSLaDt3D-OTJAm_bftuRa2LgecgS4eGr9rKO/s400/PC190011.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting started with Frank Sinatra singing carols on the iHome</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Last Christmas, for our first stay at the new cabin, we’d brought up a retro-style three-foot tall white Christmas tree with multi-color fairy lights and a tote full off decorations, some new, some old, and most from some fun scavenger hunts at Tucson thrift stores. We’d loaded some favorite Christmas music on our iPod and played Frank Sinatra for me and John Denver and The Muppets for Bob...our respective traditional tree-trimming music from the days when we shared that job with our children. With the tree up and decorated, the window sills festooned, and glittery snowflakes hanging throughout the cabin, we broke out some wine, and watched the snow in the fading light, the reflection of our tree hanging specter-like in the front window, merging with the darkening ponderosas outside. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9nNFnk_P1ovkfD2UFh6CmnU9KiJc-tdu3xQMTBghGSZ-XqzenRpUg7u7zqSJfHqZspHqvsY8IppSXxPzGoyP95AKp-4dkjyDrSxNtudwi6QclZznZVH-vHAtKj3_YGxPHRP6u34ML2ZiR/s1600/PC190034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9nNFnk_P1ovkfD2UFh6CmnU9KiJc-tdu3xQMTBghGSZ-XqzenRpUg7u7zqSJfHqZspHqvsY8IppSXxPzGoyP95AKp-4dkjyDrSxNtudwi6QclZznZVH-vHAtKj3_YGxPHRP6u34ML2ZiR/s400/PC190034.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finished</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We ended the day continuing the Rummikub game we’ve been playing since May of 2006 (our first summer stay at the old trailer); at some point in the distant past I was ahead, but now I am hopelessly behind, but it’s fun and I get whining rights. My husband is gently triumphant in his near constant victories. We are nearing the bottom of the second side of the old steno-book page, a relic from Bob’s Dad’s court reporter days, and I wonder if it isn’t time to start anew. Or, as Bob suggested, we could just get out Blokus and I could whip him consistently for a change. At least I’m not throwing Uno cards across the table as I have been known to do, albeit with a smile on my face.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ho, Ho, Home...</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-39654194569484725702012-01-05T07:54:00.000-07:002012-01-05T07:54:17.358-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 2<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_S55zIk4k8KU_7xlGyXsv9e3y_NtkhtdcyeJ5-0JsO2VNBA6eYfpe7YaLkT0OcQNLuwgJUDXS1OEO9CEifRPupwTBM9VyA-_-3t7Er9PR8NKmwJJoNajSEMSCMYuMB_4FqUdmQYzK0lwk/s1600/PC180004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_S55zIk4k8KU_7xlGyXsv9e3y_NtkhtdcyeJ5-0JsO2VNBA6eYfpe7YaLkT0OcQNLuwgJUDXS1OEO9CEifRPupwTBM9VyA-_-3t7Er9PR8NKmwJJoNajSEMSCMYuMB_4FqUdmQYzK0lwk/s400/PC180004.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last year's raspberries casting their late afternoon shadows on the snow</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: small;">Arrival...Sunday, December 18th</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We did our typical trying-to-get-somewhere early morning wake-up at the motel, checked in with each other -- “Are you going back to sleep? Me neither. Let’s go.” -- and were on the road by 5 AM. We gassed up at Circle K, got coffees, and dug into our friend Geri’s Christmas present of zucchini bread before we’d hit I-25 North. In the pre-dawn we congratulated ourselves on missing the blizzard that was coming through this area this evening, a blizzard that would, in fact, eventually close Raton Pass, our passage into Colorado. At first light you could see the snow-chalked ground below the pinon pines and juniper, the white horizontal striping of the mesa ledges. With some Windham Hill Christmas music collections playing, we watched it get light, enchanted with the snowy scene. Our excitement mounted with every passing mile.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After a quick stop at our favorite Chinese restaurant in Woodland Park, The May Flower, we went on to Florissant, turned north, and soon hit dirt roads. They were a bit snow-packed in places, so it was a slow trip in, but beautiful. It felt like we’d been away for a few days instead of 10 weeks. When we’d left in early October our neighbor had been fly fishing on the lake below the cabin; now they were ice fishing (and had a beautiful big rainbow trout to show for it) and ice skating through the powder that had fallen over the frozen lake. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It was all good until we hit our driveway, much of it covered in nearly a foot of snow. Someone, thank goodness, had driven up fairly recently, so we had their tracks to help navigate the steep, near quarter mile to the cabin. We made a few runs at it, having to back up a time or two to get further along the unplowed drive. When the cabin was in sight we decided to leave the car for a bit and hike on up through the snow, anxious to make sure the cabin was alright and that we had power and heat and no frozen pipes. It proved to be in fine and welcoming shape, relatively warm inside (mid-50’s) thanks in part to the low angle of the sun flooding the cabin with light and the propane heater set to low just to keep the cabin, and its pipes, safe. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It was great to arrive at a cabin that was fully ready to be occupied. Both last Christmas and last summer we had either no, or not enough, furniture and there was much moving in and organizing to do. This time it was turn-key ready, or as turn-key as a cabin like this can be. We got all the power on, went down in the crawl space and turned on the well pump, checked for leaks, and got a fire going in the wood-burning stove. My husband went back down the hill and finally managed to get the car up the drive (next time the chains will be put on before trying), and unloaded. There was a ton of stuff to put away, fire-wood to be hauled up, and totes and duffles to be stowed, but we found time to sit for a short time on the front deck, a bit of a heat trap, where it was, oddly, sweater weather. It was a mild day with a high in the low 40’s, and we knew the next day would be different, with a predicted high in the 20’s and a few inches of snow. Perfect!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After an early dinner of some chili I’d made in Tucson and brought up in our cooler, we were in bed by 8 PM -- not so surprising when it gets dark at 5 PM -- and we slept the deep sleep of arriving home after a 900 mile journey.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-84628863310433669082012-01-05T07:39:00.001-07:002012-01-05T07:41:49.198-07:00The Christmas Diaries, Part 1<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_r6nqjCKpvSYOy14p8BPtU9H8GWHditzi4-CO7l6Nn9H1v7qoezkA55cGHgANllwC4DUTdvvqxpFVAkMIqahEiSvCKsFW0lhs-qJXq4hCEGEPVQK5pvShD1NQADe60CP6ORZk6bjOR8gH/s1600/PC170013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_r6nqjCKpvSYOy14p8BPtU9H8GWHditzi4-CO7l6Nn9H1v7qoezkA55cGHgANllwC4DUTdvvqxpFVAkMIqahEiSvCKsFW0lhs-qJXq4hCEGEPVQK5pvShD1NQADe60CP6ORZk6bjOR8gH/s400/PC170013.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere...yawn...along I-25 heading north to Albuquerque</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Departure...Saturday, December 17th</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After waiting for 10 weeks to return to the cabin, it seemed there was a great deal to do at the last minute. I’d decided to provision everything we’d need for two weeks before leaving, and when I started packing I wondered if we’d be able to fit it into our Honda CRV. In the end Bump, our dog, had to be content with just over half of the backseat, and we were on the road early than we’d expected. The seven hour run to Albuquerque is, frankly, a little boring, but it was good to get there and get settled. </span></span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Times; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We did have a treat spotting Sand Hill Cranes both flying south and on the ground in open fields along the Rio Grande Valley. </span></span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We knew that soon after heading north the next morning, we’d hit the pinon pine forests, rolling hills, buttes and mesas around Santa Fe, and it would be great scenery for the rest of the trip.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-71808208055219282682011-12-13T07:44:00.005-07:002011-12-13T15:29:04.735-07:00Second Home for the HolidaysIt is an embarrassment of riches, choosing which home in which to spend the holidays. It is also a bit of a difficult decision, because both Tucson and the Colorado Rocky Mountain cabin have much to recommend them. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9iCocscSJslyh-wOy4XG_uFco0NFz8qLSYChL_0mbqYFZx_dXR2b1aoLh4_LrjjKVcmzIaxBCCNlWTRQu1hiQgHvS4sRmuemwbn0cERmsY7rlOwKmzeM2mJ3sMdsK2qPCePRu1pZj83Bf/s1600/102_4298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9iCocscSJslyh-wOy4XG_uFco0NFz8qLSYChL_0mbqYFZx_dXR2b1aoLh4_LrjjKVcmzIaxBCCNlWTRQu1hiQgHvS4sRmuemwbn0cERmsY7rlOwKmzeM2mJ3sMdsK2qPCePRu1pZj83Bf/s400/102_4298.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how Christmas in Tucson looks</td></tr>
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In Tucson we have lots of friends, La Posada, the Pastorella, our giant dried agave flower stalk to decorate, the fun of our volunteer work at the Desert Museum with folks visiting from elsewhere, and the distinct possibility of a sunny and warm Christmas day. Our traditional New Year's Eve is spent sitting on the west side of Gates Pass, perched on a boulder, watching the last sunset of the year. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how Christmas at the cabin looks</td></tr>
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This year the cabin is winning out. We have good friends we are looking forward to spending time with as well as family we hoping to see in Colorado. We need a cabin fix to see us through until next summer, and its cosy space and wood-burning stove would be most welcome. We're hoping for a slightly white Christmas and bracing weather (please not the minus 13 we had last year), and enough good days to get out and do some hiking. Our plans include a Yule Log with our hopes and dreams for the future, as well as some things we'd like to let go, written on notes and attached to be burned New Year's Eve (though midnight is an unrealistic expectation for us). We're even looking forward to the four days on the road -- we do road trips together well -- and one of our resolutions on that Yule Log will be to do better at the transitioning from one place to another, and to FULLY be wherever we are.<br />
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Here are some images of Christmas last year, our first at the cabin:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First dinner guests at the cabin, our dear neighbors from across the lake</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mmsLvFwBGLEtyY4GaDMipRhLb4ie2OQbmR2BjNkIlsjXsFVWcwiSTZWhCqiZw0JC_36rKRF6UFdpKfE7_zspKVhM-oni2RXQgcAc6qbFOVWTTkCwGA6EkAWnkrNixYBm_lstmZYH_dw7/s1600/PC300041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mmsLvFwBGLEtyY4GaDMipRhLb4ie2OQbmR2BjNkIlsjXsFVWcwiSTZWhCqiZw0JC_36rKRF6UFdpKfE7_zspKVhM-oni2RXQgcAc6qbFOVWTTkCwGA6EkAWnkrNixYBm_lstmZYH_dw7/s400/PC300041.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ubiquitous Stellar's Jay, waiting it out near the feeder</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-xfP1R5tbyDsMOQeIgLkmptQ3PosftFnopNpdT0uYGj0fgE2RBjpiT9ngxcrvsjX8d6OjPMTsA13GO84-Vbe6hfN_71A7yWWbhyH5UXRQwJjIgEXd83061-gCYeS7niKA7XDTEIIMos51/s1600/PC310080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-xfP1R5tbyDsMOQeIgLkmptQ3PosftFnopNpdT0uYGj0fgE2RBjpiT9ngxcrvsjX8d6OjPMTsA13GO84-Vbe6hfN_71A7yWWbhyH5UXRQwJjIgEXd83061-gCYeS7niKA7XDTEIIMos51/s400/PC310080.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">A walk in the snow near the cabin</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxHSzQdyYlyIX7pJ53OsEs-GxU5Qc-wY1SgZ0wGsE9hot8dfet4ofLO26GLa2fj24G-kb9KIltEnBgSYOzumA3yBQJvbyRbIGMlTmDOmQVzR4XTiikaLp_LXQ3qt4ZwrPPXk1lOVECWFo/s1600/PC310081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxHSzQdyYlyIX7pJ53OsEs-GxU5Qc-wY1SgZ0wGsE9hot8dfet4ofLO26GLa2fj24G-kb9KIltEnBgSYOzumA3yBQJvbyRbIGMlTmDOmQVzR4XTiikaLp_LXQ3qt4ZwrPPXk1lOVECWFo/s400/PC310081.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the hilltop behind the cabin</td></tr>
