Christmas was quiet and peaceful, just the two of us. The red table cloth and tiny table top tree with mini-lights deployed, then put away after dinner. There was much to be thankful for this year amid the highs and the lows, and it is time to look forward to the new year with all its promise. I will be noting the changes in daylength, slow at first, and the sun’s rising point that will move northward along the eastern ridge. The moon casts a soft light over the farm on clearer nights, and I watch her movements with greater intensity as the years pass.
Christmas 2023
Everything in life has a beginning and an end, and it is with a touch of sadness I am posting my last blog entry for this site. The last ten years of our lives here in Oregon are out here in words and pictures, and perhaps that is enough. I have enjoyed coming to know so many wonderful people over the years. All have woven their lives in some fashion into the tapestry of my own.
Sunrise February 4, 2020
It is a privilege to live here on this farm in the Pacific Northwest. Each new day has its own particular beauty, no matter what else happens in it. I am still in awe of the daily miracle of dawn as the dark of night rolls away to the west. The light levels and color changes come quickly, and many is the time I tarried too long to watch the unfolding, and have missed a good photo. I have not taken many photos this year.
Sundown over the Pacific from Route 101, , January 14, 2020
Sunset brings the golding of the sky as the sun beams a final goodnight, sinking into the west. The color changes in the afterglow fading from rose into lavender and grey as night’s deepening violet rises in the east.
Sunset May 5, 2020
Wildlife passes through – deer, skunk, raccoon, possum, nutria, coyote, grey fox. A Coopers hawk has been keeping an eye on the bird feeder, and picks off small birds from time to time. Some brush placed around the feeder helps deter him. Sometimes hawk is unsuccessful and leaves with empty talons, sometimes I find a pile of feathers. A bluejay picked off all the barn swallow young but one some years back. The cycle of life feeding on other life. Many others I am sure have slipped through and gone about their business unknown to me. Tree frogs continue to make their music from anywhere they feel safe and secure. Once that was the spout of a watering can.
Tree frog on greenhouse window screen.
Nutria youngsters, January 13, 2016. There were three of them, and they stayed for a good while. We called them Gidney, Cloyd and Yosemite Sam.
Days of wine and roses.
Rick inspecting the quality of homemade wine in 2017
A white rose of remembrance, planted for my own mother many years ago.
And days of cats. They have come and gone over the years, and it is just four left now. There were nine at the high point. Silkie, the newest member to join the household had a pendulous growth removed from his upper lip recently. The lab report has come back indicating a benign sebaceous tumor. We are thankful.
Siklie – named for the Silkies (seal people) from Celtic mythology.
Thank you for reading down this far! These posts will be archived at some point in the near future, and the site revamped into a more static model of pages that will be updated as needed. My performance schedule page will still be posted and updated regularly for anyone wishing to come see me play live. I will continue to drop in on fellow bloggers as time permits. There simply is not enough of me to go around anymore, and I need to focus on various projects and responsibilities I have taken on. I am more keenly aware of the passage of time, and like sand, how quickly it slips through my fingers.
I am booked into December of 2024, with a little room to fill in a few extra shows here and there as things come up and they fit into my life. Due to responsibilities here at home, I don’t go further afield than I can make it back the same day, which means I am prepared to do some long drives. If you happen to be in the neighborhood of where I am playing, please do drop in and say hello.
I wish my readers safe travels, wherever their destination in life may lead them.
Mount Hood from the plane in February 2017. Coming home, heading for a landing in PDX.
I leave readers with an old Irish blessing. Until we meet again.
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
Rainbow from June of 2021. Looking across to my neighbor’s field. The pocket gophers probably found all the gold.
Rick and I will have been on this farm 20 years come December. The two original cats that moved here with us from Connecticut, both elderly, have been long gone.
Our original two cats, Mr. Austin, left, and Mr. Beaucastel on the right. Watching the grill on the old porch, waiting for the fish to come off.
Nature abhors a vacuum, and cats seem to have a keen sense of when there is an opening, kindly people and room for those of their feline kind in need. Others cats soon found us at various stages of their lives, from tiny kitten to senior. Some passed away as elders, some were taken by cancer or other conditions. All loved and valued family members. Just four feline residents now. We hear the slow, steady tread of Father Time, and feel the changes.
Mr. Nano, ever watchful. No post processing, just a lucky photo from the outside looking in, the window pane reflecting trees and sky. He is now a Cat Emeritus.
“Friends for a short time, remembered for a lifetime”, the saying goes regarding animal companions. Mr. Nano came to us many years ago, his age a rough guesstimate. One of two feral cats that showed up at the same time and we later trapped, the other I named Klaatu, and