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We hope that your holidays are spent where you most want to be with those whose company you most desire. May the New Year bring you health, happiness, and fulfillment.Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-30813003519714181932011-11-19T06:44:00.001-07:002011-11-19T07:53:21.354-07:00From One World to AnotherWe've been back in Tucson for six weeks now. I'll admit to having a bit of whiplash with this changing of locations, changing of lives. Don't get me wrong -- having two wonderful homes in two incredible, and incredibly disparate, environments is fabulously decadent. It is also a bit over-stimulating, this switching between worlds. I hope I get better at it.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCRKtie4Rxe5TwlB-8WqFQqJVGZv0Q8i2Rz2lTBWKnNboDgawtg3Xs8ph0dqUIxKsEeiGzP8cH3c_zP0b_OOrsmpuQdY-0Eygyq3c3P3JrUPSvHjvl5rJHG_LfpGUgRnKOdOsQBk0SQZg/s1600/P9280004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCRKtie4Rxe5TwlB-8WqFQqJVGZv0Q8i2Rz2lTBWKnNboDgawtg3Xs8ph0dqUIxKsEeiGzP8cH3c_zP0b_OOrsmpuQdY-0Eygyq3c3P3JrUPSvHjvl5rJHG_LfpGUgRnKOdOsQBk0SQZg/s400/P9280004.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blazing aspens in the Colorado Rockies</td></tr>
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<br />
One moment we were high in the Rockies surrounded by ponderosa pines, firs, spruce, and flame colored aspen. The next we were streaking across the Navajo reservation at dawn, the subtle golds and sage greens of the high desert working their magic, reassuring me that I did indeed still love arid lands. Tucson was welcoming, if a little warm, and we were happy to get back to our other "forest", this one of towering saguaros.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1oxr3-61QH5Or337q5YBZGiE5wK4Pt0mm_z_gatuET5TwHu9P4pHtg2pywKtsIBKrwIkv_l1YnbucWi2GytXb6P5WrPPdCR7E94BN8513DSmi8542vF-nhoqX7XwTz9SWiaMG_j8HeDuj/s1600/P2210038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1oxr3-61QH5Or337q5YBZGiE5wK4Pt0mm_z_gatuET5TwHu9P4pHtg2pywKtsIBKrwIkv_l1YnbucWi2GytXb6P5WrPPdCR7E94BN8513DSmi8542vF-nhoqX7XwTz9SWiaMG_j8HeDuj/s320/P2210038.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob dwarfed in our Tucson saguaro "forest"</td></tr>
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During our last couple of weeks at the cabin in late September it was rutting season for the elk. The nights were filled with the eerie calls of the bulls, exhausting themselves with the work of challenging other males, managing their harems, and mating. In all the times we'd gone to the trailer, pre-cabin, for a week in late September hoping for aspen and elk, there had never been anything like this, both in fall color and elk activity. We felt so very lucky.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RbfWgxeOBKv8ahBrYU9M61fZn04tug-TWI5kxENG-gJZnteUwsoMBZTKUyUP0GZueK3yCb_86YKWttRnjaSZ_zFCNJ5_bPBxMdkJgkSZjEWzJvqQ9TTpy4Pnl4qdbOUbRpSX-pOLSntD/s1600/P9250063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RbfWgxeOBKv8ahBrYU9M61fZn04tug-TWI5kxENG-gJZnteUwsoMBZTKUyUP0GZueK3yCb_86YKWttRnjaSZ_zFCNJ5_bPBxMdkJgkSZjEWzJvqQ9TTpy4Pnl4qdbOUbRpSX-pOLSntD/s400/P9250063.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elk at dusk in Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8gfBwKdp0CKL9dpK0x_LpodacxdzIH4yDg2TxeR5Ep2EZt3H2FemBLK31pRvrIJ_c4rV04dsCE-vDiF5V0hrdvx-9-YZUh2CJUNtgW71APILIYBqKyAtCXA4dzF-rFoX0nFwWWDCVoT6Z/s1600/PB080107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8gfBwKdp0CKL9dpK0x_LpodacxdzIH4yDg2TxeR5Ep2EZt3H2FemBLK31pRvrIJ_c4rV04dsCE-vDiF5V0hrdvx-9-YZUh2CJUNtgW71APILIYBqKyAtCXA4dzF-rFoX0nFwWWDCVoT6Z/s200/PB080107.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Culling clothes in Tucson</td></tr>
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Returning to Tucson meant reunions with friends, getting back to "work" with our volunteer jobs at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum and Saguaro National Park, enjoying (except when it came to cleaning and maintaining) our much roomier Tucson home, and reveling in the convenience of the nearby proximity of groceries, restaurants, theaters, and libraries. We had a flurry of appointments with everyone from our financial advisor to our dentist. We've recognized that to be happy actually living in two places, both have to be simple and streamlined, and we're determined to downsize our possessions in Tucson since we can't come to grips with downsizing our home, despite missing our much smaller cabin and the easy life it afforded. We've also taken time to hike the foothills and washes near our Tucson home, reacquainting ourselves with the fascinating, but more frugal, fauna and flora of the Sonoran desert.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiquMgKgnvIH6nL4g2rWmyeMS3xLhMRaMV2ASWov-9581w0XowME0J6Q5pZCJWoHtzLgueDpuMBEAhJkc-uiyDhXoULh4a0vuTRR38lNIub7cKpuVyXVr_B0XcNDgCEZxf__gTSs8f3w9_/s1600/PA260092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiquMgKgnvIH6nL4g2rWmyeMS3xLhMRaMV2ASWov-9581w0XowME0J6Q5pZCJWoHtzLgueDpuMBEAhJkc-uiyDhXoULh4a0vuTRR38lNIub7cKpuVyXVr_B0XcNDgCEZxf__gTSs8f3w9_/s400/PA260092.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of six mule deer we spooked out of an arroyo near our Tucson home</td></tr>
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The best part of all of this is that we don't have to give up either of the two places we love best on Earth. We just need to learn to move between them with a little more grace and a little less whiplash.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTDDhbryXHbKmaeMfkvJFJuLk1BUIMA3GtRxJ0mUVYnnXWJWtioNkRsSOn6UnT2_Mt_7hsPGcFYWXSdtdxhFLY1pfq77ze43cn7R5GIfLd2T5R6Ml_IyC6zCEvdrhrNqfMvkli79glCC5S/s1600/P9300009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTDDhbryXHbKmaeMfkvJFJuLk1BUIMA3GtRxJ0mUVYnnXWJWtioNkRsSOn6UnT2_Mt_7hsPGcFYWXSdtdxhFLY1pfq77ze43cn7R5GIfLd2T5R6Ml_IyC6zCEvdrhrNqfMvkli79glCC5S/s400/P9300009.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One last reading session in the hammock at the cabin</td></tr>
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We'll get a chance again soon when we leave in four weeks for Christmas once again at the cabin.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirP7Rn-ozIK-LoOuTr3Xja_oOAia8v6GO9K298WxdX60oYpoxSn796dOJaGhXb3H3qoS3GSpoB7uYkOXGYcyoWDUiVCeYMcd6e3IsDs3HyproI5wUKKVGPQsGissAbEG8TPlliA0Q7qMSx/s1600/PC300041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirP7Rn-ozIK-LoOuTr3Xja_oOAia8v6GO9K298WxdX60oYpoxSn796dOJaGhXb3H3qoS3GSpoB7uYkOXGYcyoWDUiVCeYMcd6e3IsDs3HyproI5wUKKVGPQsGissAbEG8TPlliA0Q7qMSx/s400/PC300041.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stellar's jay rides out last winter's pre-New Year's snow storm at the cabin</td></tr>
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In the meantime, check back soon for some posts of other end of summer activities at the cabin.Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-50755253536224688862011-09-05T15:41:00.001-07:002011-09-05T15:42:28.001-07:00One. More. Month.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0kEFdlFGbS1kUrHoeaqS39HK0BUSKsFB1oEHpj6CevHgfhxT9051cf8N7WcUSd6yqUiaEhyphenhyphenWUE2owVHOyHk6W09k2k4a_JczozUdG5EbqXULADZI4t-qpHJI18g9w6ZTO6HzqldiF-xRX/s1600/P8310015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0kEFdlFGbS1kUrHoeaqS39HK0BUSKsFB1oEHpj6CevHgfhxT9051cf8N7WcUSd6yqUiaEhyphenhyphenWUE2owVHOyHk6W09k2k4a_JczozUdG5EbqXULADZI4t-qpHJI18g9w6ZTO6HzqldiF-xRX/s400/P8310015.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Changes...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">One more month <u>this</u> year. That’s what I keep telling myself. That, and that just about any time we feel the urge, we can get in the car and be here the next day. It’s impossible to believe we’ve been here, and away from Tucson, over three months. Four weeks from tomorrow we’ll have closed up the cabin and be heading south. I’m hoping I’m more ready (much, much more ready) when the time comes. Meanwhile my plan is to make the most of this last month of our inaugural summer in the cabin...the first of many.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgzTEPONjr68C-gnd3C00HGuuZ2SL-1Ws1DTEPrxC2G-ZuJZrNrp8sdBU3mX8rTU4MGmLhWIk6LB2fCsChCo9vqZta5TyO77rsZqSXaPebNxMG8jPzstW-73YJMGRb3oHQT8KXUflKR6q/s1600/P8270124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgzTEPONjr68C-gnd3C00HGuuZ2SL-1Ws1DTEPrxC2G-ZuJZrNrp8sdBU3mX8rTU4MGmLhWIk6LB2fCsChCo9vqZta5TyO77rsZqSXaPebNxMG8jPzstW-73YJMGRb3oHQT8KXUflKR6q/s400/P8270124.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Golden mantle ground squirrel harvesting buds on a flannel mullein</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeK5FEYOI7FUGXRae2XF-BZkiLEQKt8mXYwT3EpFxe0krrCfpREISLvAJojrX-Jr2gXrHWggVn7SHEPDxQoXFqynhnXDGt17_x-sercpt1nw1fvEKXz2ToGozlrO-0eoUIJOkFzPgtx5t3/s1600/P8310023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeK5FEYOI7FUGXRae2XF-BZkiLEQKt8mXYwT3EpFxe0krrCfpREISLvAJojrX-Jr2gXrHWggVn7SHEPDxQoXFqynhnXDGt17_x-sercpt1nw1fvEKXz2ToGozlrO-0eoUIJOkFzPgtx5t3/s320/P8310023.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Migrating Canada geese stop for some<br />
R&R on Bear Lake before continuing south</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">No question about it, fall is on the way. It’s early afternoon and just now barely out of the 50’s, but clear and sunny with the perfect amount of crispness. The aspen are beginning to turn, usually the leaves changing to a clear yellow, but sometimes a rich orange. The grasses are ripening and heavy with seed. The tree squirrels, chipmunks, and golden mantle ground squirrels are frantically harvesting everything from pine and fir seeds to raspberries and buds off the flannel mullein. Migration has seriously reduced the number of hummingbirds at the feeder (though for those who are still tanking up for their long flights we’ve increased the ratio of sugar to water a bit to help them out) and we are seeing a big increase in raptor action, including a stunning near pass by a ferruginous hawk a few days ago and a close visit by a great horned owl last night, it’s ear tufts silhouetted by the last remnants of the sunset before flying silently to another nearby snag where it tolerated being nagged by a defensive robin before swooping back into the forest. The first hard freeze is probably no more than two weeks away and a fire in the mornings is suddenly no longer an indulgence, but a necessity, and snow before the end of September is not out of the question. I’m taking advantage of the chilly day with a pot of homemade baked beans cooking slowly in a low oven for most of the day, and the cabin is filled with the smell of brown sugar, molasses, onions, and smoked ham shanks.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Many local friends have come and gone over the summer, and this Labor Day weekend will mark the end of the season up here at the ranch, and at the retreat that adjoins us. Over 100 folks are expected at Sunday night’s end of the summer season barbeque and party, complete with entertainment (someone mentioned polka!). It’s the first time we’ve been up here for this annual event and we’re looking forward to it. It’s hard to say goodbye to our mountain friends as they, and before too long we, depart...we see more of them in these four months than we do of many of our friends that live a block or two away in our Tucson neighborhood, probably a function of the simple pleasures we indulge in here and a lack of extraneous entertainments that so distract us back in the city. Shared meals, weekly game nights, group hikes, the outdoor Sunday services, and pitching in to help each other have formed close ties, some of them unexpected, some several years long now and very dear to us.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_4X6yDay8f2gh9lWaJ_U-qkifiqoP_wloJGgm4alcb3ehKwG60OriWM0pzpuI_9uzkXk1CRofHfm_zCq8J6Eu2Yu8bHIHRkxxXWFELr09oL7P_3SiXD5mmqq3NbQ0uJBEmr_zYeN1OBx/s1600/P8290125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_4X6yDay8f2gh9lWaJ_U-qkifiqoP_wloJGgm4alcb3ehKwG60OriWM0pzpuI_9uzkXk1CRofHfm_zCq8J6Eu2Yu8bHIHRkxxXWFELr09oL7P_3SiXD5mmqq3NbQ0uJBEmr_zYeN1OBx/s320/P8290125.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teacher Bob, his five charges, and one mom</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">As summer nears its end, it also means back-to-school time. The two families who manage the retreat have five elementary school-aged kids between them, all boys (one lone girl, still a toddler, will have a challenging future with this group). They are all home schooled by their able and devoted parents, but this year my husband (with his three degrees in science) is teaching them a section of science each week. Last week they gathered for their first lesson with Bob, and the subject was bugs, a favorite with just about all kids, and these boys were no exception. They all headed off to the spring at the back of our five acres and were rewarded with finding long thin white horse-hair worms living in the muck. They headed to the lake down the hill and found loads of bugs and aquatic insects, including a dragonfly nymph. All the while they were learning bug basics, and another neighbor who was a life-long educator and is working with the parents on skills for teaching reading, provided vocabulary lists for follow-up work. When they returned from the lake with their jar of mud-clouded water, complete with a plethora of tiny critters all doing the backstroke, freshly made cookies awaited those with freshly washed hands. Homework was assigned -- a drawing of a bug and a collection of five different bugs to be delivered this coming week, when the topic will shift to birds. All involved enjoyed it, but no one more than Bob. Four more weeks, four more topics.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Four more weeks, a dozen or more hikes. Four more weeks, a temperature drop of 20 degrees or more. Four more weeks, four more game nights. Four more weeks, one more full moon, </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-65894234387405818372011-08-28T12:58:00.003-07:002011-08-28T13:01:48.536-07:00Sliding Towards Fall<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-departure swim on Bear Lake</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It is past peak summer here at near nine thousand feet in the Rockies. The quaking aspen leaves have lost their glossiness and yellow is encroaching on the green in trees at the higher elevations. Earlier season blooms like loco-weed and columbines have disappeared, while later season flowers such as mountain gentian and strawberry blight are in their prime. The pair of Canadian geese, so recently putting their grown goslings through their paces, doing touch-and-goes on Bear Lake, all seem to have departed. The hummingbirds are less frantic now that the nesting period is over and have reduced their intake of sugar water by half. Squirrels are feasting on the ripe seeds in pine and fir cones, leaving the detritus on their dining tables of stumps and rocks. The days are shortening, over two minutes less daylight with each rotation, and while days are still warm we find ourselves reaching for flannel or fleece a little more often and a fire in the morning or evening is a cosy indulgence. Our neighbors remind us that they’ve spent Labor Day weekends here with over a foot of snow on the ground.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUzrk9FxFt07R7m3_k-qeg7s6HNRQj0DiZtW0SJP7aiXIoBUI7zHqo-lR92N2HDSdRNxLHYBNsLj9DdXwza2epHn7ST57k8ZzunHFXTp3uFtJrkryW7E5dsn-yFES3HruJmuoe1YcvyJyU/s1600/P8220046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUzrk9FxFt07R7m3_k-qeg7s6HNRQj0DiZtW0SJP7aiXIoBUI7zHqo-lR92N2HDSdRNxLHYBNsLj9DdXwza2epHn7ST57k8ZzunHFXTp3uFtJrkryW7E5dsn-yFES3HruJmuoe1YcvyJyU/s400/P8220046.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a change in the air</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLEabjaf6EIqIQqJhjI6zmazN_8Kjp98Ka-CKI2mgootN7eFi817_T1O6vW3rJaedwQFqVTyw8U_BEAyAJcVxAqkbmmCx3edBgrq4X_MWS3NiiNOzAjEgUEQotVI_wcSljsK6vlkz-JfYP/s1600/P8220052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLEabjaf6EIqIQqJhjI6zmazN_8Kjp98Ka-CKI2mgootN7eFi817_T1O6vW3rJaedwQFqVTyw8U_BEAyAJcVxAqkbmmCx3edBgrq4X_MWS3NiiNOzAjEgUEQotVI_wcSljsK6vlkz-JfYP/s400/P8220052.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild rose rose hip</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Since I love it here more with each passing day, the march of time through the seasons (late spring through early fall) is as poignant to me as it is fascinating. Never mind that when we do leave in just over five weeks we will be returning to another place we love where our lives are also full with activities and friends we cherish -- I am afraid I won’t have had enough of this mountain life this year (always the glutton), and I’m anticipating a wrenching departure. Of course, the antidote, should I find I miss the cabin too much, is to simply get in the car and make the two day drive back, so there is no tragedy in this amazingly wonderful bimodal life (like Maria in The Sound of Music...I must have done something good).</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHcEj2oCEOj94Q500RIYgA1EwBIRg5SA7FmFngNaHEcYbYZld8HlgDvEc5vElsEHlu8Q-z7Nyh0v1bwpfISp0ZtiiHtwzsB_owH3KGyfODdDWUYqGf9ABLCDAuWnF_OE6AFk7VOC1Ns2C/s1600/P8230059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHcEj2oCEOj94Q500RIYgA1EwBIRg5SA7FmFngNaHEcYbYZld8HlgDvEc5vElsEHlu8Q-z7Nyh0v1bwpfISp0ZtiiHtwzsB_owH3KGyfODdDWUYqGf9ABLCDAuWnF_OE6AFk7VOC1Ns2C/s400/P8230059.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hammock time is mandatory for all cabin guests</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9x1d3wdA_YuX3Bl_Ken3vBfAI9PYDeTeMoP4lqSCKL7K-rdL5i_N-sGRCuPlaeh4Sk9AuTGcEGi5CQB62a6P-CRZVtvng_5UDjvvI9VsdlvpF6pzwmk2kV5JoZSF9rwATBnL7kpNNTwe/s1600/P8240075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9x1d3wdA_YuX3Bl_Ken3vBfAI9PYDeTeMoP4lqSCKL7K-rdL5i_N-sGRCuPlaeh4Sk9AuTGcEGi5CQB62a6P-CRZVtvng_5UDjvvI9VsdlvpF6pzwmk2kV5JoZSF9rwATBnL7kpNNTwe/s320/P8240075.JPG" width="249" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New trail with an old friend</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">My husband recently had to return to Tucson for some follow-up work related tasks, and the week he was gone corresponded with a five day visit from a dear friend of mine. Marion and I had been two single mom’s, following each other from clinical trials related job to job in the Chapel Hill/Research Triangle Park area of North Carolina for many of the 11 years I lived there. We’ve managed to keep in touch over the decade since I’ve moved to Tucson, seeing each other get our girls through elementary and high schools and college, supporting each other as best we could with our busy lives. Marion’s visited a couple times in Tucson and I’ve returned a few times to Chapel Hill; the best time included the long 4th of July weekend near Kitty Hawk on the Outer Banks with long floats in the rolling swells and 16-layer cake (no kidding!). It was a real joy to have her experience our mountain cabin and the life we live up here. There was lots of catching up and reminiscing, most all of it in the sublime out-of-doors. Despite the 8,000+ foot elevation change for Marion, we managed some lovely hikes, one on a section of the new loop trail that starts almost outside my front door, and one on a trail a few miles from home that I’ve had my eye on for several years. We made no fancy excursions -- I wanted her to simply experience life as we know it up here. She met most of our neighbors and shared in the casual and generous hospitality that is common up here...and played some wicked games of dominoes! It was hard to see her go, but I am lobbying for her to consider Colorado as a retirement destination as she is a natural at wildlife sightings (a banded kingfisher and several hawks) and has a soft spot in her heart for the Colorado mountains. In the meantime, I’m hoping her visit here will be an annual treat.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKR-N8KHxcV9erMN49lkPGbhA2DcwDTK0PM8_k7q1RJEbUIV0isjHK7ZETPHcYgJWx5e0UJJPmPWSmJWgRHL4sPk9SYwQ6Q3LeJq5-aD8U-Tqc_OZAfXYocBXlPym3tFFQeuHneBjaipon/s1600/P8240065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKR-N8KHxcV9erMN49lkPGbhA2DcwDTK0PM8_k7q1RJEbUIV0isjHK7ZETPHcYgJWx5e0UJJPmPWSmJWgRHL4sPk9SYwQ6Q3LeJq5-aD8U-Tqc_OZAfXYocBXlPym3tFFQeuHneBjaipon/s400/P8240065.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain Gentian, new to me and so beautiful</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyPVUzzMyIv7nlTJajKTmaMyjOMZSwIADXZ-LMnLLc7Q_xV6HB1xeSvhUwv8VcBrhyphenhyphenawNIWkr0XiugxIQ9lJ_UL2KlU0cg3bM93XdURtyq_oyL-d17AwxKX_vTU_JuwCzeqGo8ncq8uXnL/s1600/P8240098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyPVUzzMyIv7nlTJajKTmaMyjOMZSwIADXZ-LMnLLc7Q_xV6HB1xeSvhUwv8VcBrhyphenhyphenawNIWkr0XiugxIQ9lJ_UL2KlU0cg3bM93XdURtyq_oyL-d17AwxKX_vTU_JuwCzeqGo8ncq8uXnL/s400/P8240098.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue Penstemon in late summer glory</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">The day I picked Bob up from the airport, a grateful guy to be gone from the 110 degree heat of Tucson, we were driving back to the cabin in the cool mountain twilight, about 10 miles into our 16 miles of twisting dirt roads. It was the time of the day that our wildlife-tuned eyes were most likely to be gratified...that half-dark time of the day when the bigger critters come out to graze. We’d already seen lots of deer, including a very Bambi-like spotted fawn, when we rounded a corner and an abandoned barn came into view. In the decreasing light I spotted several dark forms, then several more. There was a huge herd of elk -- Bob counted 44 -- grazing and frolicking (no other word for it) in the old overgrown meadow. About a third were true youngsters, calves, with lots of moms (cows as they’re called), and several juvenile bulls who were mock-protecting and challenging each other. Alas, I was without my camera, but here’s a picture of the barn, so use your imagination. The image of them will be forever fixed in my mind.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYTh62XUsrNAdDIIOutdB2kR3elUi1Wcp2Y09oCjAKg66cLqWZSbYwxNUWhi7cL1oR_c3Qc6v0y5L6839GEe10zfNPUx3qEs3lNRmOiksBXXI28utczO6D8xA5n-FoVIaHNrxcIabz2Bx/s1600/P8240093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYTh62XUsrNAdDIIOutdB2kR3elUi1Wcp2Y09oCjAKg66cLqWZSbYwxNUWhi7cL1oR_c3Qc6v0y5L6839GEe10zfNPUx3qEs3lNRmOiksBXXI28utczO6D8xA5n-FoVIaHNrxcIabz2Bx/s400/P8240093.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just add 44 elk of assorted sizes...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Bob is busy inoculating fresh aspen logs with the mycelium for Shiitaki and Pearl Oyster mushrooms, something he’s been planning all summer and now needs to get done so that they have a few weeks to “take” before our first hard freeze. The logs will winter in the moist shade near the spring, and when we arrive next spring Bob will soak them in the spring’s water, hoping to start the fruiting process. If that is successful and we can beat the deer to them, we should have some amazing meals of fresh mushrooms next year. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9lCgj5CYr3BU4HInxohW4xpGRajZr02akyGfY4AIjW0HeYWE1Pm1Z4Aoeh2R-vt1bVs1fnnCxlmhKFhH92G7cE-76HrTQbV1LS50ixfvsd_oIKSkjJhKy3vvEH2mHl47l66yyoDNLvOJ/s1600/P8240067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir9lCgj5CYr3BU4HInxohW4xpGRajZr02akyGfY4AIjW0HeYWE1Pm1Z4Aoeh2R-vt1bVs1fnnCxlmhKFhH92G7cE-76HrTQbV1LS50ixfvsd_oIKSkjJhKy3vvEH2mHl47l66yyoDNLvOJ/s400/P8240067.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild oyster mushrooms found along the new trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">It is helpful to plan and prepare for next year’s long stay here. We’ll probably come earlier, partly for my Bare Aware training and partly because we’ll want to. With most of the “must do’s” of settling into a new cabin completed this inaugural year and many of the questions regarding “what will it be like?” answered next year will be much more a case of showing up with groceries and books and our hiking boots and just getting about the pure pleasure of mountain life. Bob’s report of the family of cactus wrens busy in the barrio garden in our Tucson home, the pleasure of seeing some of our good friends, however briefly, and his time spend working at and visiting our beloved Desert Museum reminded me that our lives are beyond good wherever we go, wherever we are together, and that no matter the direction we travel on the dirt road near our mountain cabin, we are always headed home. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXWzhI9EXo9dfaeJIOyRIe2gk-rU70e2JZrnr4RtR8IokF_eGc-bEwU_y0Ib_YXwcNwPSA0_H48nSilklw-IeTZlEpSnvkIkdWyHG9xCuuDcQ8aqLO-kCYiyG_07RZDAwRXS3YeAwHLB_/s1600/P8240110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXWzhI9EXo9dfaeJIOyRIe2gk-rU70e2JZrnr4RtR8IokF_eGc-bEwU_y0Ib_YXwcNwPSA0_H48nSilklw-IeTZlEpSnvkIkdWyHG9xCuuDcQ8aqLO-kCYiyG_07RZDAwRXS3YeAwHLB_/s400/P8240110.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road home, no matter the direction...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-63848018388236393892011-08-05T11:42:00.001-07:002011-08-05T11:44:54.750-07:00Mid-Summer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdS8U3fhZRI6a12t8AQrk3O-bBxTraNi8UXI3zZDpi-2Gek048rLPfrwm7fmmCumXZ2oZEBtxCuL25nTScaPbdFmnF5zhWxn4a20-tm6SyJjMVzghmZw7FCjTuSO6vm8i80o37R16IVShI/s1600/P8030006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdS8U3fhZRI6a12t8AQrk3O-bBxTraNi8UXI3zZDpi-2Gek048rLPfrwm7fmmCumXZ2oZEBtxCuL25nTScaPbdFmnF5zhWxn4a20-tm6SyJjMVzghmZw7FCjTuSO6vm8i80o37R16IVShI/s400/P8030006.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This juvenile Great Blue Heron posed for me at Deer Lake, below the cabin</td></tr>
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<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Life at the cabin just keeps rolling along in the most pleasant of ways. With the major essential projects behind us we are settling into what I’m thinking passes for normal up here -- days filled with reading, nature watching, hiking, cooking and eating, cabin and forest maintenance, gardening, visiting with neighbors, and stargazing. We know the world will keep spinning on its axis without our following the debt-ceiling crisis and the early throes of the next election cycle, and we’re happier for shrugging that off for now.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6HVxbbqFUf_o3hEhwg-J2PxEVmHvJUkcNtDt1XgHidtV9ec0edf7O_AER53hD4lyzdE9m-HTHNEdupTG_on-0O853ISpSHsMnNwhGO9ko5mtBC7EWZmz-RWaG2lqQrb9MmjflbNKLoN5/s1600/P7210019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6HVxbbqFUf_o3hEhwg-J2PxEVmHvJUkcNtDt1XgHidtV9ec0edf7O_AER53hD4lyzdE9m-HTHNEdupTG_on-0O853ISpSHsMnNwhGO9ko5mtBC7EWZmz-RWaG2lqQrb9MmjflbNKLoN5/s320/P7210019.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deer's breakfast just off the front deck</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Instead we wake up to deer munching baby aspens in our front yard, and are often still sipping coffee at 10 AM while reading the novel of the moment until our tummies insist on breakfast. The next order of business is often a hike before it gets too warm (low 80’s) or the afternoon thunderstorms start up. We had over three inches of much needed rain in July (on top of about an inch in June), one inch of it in about 20 minutes, complete with BB-sized hail! Usually it falls much slower, soaking into the forest floor instead of washing out our driveway.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Our hikes are filled with change and new discoveries each and every time. As the seasons roll on some wildflowers finish while others are just reaching maturity. It seems to be the start of the harvest season for the critters -- the raspberries are ripening (and make a refreshing snack along the trail), some flowers going to seed while others are brim full with nectar. Most of our hikes are along creeks and our dog Bump does her best to take advantage of them to keep cool and hydrated.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZPuOo8yIZVYgyxXL3wjkgL_fxmYhJzEWVkWzmHXI1EnDUVDZ3bjmX0ePsI3cNHkOWkTVBZnwioYRI-oW7ZBdqYnCAolWMLL9qP-o9zWng8B4TGde6qftN39KJSbHWdB-kQNlbT4-k7LN/s1600/P7250057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZPuOo8yIZVYgyxXL3wjkgL_fxmYhJzEWVkWzmHXI1EnDUVDZ3bjmX0ePsI3cNHkOWkTVBZnwioYRI-oW7ZBdqYnCAolWMLL9qP-o9zWng8B4TGde6qftN39KJSbHWdB-kQNlbT4-k7LN/s320/P7250057.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HUGE bumblebee having its way with a thistle</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We put in a border garden on the entry side of the cabin. I bought a few perennials grown here in Colorado, blue penstemons, cone flowers, and hyssop. But mostly I’ve collected wildflowers from the forest (careful to harvest them only where they exist in great numbers) -- scarlet gillia, wild rose, mountain laurel, wild geranium, black-eyed Susans, pussy toes, harebells, and lavender asters to name a few. </span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglC_sCli9eXDJbE-wTatWpAr39MiJC0aDUBrKbHwhZzzr0wbtW9psO7aOjMG8C_R9JQwMW6l-gI-4ummiTwcKfhihgxXsQryjCOHAjlv17a81wNuRPx6tVvOQyBE-qnlHtsoo2N4EOUEXv/s1600/P7290071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglC_sCli9eXDJbE-wTatWpAr39MiJC0aDUBrKbHwhZzzr0wbtW9psO7aOjMG8C_R9JQwMW6l-gI-4ummiTwcKfhihgxXsQryjCOHAjlv17a81wNuRPx6tVvOQyBE-qnlHtsoo2N4EOUEXv/s400/P7290071.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Installing a perennial border garden </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4DcfJyOpxT0-WRYzAqTUEbxprPxunrqetVtBhkmTVpt4ikmRun7sT9q94xv4p1PjxfGaxfIkmdJkRj4cGt0H01LRgPIkuFy_oPDMllxTVNMNyVdxe6-XNrMjQ4aMoe6f-C9YDNU5Lj3IQ/s1600/P7290073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4DcfJyOpxT0-WRYzAqTUEbxprPxunrqetVtBhkmTVpt4ikmRun7sT9q94xv4p1PjxfGaxfIkmdJkRj4cGt0H01LRgPIkuFy_oPDMllxTVNMNyVdxe6-XNrMjQ4aMoe6f-C9YDNU5Lj3IQ/s400/P7290073.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We'll keep collecting specimens of wildflowers</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvwPajH5IcvgP-m6c2KmdkgMVcEnJ_ROuzXTh6gGsRaNoHo3hunw0ilWv3TRu9J2-e7IahNXyagWWY3JkTBNGuAMF88ZhI2S5-YolGD1k55NfVg7JHApndMDAKXHrd9D6ftUvUpqO0_E1/s1600/P7160018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvwPajH5IcvgP-m6c2KmdkgMVcEnJ_ROuzXTh6gGsRaNoHo3hunw0ilWv3TRu9J2-e7IahNXyagWWY3JkTBNGuAMF88ZhI2S5-YolGD1k55NfVg7JHApndMDAKXHrd9D6ftUvUpqO0_E1/s320/P7160018.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tonya Sharp, Colorado Division of Wildlife Officer, <br />
educating us on how to re-educate the bears</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We keep fine-tuning the way we live up here, from wildlife management to where to get our hair cut. We haven’t seen evidence of any more bear visits, but we have made some changes in our behavior that probably has helped. We invited Tonya Sharp, our local wildlife officer (Bob stopped referring to her as the Bear Lady after seeing the huge gun strapped to her hip), to come by and give us some advice. We no longer seed feed, though we do continue to feed the hummingbirds. Seed feeding is messy with the birds sorting through the mixed seeds, tossing the ones they don’t like over the side -- not this, not this, not this...THIS! -- so even if you bring in the feeder at night there’s still a mess on the ground, despite the best intentions of the ground squirrels. And I’d seen enough of the regulars at the seed feeder -- Cassin’s finches, brown-headed cow birds, and pine siskins -- to last me a while. If you sit for a few minutes and pay attention there are lots of interesting birds in the trees -- nuthatches, Stellar’s jays, juncos, woodpeckers, flickers, and sapsuckers, and even the occasional red-tailed hawk stops by a snag out front to scream at us before flying off. We have the hummingbird feeder about twelve feet up a tree hooked to a pulley system and we fill it once in the morning and bring it in empty by mid to late-afternoon. Sometimes I take a “rest” on the front steps with the full feeder and I’m never alone for long. Good trick for a warm day as those little hummers’ wings whip up quite the breeze, and it’s wonderful to see them so close you can see the varying colors of their individual feathers. And it’s too precious when they perch on your fingers.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhFtzJasKfAJSbPx5csj1ea7BbxZY41FANjsRCwts_BJLgvMLkbGhkGQ30rgrk00YvVsO_EH6Rux5O6VkFz3AaZ-eszQ-YwkFLEWu5vJmcIeeGuong_rkIzedBrGkWTtNJs4fMhjb8tdFe/s1600/P8010076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhFtzJasKfAJSbPx5csj1ea7BbxZY41FANjsRCwts_BJLgvMLkbGhkGQ30rgrk00YvVsO_EH6Rux5O6VkFz3AaZ-eszQ-YwkFLEWu5vJmcIeeGuong_rkIzedBrGkWTtNJs4fMhjb8tdFe/s400/P8010076.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Up close and personal with hungry lady hummers</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Along with missing our Tucson friends, we’re missing our volunteer work and are thinking of what would work for us up here. Bob is volunteering some chainsaw time to help folks clean-up their lots and will help with the semi-annual ranch clean-up when they bring in a HUGE chipper and feed in what’s been cleared, blowing the chips back into the forest. He’s also volunteered to teach a little science to some neighboring kids who are home schooled...leeches will be the first segment. I’ve filled out my application with the Colorado Division of Wildlife’s Bear Aware program and will come up next spring for training so that I can go out and coach folks on how to live in bear country.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSBy8G3Xg_Uhy9ko2lzS-MbnowYxj8F4DlCA6lZVgl3tFuSLI21WUdvHOsLn352IHplS_DGYbOcHDZBknWTMyLjtUMnJUZ3mPjbN8pxfNAjMjUlR8NEybGA3lkg_OrD4SBFIjnFNmAvi8L/s1600/P7250035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSBy8G3Xg_Uhy9ko2lzS-MbnowYxj8F4DlCA6lZVgl3tFuSLI21WUdvHOsLn352IHplS_DGYbOcHDZBknWTMyLjtUMnJUZ3mPjbN8pxfNAjMjUlR8NEybGA3lkg_OrD4SBFIjnFNmAvi8L/s400/P7250035.JPG" width="387" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Make a big wish on this tennis ball-sized salsify seed head...and BLOW</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">We’ve reached the halfway mark in our first summer at the cabin, and loving it more all the time. It’ll be odd to start counting down to our departure in early October, though we have much to go back to in Tucson. I wouldn’t be surprised to be back up here during the holiday season for a couple of weeks. May will just be too far away. Pack up the car, Honey -- I’m needing a cabin fix! So very nice to have options, and the time to exercise them. <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZk8sbxlGcIEnrmTM91KbjBQgRyWDWmxR0hjNF6nQ6oi0l419dd3YWarj_HlYt2lx-9N0G7KWvIM6ITlg6gRnD1CnBre7g2qaHpYDb3eW8QL4W79YoeojWPRB-5lOtEYgWSL9lMQLl_mOr/s1600/P7290069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZk8sbxlGcIEnrmTM91KbjBQgRyWDWmxR0hjNF6nQ6oi0l419dd3YWarj_HlYt2lx-9N0G7KWvIM6ITlg6gRnD1CnBre7g2qaHpYDb3eW8QL4W79YoeojWPRB-5lOtEYgWSL9lMQLl_mOr/s400/P7290069.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squirrel psych-out -- it fooled our dog the first time she saw it!</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-31741038214160013822011-08-05T10:30:00.000-07:002011-08-05T10:30:12.122-07:00The Unexpected...Great Eateries<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Every time we go to town our biggest problem is deciding which one of our favorite restaurants to visit. It was the last “problem” we expected up along this fairly remote stretch of communities in the southern Rockies. Collectively my husband and I have lived in Tucson for over 20 years and we still don’t have “our place”. We favor kind of funky, often ethnic, and always reasonable restaurants where the service is good enough and we feel comfortable. In Tucson we like them close to home, which is the main problem for us on the west side. Here in the mountains we’d never make the 40 minute trip in to the nearest restaurant, but we always make sure to include it on our provisioning trips. Here are two of our favorites.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">The Hungry Bear, Woodland Park, CO</span></b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit_lyUDZHmq_4zh0IaOaC5gMp0dwyFRCXfU1E2eZwR2pvrIe1kXYKvtzgbllG6_uP24D-F1lEFZhhjH_UyTaR-cjueabr1h6C1B4iuOik8QRnLKID2Ny4pBGxOGpoLqac6Y3-kHZNozXRT/s1600/P7140008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit_lyUDZHmq_4zh0IaOaC5gMp0dwyFRCXfU1E2eZwR2pvrIe1kXYKvtzgbllG6_uP24D-F1lEFZhhjH_UyTaR-cjueabr1h6C1B4iuOik8QRnLKID2Ny4pBGxOGpoLqac6Y3-kHZNozXRT/s400/P7140008.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three signs are better than one</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The Hungry Bear in Woodland Park has been a favorite of ours since we started coming up here together six years ago. It’s a one-off, family owned, quirky down-home place which specializes in breakfast and lunch, but is also opened some nights for dinner. For us it’s our breakfast spot.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTXas94ikpH0G7R3gQckIdBf9qbv5MPWBizXU4g53pde9w-2S7DEA1AdXTcrtNdTvtwnyhiTNyj41cH53YFA6Scnvd1QuW3iF2aeN5KJUdG58xoyk39CM4VY0j-sNvEHjDKuLbRmzOW6d/s1600/P7140007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTXas94ikpH0G7R3gQckIdBf9qbv5MPWBizXU4g53pde9w-2S7DEA1AdXTcrtNdTvtwnyhiTNyj41cH53YFA6Scnvd1QuW3iF2aeN5KJUdG58xoyk39CM4VY0j-sNvEHjDKuLbRmzOW6d/s320/P7140007.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I’ve often speculated that its origins were someone’s teddy bear collection -- high shelves hold hundreds of plush toy bears and the walls are covered with bear photos and plaques with kitschy sayings. The waitresses are country-friendly and efficient. The tables are all different, and you can sit at one of two counters if you like, one with a view into the kitchen. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I suppose you could eat healthy at The Hungry Bear, but I’ve never seen anyone do so. Even the trophy wives just passing through on their way to the ski resorts are tucking into huge plates of fruit and sour cream filled crepes with a massive side of bacon.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">After all these years we’ve settled, for better or worse, into our favorites. My husband orders The Dream -- a split, toasted and buttered biscuit smothered in sausage gravy served along two over easy eggs and an order of bacon. I get what’s referred to as 2x2x2 -- two eggs over easy, two strips of bacon, and two huge, plate-sized blueberry buckwheat pancakes. Oh, and lots of hot coffee. I hope our doctor is reading this.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiOdvM5VbZTeidHxx6x6acLtx19lLOakI2gFEe85l5GfR3KPrxiTBBfwGjalYC0Dzv32P4dx8XlUVyJQmGhJytaqSr3km8MarrhHorqBwe5H0PoPwv6OImZBSD644uSxgsPW-ADjubwmzm/s1600/P7140005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiOdvM5VbZTeidHxx6x6acLtx19lLOakI2gFEe85l5GfR3KPrxiTBBfwGjalYC0Dzv32P4dx8XlUVyJQmGhJytaqSr3km8MarrhHorqBwe5H0PoPwv6OImZBSD644uSxgsPW-ADjubwmzm/s640/P7140005.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plateful of Buckin' Blues</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It’s a ridiculous amount of food. In fact their menu has a tongue-in-cheek disclaimer...<i>Warning: Our food may become habit forming. Mass consumption may cause weight gain. </i>Since we only hit The Hungry Bear about once a month, we’re holding our own. If you want to eat some great comfort food, do some interesting people watching, and feel like you’re among friends it would be hard to do better than The Hungry Bear. It’s on the south side of the main drag, Hwy. 24, in Woodland Park, Colorado. Check out their website: <a href="http://www.hungybearcolorado.com/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">www.hungybearcolorado.com</span></a></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Go hungry!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">McGinty’s Wood Oven Pub</span></b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6oX9GoIMuDzq-yYsG4neVXvjnr-RjxUMqZQ248gDmORf63miis3Y-itJtmz5zh66ta7a5IOewqBaTX2qFIgQUdpmjYbtp_DfEtjqiHOqlGS2f9sJ9UG3E5pFPG4oktU2Gpn2ppINvwZTx/s1600/P7140009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6oX9GoIMuDzq-yYsG4neVXvjnr-RjxUMqZQ248gDmORf63miis3Y-itJtmz5zh66ta7a5IOewqBaTX2qFIgQUdpmjYbtp_DfEtjqiHOqlGS2f9sJ9UG3E5pFPG4oktU2Gpn2ppINvwZTx/s400/P7140009.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best (only) pizza in Divide, Colorado</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">McGinty’s, and Irish themed restaurant, is in Divide, a two light town along Hwy. 24 eight miles west of Woodland Park. It is the last thing I’d have expected to find at the main Divide crossroads. In fact, we probably wouldn’t have given it a try except for a strong recommendation from our neighbors who have a cabin across the lake from our cabin; they often stop for dinner on their way to their cabin from their home in Colorado Springs. Margaret said the bleu cheese pizza was to die for...blue cheese pizza???</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJwcbIdIpGt9J4jA7Dra9PWEIfB-aLT5KUXoV93kxKeS0JV0ASOfcZPg5FngGqv4hgMTvIkKYvTZRUAjkqGubVTqUgzXLcq9xh-gNu-bl2eTVIJ-A98yywSNv0YVSSGae1FwcrgOqQZOK/s1600/P7140010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJwcbIdIpGt9J4jA7Dra9PWEIfB-aLT5KUXoV93kxKeS0JV0ASOfcZPg5FngGqv4hgMTvIkKYvTZRUAjkqGubVTqUgzXLcq9xh-gNu-bl2eTVIJ-A98yywSNv0YVSSGae1FwcrgOqQZOK/s400/P7140010.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We stopped in starving for a very late lunch and were surprised by the attractive and comfortable interior. Shown to a deep booth with a view of the wood oven we perused the menu for the raved about bleu cheese pizza. Even after reading the description of the Frenchy McGillicuddy Patty Cake (pizza pie) -- charred bits of prime rib and chunks of bleu cheese, garlic and olive oil, sweet onions, arugula and roasted tomatoes -- I was a bit skeptical. Still, it was what we’d been planning on ordering, and since the price was just under $11 I was sure, with those ingredients, we were talking about an individual size pizza and we’d need a second one or a substantial salad to suffice. I asked the waitress if she’d recommend ordering a second pizza and she said probably not since the pizzas were 16 inchers. What?! A pizza like that in Tucson would be over $20! </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It was fun to watch the chef and his helpers move around the work station in front of the wood stove. No fancy flipping of pizza dough, but careful overhead stretching. About ten minutes after ordering, while we were enjoying some lovely draft Guinness, the waitress brought over a thick section of tree trunk, peeled and sanded and sealed. A few minutes later our pizza arrived, still bubbling, on a dark green stone slab. Any reservations I had about the odd ingredients disappeared when I saw the gorgeous glutenous crust, a perfect brown with sheer crispy bubbles, the bright green of the chopped arugula, the crisped bits of prime rib, caramalized onions, large chunks of tomato, all melded together in a thin pool of melted bleu cheese. The crust was on the thin side, crisp without being brittle, with plenty of corn meal still adhering to the bottom. It was utterly fantastic, and as hungry as we were, we still had two large pieces to carry home and they warmed up to almost the same perfection the next day for lunch. Eleven bucks. Unbelievable!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPjOnZC6BJ3aZn9_vcpCrl91_3hAF4wNj3NSr4epxxgniQYwctPLIMfEpjjlesCRKJ9h6YHJtRjTOslBeMW0-8_TFcT49JX2MZeWV4SxR46ZxTgHjdlV68p99Bz2bbHQt307OuXpa52_b/s1600/P7140012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPjOnZC6BJ3aZn9_vcpCrl91_3hAF4wNj3NSr4epxxgniQYwctPLIMfEpjjlesCRKJ9h6YHJtRjTOslBeMW0-8_TFcT49JX2MZeWV4SxR46ZxTgHjdlV68p99Bz2bbHQt307OuXpa52_b/s400/P7140012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the best pizzas I have ever eaten!</td></tr>
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</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Our second trip in we ordered the Bernadette Devline pizza, created in honor of Ireland’s first female politician, sauced with half red, half green pesto topped with fire-roasted peppers, onion, baby spinach, mushrooms, roasted tomatoes, fried leeks, artichokes and mozarella cheese. It was just as good as the first one, a buck cheaper, and we must have hit happy hour as our pizza and two draft pints totalled under $17. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">They have a very extensive menu with imaginative salads and sandwiches and dinner entrees that all sound amazing. I’m not sure we’ll ever get past the pizzas! The wait staff is attentive and enthusiastic, and when I had a question about one of the beers that stumped the waitress, she quickly went to get the answer. There are several good beers on tap, including Guinness.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If you’re hankering for some REALLY good food at prices that make me worry this wonderful eatery won’t be sustainable, and appreciate a bit o’ the Irish, do go out of your way to visit McGinty’s in Divide.</span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-12439528700761194752011-07-13T16:45:00.000-07:002011-07-13T16:45:41.561-07:00Learning<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">We’re a third of the way through our first summer sojourn in our new cabin in the Rockies. Semi-permanent residence is a whole new ball game, and we have already begun thinking of this as the ‘shake-down’ summer. There’s a lot that’s worked just as we expected, but there have been some surprises, and we have some learning to do.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQpd6VtA-W9LNW2GU_UL6fchonXYyQ_vqfoJWo9yUGentn8Nri5QIa7Fa4jKLeadT5c-kenk_IXKRReWlgQQUej6gw_mslla-z_DtIogdFRQlNdFvycjo7nzRDFUwmLCODPEbpwwVGxzSK/s1600/P7110025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQpd6VtA-W9LNW2GU_UL6fchonXYyQ_vqfoJWo9yUGentn8Nri5QIa7Fa4jKLeadT5c-kenk_IXKRReWlgQQUej6gw_mslla-z_DtIogdFRQlNdFvycjo7nzRDFUwmLCODPEbpwwVGxzSK/s400/P7110025.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just about perfection...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpH4A5KdMmsgFy7rTqNhR-0CHJ91HVL0NNHfyV11gACLgfGCCRsbfDfJursbKwbDe9OHIo3rPJOjDfXXr1QT9wKl48fh3_n_ibjk4ea7ugPclcFZM9QPvGPM3dLPpDiovygjhuk_ykcQnW/s1600/P7040017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpH4A5KdMmsgFy7rTqNhR-0CHJ91HVL0NNHfyV11gACLgfGCCRsbfDfJursbKwbDe9OHIo3rPJOjDfXXr1QT9wKl48fh3_n_ibjk4ea7ugPclcFZM9QPvGPM3dLPpDiovygjhuk_ykcQnW/s320/P7040017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red-tail Hawk seen on a 'round-the-block hike</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">With most of the cabin furnishing and provisioning done (we’re heading into Colorado Springs again tomorrow to get a couple of bookcases and a small coffee table at an unfinished furniture place) we’re settling into more of what we feel will be the normal rhythm of life in this remote cabin in the Rocky Mountains. As Harry, our neighbor across the lake and maker of carved bears, once said to me, “This is still your life up here, just in a different place,” and he’s right. There are still chores, things to take care of and keep track of, and now two sets of household bills to pay. We still have a social life to enjoy and friends and family to keep up with (and miss), no matter where we are. There’s a LOT of togetherness, so far a good thing, and still forays into civilization for shopping, libraries, and eating out. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Our life in Tucson is in many ways quite similar to here, despite it’s proximity to the conveniences of living near a city. Our home is out in the Tucson Mountain foothills and we spend a lot of time outside hiking, tending our yard, or watching the abundant wildlife, just as we do here. Mind you, in Tucson Costco is 10 minutes away and Sunflowers for rational quantities of fresh produce the same, so you can literally run out to do a biweekly shopping in less time than it takes me to drive to a store where I can buy a gallon of milk. ‘Going to town’ here, something we do once a week, takes on the excitement you read about in Little House on the Prairie...it’s a big, carefully planned event. If you forget to buy sugar, the hummers are going to be complaining all week (as they do the second they run low on sugar water, from about three inches off your nose).</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;"><b>Cabin Life Lesson #1 - Keep good lists of needs and wants for the weekly trip to town, and try not to make it resemble the Bataan Death March </b></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcuYKH93hjIbtcF8cubR80b1SXkRqrKcsxmJCo343xbGJGFGab8xBnfcuA1pi8lGpwt_3FJmihiT6fuL0pDMDS5ZMmSujrswtNm55Z8SgEsvYVMhYf1LgVeTwJzhxxQSrW5jHJBiHayX6E/s1600/P7040026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcuYKH93hjIbtcF8cubR80b1SXkRqrKcsxmJCo343xbGJGFGab8xBnfcuA1pi8lGpwt_3FJmihiT6fuL0pDMDS5ZMmSujrswtNm55Z8SgEsvYVMhYf1LgVeTwJzhxxQSrW5jHJBiHayX6E/s320/P7040026.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best. Ever. Chocolate. Cookies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s interesting to go a week or more with what’s on hand, especially if you get a last minute call that you have incoming house guests. I try to keep plenty of the staples -- milk, bread, and eggs around. For those more perishable items such as fruit and veggies, I’ve come up with a few tricks. Bags of romaine lettuce hearts keep well. I have a jars of things like sun-dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, olives, pickles, and pickled vegetable mixes around for when I can’t run out to get more fresh tomatoes. Half and half, something I almost never have in Tucson, is a less perishable back-up for when the milk for coffee runs low, and as back-up to the back-up, I have a bag of powdered milk. I make sure to have a few bags of frozen vegetables -- petite peas, corn, and French cut green beans in the freezer for when the fresh greens are gone. I have stooped to dehydrated parsley, more for color than flavor in soups and stews. I keep a good-sized jar of pesto (Costco’s is GREAT) in the fridge, not for pasta which we don’t eat much of, but for a wonderful herby base for making salad dressing (a big spoonful with a little olive oil, white wine vinegar or lemon juice, salt & pepper -- fab!), mixing with mayo for Italian sandwiches, tossed with rice or potatoes, as a pistou in soups, in scrambled eggs -- you get the idea -- is good for that fresh herb taste. We eat the most perishable stuff, like strawberries, first...apples will keep. I keep things on hand for bread baking, and corn bread is quick and delicious baked in a cast iron pan in the oven (which I can use all the time here, unlike Tucson). I finally have my spice inventory up to make just about any kind of cookie we feel like (and with the hiking we’re doing, a couple of cookies a day seem to do no harm, just good. Provisioning for a remote location is mostly common-sense, but we take it a bit more seriously here than we do in Tucson.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;"><b>Cabin Life Lesson #2 - Provision wisely, be prepared to cook a LOT and well -- food matters</b></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRHPnNM7C_PnDMAla81rSfPxNkOLX1920C5PbPRF0zMICV__gGMKsWDIN26VA9jTxO_yOMq_t2JrL4n-8ESS5gP4qZz5kicPEaUxBsxPqL9PIjtu23qzDHrdDkzauqz5mnIKzwJeQkkAxm/s1600/P7110031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRHPnNM7C_PnDMAla81rSfPxNkOLX1920C5PbPRF0zMICV__gGMKsWDIN26VA9jTxO_yOMq_t2JrL4n-8ESS5gP4qZz5kicPEaUxBsxPqL9PIjtu23qzDHrdDkzauqz5mnIKzwJeQkkAxm/s200/P7110031.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cottontail taking shelter</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s so obvious up here that we’ve moved into the habitat of the wildlife, not the other way around. It’s almost like the physician’s motto, first do no harm. While I was down at the ranch house making my bear post, the bear was at our cabin eating our niger thistle seeds, and probably getting ready to take on the regular seed and humming bird feeders while our dog cowered inside (as she should have). When we saw the thistle seed feeder down, chewed up, and empty, we immediately scanned the area for the bear, realizing we may have interrupted it. We didn’t see it, but we did hear it bellowing just over the rocks towards the lake. The next day we got serious and suspended our feeders from pulleys high up in the trees around the cabin. We can lower them for refilling, but a bear would (and could) have to climb for them, and this bear is looking for an easy meal. If we have more trouble with the bear and bird feeders, we’ll consider taking them down all together, though we are very much enjoying the fantastic bird-watching from our cabin.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;"><b>Cabin Life Lesson #3 - Do all you can to live in harmony with the wildlife</b></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUk-VOaBeg9XPke9FHgACc9Gb2bonQxMwRRpj8JrO4wfOrw79Bl6Th_kLm8CkJ1KgRMUBYANHxwa7ZDuqvOnhsN4R-Gl4Oc33pBKRjz-o4ObPOJJ_jn613D128c-lQwCsXEdgjS8mHzAl/s1600/P7090014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUk-VOaBeg9XPke9FHgACc9Gb2bonQxMwRRpj8JrO4wfOrw79Bl6Th_kLm8CkJ1KgRMUBYANHxwa7ZDuqvOnhsN4R-Gl4Oc33pBKRjz-o4ObPOJJ_jn613D128c-lQwCsXEdgjS8mHzAl/s320/P7090014.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset from the swing</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After about six weeks we admitted to ourselves, and each other, that we were feeling a bit restless; maybe a little bit bored. Personally, I feel doing without the easy diversions of streaming video and personalized radio stations, movie theaters and libraries a short drive away, constant access to the Internet, and shops loaded with things you don’t need is a good thing, especially on a part-time basis. My husband, not so much. We haven’t seen quite as much of friends and family as we’d expected, and do miss our Tucson life in several ways -- our fairly busy social life, our volunteer work (and those we work with) at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum and Saguaro National Park, taking advantage of all the mod cons, and for my husband, recently retired, not work, but having more of a schedule. This is definitely different, and mostly wonderful, but not without it’s challenges. As with everything, no matter how great things are, they can become a little bit routine. So we’ve decided to mix it up a bit, do more things, and make sure to do plenty of what’s so good here in the mountains. First, remember how great it is to be here in the cool instead of in the 100+ degrees of a Tucson summer. We’re reading more about the natural history of this area, to better understand and appreciate where we are (and how to be a good guest here). We’re making sure we take a walk or hike every day, even if it’s just down the trail to the meadow, or more often our two mile ‘around the block’ hike, or to the overlook, or Cedar Mountain, or hiking the roads. The hiking helps the cookies make sense. Having overdosed on several books a week, we’re playing more games after dinner (I am getting walloped at Rummikub at the moment), doing the occasional jigsaw puzzles (I have a collection of some really good museum ones), and yes, listening to more NPR (but not too much) so we can bitch about congress and gird our loins for the campaign that is apparently (and appallingly) already underway. We also have some non-provisioning day trips planned to experience more of this part of Colorado. Oh, and more sunsets from the swing above our cabin.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HjL9My7oZ15mRZ61LDzH3UtnubNGeNsKTLrJYHkZMkpyz91kya64IctVMwjY3bsRKcgOMHjFl0kYuxbgM-8fm_koM8ieIufR7VrDAftoFGo3mDxLm82_hH4JtAQe6i7vVtuIkNyFhsgZ/s1600/P7110020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HjL9My7oZ15mRZ61LDzH3UtnubNGeNsKTLrJYHkZMkpyz91kya64IctVMwjY3bsRKcgOMHjFl0kYuxbgM-8fm_koM8ieIufR7VrDAftoFGo3mDxLm82_hH4JtAQe6i7vVtuIkNyFhsgZ/s400/P7110020.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karen's Overlook, a favorite hiking destination with a view of Turkey Rock</td></tr>
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;"><b>Cabin Life Lesson #4 - Don’t get lazy, take anything for granted, or forget how wonderful your life is; be grateful and Be Where You Are Fully</b></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">More life lessons, cabin and otherwise, to come...no doubt. In the meantime we’re off to play dominos with some friends at another cabin tonight and tomorrow we’ll head to town -- maybe I’ll get a piece of calico for a new apron or a shiny tin cup (reference may only be clear to lovers of Laura Ingalls Wilder). </span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-61733929512790285602011-07-08T16:59:00.001-07:002011-07-08T17:00:26.653-07:00...and Bears, Oh My!!!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVBbjCGWF0ViY-hDq6hvNET7MOQkfyRWvs1oAOOwMR18ysW5O3itrJTCjHzKJon9bDIzxKwJOjFtS2xAaAa8cxIiB8Skmk256NioUXB5ecXfSvCiiUuYFaVxwtElk4Q6VyTQcy5plYXB9/s1600/P7010001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVBbjCGWF0ViY-hDq6hvNET7MOQkfyRWvs1oAOOwMR18ysW5O3itrJTCjHzKJon9bDIzxKwJOjFtS2xAaAa8cxIiB8Skmk256NioUXB5ecXfSvCiiUuYFaVxwtElk4Q6VyTQcy5plYXB9/s320/P7010001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just below the cabin, contemplating the lake</td></tr>
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<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">It was late afternoon. After a full day outside -- hiking, forestry, hammock-and-a-book time -- we’d retreated indoors. I was busy losing a game of MahJong on my ancient Gateway laptop and my husband was stretched out on the couch, winning a game of Sudoku (hard). I heard a thump on the porch behind the house, vaguely assumed it was the dog after a ground squirrel, and kept clicking on matching tiles. Suddenly my husband exclaimed “BEAR!”. And indeed, there was, not ten feet from the mullioned glass door and large window looking out on the red rocks behind the cabin. A shaggy cinnamon colored black bear was wandering by.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My second thought, after OMG, was “where’s the dog??!!”. I shot out the front door, opposite the bear’s side, and called, firmly, for Bump. She obviously knew the bear was quite nearby and slunk carefully out from underneath the deck, the whites of her eyes showing, up the stairs and inside more obediently than ever before.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I looked out the front windows, the direction the bear was headed. He (guessing here) was standing about 20 feet off the deck on the edge of the building pad, looking down the hill towards the lake. I grabbed the camera and ran out the door to get some photos. My husband was urging the bear to move along, throwing some rocks his way but not hitting him, despite his intentions. I can’t remember if we were yelling at the bear -- I was so rattled with nerves and excitement that I kept hitting the on/off button on my camera instead of the shutter and was baffled when it kept shutting down.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The bear headed over the edge towards the lake, hesitating near some rocks. There were a lot of folks down at the lake fishing and making quite a bit of noise. The bear turned around and headed back towards us, but adjusted his course down the western slope from the cabin. He was in no rush at all -- aware of us but not concerned, and not acting at all aggressive. The bear took his time traversing our hillside, eventually heading for the spring and its dense foliage at the back of the property. We wandered down the drive a bit and could see him moving about there for a bit, and then we lost sight of him.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTTG2bSSh9m_xJv9wRkw5wi7u_prZ5qcyLI82fyKwML-htNL62wp-PHQkJw_gPMeaYBzdlvwlTcqYseyJwfjS0kOrR9sWx87EyqPqz32hZbyi4JqDbdqCoC8oaMSzQ4sWpbw5GU31K_dJ9/s1600/P7010002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTTG2bSSh9m_xJv9wRkw5wi7u_prZ5qcyLI82fyKwML-htNL62wp-PHQkJw_gPMeaYBzdlvwlTcqYseyJwfjS0kOrR9sWx87EyqPqz32hZbyi4JqDbdqCoC8oaMSzQ4sWpbw5GU31K_dJ9/s320/P7010002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading towards the spring and PIke National Forest</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrTiMmma-_ic6ttG82PzLcqhzPT2iLXTXzdyTo5hTl9Pdxbv6uXFL39RxOOyYJOw1-kKJGOXvPfQuoTVC0aA5kFjycad1lp6ndpBRoAPmr4OWRxfmwlj3GErQiDhFh-acxyqGS5GHZP1s/s1600/P8090044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrTiMmma-_ic6ttG82PzLcqhzPT2iLXTXzdyTo5hTl9Pdxbv6uXFL39RxOOyYJOw1-kKJGOXvPfQuoTVC0aA5kFjycad1lp6ndpBRoAPmr4OWRxfmwlj3GErQiDhFh-acxyqGS5GHZP1s/s200/P8090044.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bear claw marks</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">This bear looked young -- not cub young, but maybe a year or two old. He was losing his winter coat and looked scraggly, but there was no mistaking the power there. This may well have been the bear that visited me 10 nights in a row in the trailer last year, right after I dropped my husband off at the airport for his return to Tucson. The bear had marauded our site while we overnighted in Denver, knocking down bird feeders, slashing our seven gallon jerry jug, yanking the drip pan out of the gas grill. That night, and every night for the rest of my stay, he’d show up shortly after dark, grunting and groaning and rocking the trailer. My dog Bump would sense him coming before I did, and her slinking off in the most exquisite slow-motion to the farthest corner in the bedroom was a sure sign. My trailer was a 33 foot Airstream Argosy, tightly constructed of steel, and I kept the windows closed on the side the bear could reach (the ground feel off on the other side). Despite playing the radio, loud, leaving the outside lights on and shining a flashlight out the window, I never spotted the bear, even when I could hear it outside. Every morning brought new paw-prints on the trailer, snotty-nosed dribbles down the windows, and more paw prints on all the door handles of both vehicles. Looking back, I am amazed that I didn’t simply pack up the car -- in broad daylight -- and head south. About 18 trailers and cabins had attempted bear break-ins; about half of those were successful. No one was hurt, except in the pocketbook. Still, there were calls for the bear to be “harvested”. I would feel terribly guilty if this bear, encouraged by all our bird feeders, unsecured trash, and food left in trailers, cabins, and sheds, were killed. We’ve moved into the bear’s habitat, not the other way around, and we’re being irresponsible neighbors.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaO8Mitt5LR9SIEdv_txmU1LNBaz838WoFRU_V8QamWIbgaMUkR0Ke1WQOPlUzFgixys7iDn5vOqyVJXq2D8vrL9Wq6bvkygOFb2nxJignwS52g3AFMgArCKo8A5bqNQwfAFMQUP7R81gq/s1600/P8100013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaO8Mitt5LR9SIEdv_txmU1LNBaz838WoFRU_V8QamWIbgaMUkR0Ke1WQOPlUzFgixys7iDn5vOqyVJXq2D8vrL9Wq6bvkygOFb2nxJignwS52g3AFMgArCKo8A5bqNQwfAFMQUP7R81gq/s320/P8100013.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bear and I are in competition for these!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My Sierra Club Naturalist’s Guide to the Souther Rockies says that American Black Bears are very common in aspen and mixed aspen-coniferous communities (and this area is that), as they feed on the aspen buds, catkins, and new leaves in the spring and return in the fall for the berries grown in the understory shrubbery. Our land has hundreds if not thousands of aspen and wild raspberries are everywhere around the cabin. Normally crepuscular and nocturnal (someone should let this bear know as he’s been seen from 10 AM right through to the dinner hour and beyond), early summer is mating season, so perhaps this one’s out roaming, looking for love.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I hope he finds it soon and heads back into the deep forest...for his own good. I’m here to enjoy nature, not contribute to its demise. </span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-52467711459362374662011-06-30T11:38:00.001-07:002011-06-30T11:40:00.101-07:00One Month Down...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmv-kgUoRdEGArkWoB4iAA-L5GgjT_YOyfYRQylbw5UMsIXSw0r6AaTON4ZMzWKyuCCU1-HTPs4CEMyZNBWWvVcy-WQVE3hSyNfAbld8jsWgfooGIauRhbSAI9KnAaETnWaxcRz4yptXP/s1600/P6270031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmv-kgUoRdEGArkWoB4iAA-L5GgjT_YOyfYRQylbw5UMsIXSw0r6AaTON4ZMzWKyuCCU1-HTPs4CEMyZNBWWvVcy-WQVE3hSyNfAbld8jsWgfooGIauRhbSAI9KnAaETnWaxcRz4yptXP/s320/P6270031.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking for rain, same as Tucson...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">...three to go.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It seems utterly impossible that we’re a quarter way through our cabin stay. I have this visual of me grasping a large rope with my heels dug in hard, but being pulled along in spite of my best efforts. The days reel by, evaporating hour by hour, to the point that I sometimes feel I must have fallen asleep for some of it (and we do take the occasional nap) -- how can it be 4 PM? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">How we spend our time:</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Projects and Reading</span></b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Now that we are mostly sorted out and stowed away, less work and more play becomes a reality. Or projects that veer away from being chores and are more like fun -- like forest clearing for my husband, or sewing projects for me. And there’s always a stack of books to be read, and we’re doing quite well at that. My two favorites of the half dozen or so I’ve read so far were Swamplandia!, by Karen Russell (fanciful and fascinating) and a real knock-out by Pulitzer Prize winner Michael Cunningham (for The Hours), By Nightfall. We are now card-carrying members of the Rampart District Libraries -- their card has a panorama view of Pike’s Peak -- and can use either of the libraries, a smaller one in Florissant and a big one in Woodland Park. And get this...we are of an age that we have “earned the right to be late” and pay no fines. Nice, especially since it’s the better part of a hour to get to the library and we’d never make a special trip just to return books.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3dHs3WOzXVlaXm6Vs74cbQ96cYK3eipVF5pqjFb4irTrw05SW91BLOuirgpd7ofo0wFpxFA-ZAzXmSpnBkUopkwmdHgZIi5CMQqIfYBu05yU24i9RqZ3VzwL_zFxSU1DI8zIigDq92wSF/s1600/P6290003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3dHs3WOzXVlaXm6Vs74cbQ96cYK3eipVF5pqjFb4irTrw05SW91BLOuirgpd7ofo0wFpxFA-ZAzXmSpnBkUopkwmdHgZIi5CMQqIfYBu05yU24i9RqZ3VzwL_zFxSU1DI8zIigDq92wSF/s400/P6290003.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We love the local libraries -- and these two books especially!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Family and Friends (and hiking and beer making)</span></b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghq9nHdy9VtLxBrMOo39PTa8zpAnMLireZmLrlUmXZQZfMPh6bERrtn1N1FDLsyLIz1GV27kLMvsT-MgEkEENOENE7z2Lx_woFK6_HVAPYQzHwx4RPDfVgpAtOY4hFsmz3efmwJpWBRNPo/s1600/P6240003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghq9nHdy9VtLxBrMOo39PTa8zpAnMLireZmLrlUmXZQZfMPh6bERrtn1N1FDLsyLIz1GV27kLMvsT-MgEkEENOENE7z2Lx_woFK6_HVAPYQzHwx4RPDfVgpAtOY4hFsmz3efmwJpWBRNPo/s200/P6240003.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Birthday Marc!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We had our third set of house guests. Our friends from Tucson who moved to Colorado Springs four years ago, and who’ve hooked us up with everything from our dog (a rescue) to storage and hauling of our cabin things, came up recently for an overnight. They’d come up in their Range Rover New Year’s Eve for the night (not that any of us were up to ring in the New Year) for sub-zero weather and a foot of snow on the ground (dedicated friends). This time the weather was lovely, which was a good thing as it was Marc’s birthday. We ate all our meals outside and took a long hike with the dogs; then Marc and my husband brewed beer, an ESB. They filled us in on their Search and Rescue work before heading home for a few hours sleep before reporting for duty up at 11K+ feet on Pike’s Peak for some crazy car race called the Hill Climb (just in case someone went OFF Pike’s Peak). An hour and half or so away, we’ll see lots of them this summer.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOJpFNBalozXDGTz7yuh7VK1GT7wrvu6wtRrWRApYfbdTdwe5l76cpdnUJhBPTCUxIoi5dsPogZlZSMCwFBPF6eDGiwyqQurvlKvfl3jtVvLsscmWyJzTHHlxfRLAWvJLbwUPmhwEREqF/s1600/P6250012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOJpFNBalozXDGTz7yuh7VK1GT7wrvu6wtRrWRApYfbdTdwe5l76cpdnUJhBPTCUxIoi5dsPogZlZSMCwFBPF6eDGiwyqQurvlKvfl3jtVvLsscmWyJzTHHlxfRLAWvJLbwUPmhwEREqF/s400/P6250012.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can we see the cabin from here?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXcsrn0Co6IWY3CVGu_kjCRQ9OpM_I-pB5m0b3YHLvJCAaM4wAEzXLbM0ezQ8H0UaaJuQBjR4pPenStnCtIcTbblhtvwAhpYsoMQqloqFFJ61_PZwtfx1Vhbhs0RcrwxM53V_WBED8owd/s1600/P6250009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXcsrn0Co6IWY3CVGu_kjCRQ9OpM_I-pB5m0b3YHLvJCAaM4wAEzXLbM0ezQ8H0UaaJuQBjR4pPenStnCtIcTbblhtvwAhpYsoMQqloqFFJ61_PZwtfx1Vhbhs0RcrwxM53V_WBED8owd/s400/P6250009.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shady chat during a hike rest</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_tmOBR-7tvc6Htra5JA2jfLtlTFEWC8Sr1Q6t0mlZ9esmf0XYCVj8wuEo6ozJPkXh1_UVBv4v8SQg0GaTvGKMNrfl95kA4It6AWNoUl6I162rqpgY0-5dig5GYWsYtPBUnpy0EZe1Rt4/s1600/P6250014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_tmOBR-7tvc6Htra5JA2jfLtlTFEWC8Sr1Q6t0mlZ9esmf0XYCVj8wuEo6ozJPkXh1_UVBv4v8SQg0GaTvGKMNrfl95kA4It6AWNoUl6I162rqpgY0-5dig5GYWsYtPBUnpy0EZe1Rt4/s400/P6250014.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking the dogs to water along Little Turkey Creek</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Even with everyone having five acres up here, neighbors are a big part of cabin life. Most folks don’t have phones, so we’re never surprised by drop-in visitors. Just taking a long walk here is a social experience if you don’t head straight into Pike National Forest. We’re planning to walk all the roads here, roads named by my husband’s father, Fred, before summer is over. We got a good start on that yesterday, hiking a mile to one of the highest roads around here. It was a warm day, over 80 degrees (sorry Tucson friends; I heard about your 112s), and our dog found a trickling stream on the outer reaches (she has a whole lake near the cabin) of the hike. She disappeared into the willows a brown and white dog and emerged a black dog. She suffered her first bath in frigid well water when she got home. But the steep hikes through the 800 acres here are well worth it. The views are so varied from different places in the community, and it’s interesting to put names with lots, trailers, “shed” homes, and cabins. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYh5FKa5XQOevmhLJA8ywzDFmr3YTsEL_usnr3nLBxDW1CJsN-2caT9vylAoPDpUVwHHUeXdYMekibqEY7-EwMuuiPir9dJZz-wGb6EVkBXroF3w59jfttmy1lp1ibl8MBlX1VnUigHcxy/s1600/P6290002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYh5FKa5XQOevmhLJA8ywzDFmr3YTsEL_usnr3nLBxDW1CJsN-2caT9vylAoPDpUVwHHUeXdYMekibqEY7-EwMuuiPir9dJZz-wGb6EVkBXroF3w59jfttmy1lp1ibl8MBlX1VnUigHcxy/s320/P6290002.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">For the handful of us that are here for months at a time, getting together is becoming routine. Every Wednesday night we gather, usually at someone’s cabin for games. Yes. Games. Mostly we’ve played dominoes -- new fangled dominos for me, white with colored dots -- a game called Mexican Train (I don’t understand the reference and it can’t be P.C., but it’s right on the box). It really is a hoot. Last week we played Farckle, sort of a poker type game, but with dice and a lot more luck than skill. Still, it’s fun to egg people on into risking their points by appealing to their greedy natures. It’s a nice low key evening that combines catching-up with some friendly trash-talking competition. It feels a little pre-TV (most folks don’t bother with that up here), or Little House on the Prairie, but I like it.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d;">Trips to “Town”</span></b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Town refer to the little hamlet of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Florissant, a Florissant/Divide combo, Woodland Park, or the Big Adventure of going to Colorado Springs. No matter which we do, we look forward to Buckin’ Blues (blueberry buckwheat pancakes) at the Hungry Bear, some quite good Chinese at the May Flower (both in Woodland Park), or some exceptional North Carolina style barbeque at a little old log cabin in Divide. I will confess to enjoying the familiarity of the hot dog/soda combo at Costco for $1.50 if we go to the Springs. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We look forward to our town trips, about one every week, which can include a trip to Waste Management to get rid of trash and recycling, Goodwill for a treasure hunt (plaid long-sleeved Nautica shirts for $4 for my hubby), various groceries (Costco if we go all the way to the springs), the hardware store, sometimes the feed store for fresh eggs and bird seed, and always the library and the Florissant Post Office. We’re happy to go, but even more happy to get out of civilization and hit the dirt road on the way home. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9RoqaHf0_O4-thyp4d-KICJkV5jCu9KAVhC_RvlwZU0a8IVgi16M6ip8SppRn8HXSHbAaQWgTJqNrs1xqtOmwmfxY6T3cuN71yJKa5T4Ee3jyNZ2646ov211p6AQrtWPg1xohCK1lNZRa/s1600/P6250005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9RoqaHf0_O4-thyp4d-KICJkV5jCu9KAVhC_RvlwZU0a8IVgi16M6ip8SppRn8HXSHbAaQWgTJqNrs1xqtOmwmfxY6T3cuN71yJKa5T4Ee3jyNZ2646ov211p6AQrtWPg1xohCK1lNZRa/s400/P6250005.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It was odd to have our normal 18 days at the cabin time-frame pass by and here we still are. For so long the past six years we scrambled for every day we could get here, and now we have this four month embarrassment of riches. The “we’re here, we’re here, we’re here!” racket is quieting down in our brains and we’re beginning to relax into our second home, its unique routines, and are thinking about some day trips (other than to town). There are several ghost or semi-ghost towns in the area, all involving beautiful drives. We want to go see the eagles that hang out in the next town west of us, Lake George. The Nature Conservancy has a preserve nearby, the High Creek Fen, a continually boggy area similar to a cienega in southern Arizona, and similarly loaded with birds. There are a lifetime of special places to see in this area of Colorado, and we plan to see most of them.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8436276017681544532.post-65012356266456825512011-06-30T11:02:00.000-07:002011-06-30T11:02:23.393-07:00Feeling Kneady<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4t9ClYWgwkD25uzhkk38LYPXu6OVGucDFT9JLnNuhb7TSoY3ifUz9oQ05ej4Uw5K-2pTx8R4ILHSWzU4GdiROX4uVbb00EnOwB0rzSW42O75h8lVt2h8TEL9WQE4uG5IsEGT2CRXKLAjs/s1600/P6270015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4t9ClYWgwkD25uzhkk38LYPXu6OVGucDFT9JLnNuhb7TSoY3ifUz9oQ05ej4Uw5K-2pTx8R4ILHSWzU4GdiROX4uVbb00EnOwB0rzSW42O75h8lVt2h8TEL9WQE4uG5IsEGT2CRXKLAjs/s400/P6270015.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">All of us have experienced loss. For long-time cooks, loss often takes the form of an old favorite recipe, mysteriously gone from the collection of index cards or the shoebox of favorites clipped from magazines. In my life I have lost two that were old standards which I started baking in my 20s, coming up on 40 years ago. One was for a truly spectacular lime chiffon pie with a crumb crust from Sunset magazine; the other was for oatmeal bread which was part of a Christmas baking section from the Family Circle Encyclopedia of Cooking, each of the dozen-plus volumes collected week by week as a grocery store bonus. Somewhere during the dozens of moves I’ve made in my life, some international, I parted with the encyclopedia set, but I swear I wrote that bread recipe down somewhere. Alas, it seems good and lost.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The last time I lived (and baked) in the mountains it was in a funky cabin at around 6,000 feet in Descanso, outside of San Diego near Cuyamaca State Park. I baked dozens of loaves of this bread in the old cabin stove, the kind that was raised a good foot and a half off the floor on metal legs. There’s little better in life than good bread that has cooled as long as you can stand after taking it from the oven, spread with soft butter. Staff of life and all that. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We’ve been at our new cabin for a month now. All the urgent tasks have been accomplished -- furnishing the loft, registering the old Arizona truck in Colorado, making curtains and hanging more artwork. The essential guests have come and gone (for now). The pattern of several hours of reading a day is established, the forest is being tended by my husband and his chainsaw, and the dog is on squirrel patrol near the bird feeders. There’s time to relax, TRULY relax, and my mind seems to be looping back to cherished experiences that I can try to recreate for us...mostly involving food. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We’re reminiscing on childhood favorites -- my husband’s all time, hands down, number one meal his mom made is boiled hotdogs, fried potatoes, and Van de Kamps (accept no substitute!) pork and beans. Ohhhkaaaayyyyy. My mind turns to my Grandma’s peach cobbler (definitely on the menu for this summer), creamy mashed potatoes (or crack potatoes as I call them, and we had them over the weekend...yum!), and even those split hotdogs stuffed with cheese (American no doubt) and wrapped in refrigerated crescent rolls my mom used to make, so good right out of the oven. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04dD4hlVR3LeMGcoiuA5wH6q7f1MYYTxWAujl6uBKA2xrAq8T5_rjSUpRvRjp8yXseSsOs2mCXj3eUgB7E-RH-hZarNVaQP9UErUf29lYM3lTjjndonRqC_scMkIApKSQtcjazi15V6AL/s1600/P6270017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj04dD4hlVR3LeMGcoiuA5wH6q7f1MYYTxWAujl6uBKA2xrAq8T5_rjSUpRvRjp8yXseSsOs2mCXj3eUgB7E-RH-hZarNVaQP9UErUf29lYM3lTjjndonRqC_scMkIApKSQtcjazi15V6AL/s400/P6270017.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We were running low on bread and I wasn’t up for another trip to town, so today I tried to replicate the oatmeal bread of the lost recipe. I remembered that you poured boiling water over the oats in the bread bowl to soften them, adding a knob of butter and either honey or molasses and a little salt, leaving it for half an hour or so to meld and cool off a bit. Once that time was nearly up I added two packets of dried yeast to some warm water, spiking it with a sprinkling of sugar to give the yeast something to eat, and walked away for a few more minutes, fearing that watched yeast would not swell and foam. Trick worked, and I added the yeasty liquid to the softened oats and other goodies.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now for the part requiring some muscle. I added a cup of “high altitude” flour and stirred. Another cup and stirred...it was harder. The third cup of flour yielded a stiff dough and after another little sprinkling of flour I abandoned the spoon for my hands. After working the dough into a ball I turned it out onto the floured countertop and started one of my favorite parts of bread baking -- kneading.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Kneading dough is one of the best cooking experiences you can have. Let’s face it -- food is a sensualist’s dream. You look at it, the beauty of the form and color. You smell it, the savory smell of a roast in the oven or the cinnamon scent of snickerdoodle cookies. You hear it, the sizzle of bacon in a cast iron skillet. You taste it, salty, sweet, bitter, sour. And you feel it, the mouth-feel when you eat it, and with your hands when you prepare it. And bread making is very hands on.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When first turned out of the bowl, the dough is still a bit crumbly with bits of unincorporated flour clinging to the lumpy surface. Kneading works in the last of the flour and as you work the dough -- push away, rotate a quarter turn, fold toward you, repeat -- the glutens in the dough begin to form and turn the dough elastic and smooth. When the dough no longer sticks to your hands and is as smooth and soft as a baby’s backside, you’re done. Forming the dough into a ball by turning it in on itself, place it top side down in the washed and buttered bread bowl and turn it over. Cover the bowl with a clean cloth and place it in a warm draft-free place for a couple of hours. Punch down, divide, form into loaves and place in bread pans. Bake until the loaves are browned and sound hollow when thumped. Turn out onto a cooling rack. Brush with soft butter. And wait for it to cool; probably the hardest part of baking bread.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EhfNsenStL5eYRyvqx0kmbTKTafg-46MuofOek5XTf25gVDmpHvihpzSXJSwmr12CNvOZqZqLjO_tqQFecwhRGbBcsXgXcWNrDMBPsrBxuuzcwNyPLCUNjGHTwraW-xW_OFZdVdk8O-B/s1600/P6270021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EhfNsenStL5eYRyvqx0kmbTKTafg-46MuofOek5XTf25gVDmpHvihpzSXJSwmr12CNvOZqZqLjO_tqQFecwhRGbBcsXgXcWNrDMBPsrBxuuzcwNyPLCUNjGHTwraW-xW_OFZdVdk8O-B/s320/P6270021.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Deb’s Lost Oatmeal Bread</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1 cup dry oatmeal (I use Coach’s Oats)</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1/4 powdered milk</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1/2 cup wheat germ</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1/4 cup honey or molasses</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">generous teaspoon salt</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">2 tablespoons butter</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1 3/4 cup boiling water </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Combine above ingredients in large bowl, stir, leave for half an hour.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">two envelopes dried yeast</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1/4 cup warm water (105 - 115 degrees)</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1/2 teaspoon sugar</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Combine above ingredients, stir, and leave to rise and foam for 5 minutes or so -- then add to bread bowl with lukewarm oatmeal mixture.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mix in about three cups of flour, one at a time, until stiff dough forms. Turn out onto floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic and no longer sticky.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Courier; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Turn in buttered bowl, cover, and leave in a warm place until doubled in size. Punch down, divide, shape into loaves by turning in on itself, place in bread pans, and let rise halfway in pans. Bake at 375 degrees for about 45 minutes (start checking at 35) until bread is brown and sounds hollow to thumping. Turn onto cooling rack and brush with soft butter. Cool. Enjoy!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU9aMpW6gBbYzmxECCLM-NXGv_XFpgA_QzqhTF1VfwB2vtw2D2wlsZMoUpIEA9O1wkCX9i6K-wl3l5Iq1zc3U9-1_qJJ0jgjKCBpm5L-TkuAuV_TnW982sxz6_Ii5xyT5kHsDgHusdhhAx/s1600/P6270033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU9aMpW6gBbYzmxECCLM-NXGv_XFpgA_QzqhTF1VfwB2vtw2D2wlsZMoUpIEA9O1wkCX9i6K-wl3l5Iq1zc3U9-1_qJJ0jgjKCBpm5L-TkuAuV_TnW982sxz6_Ii5xyT5kHsDgHusdhhAx/s400/P6270033.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div>Deborah Harrisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12545377823261417417noreply@blogger.com0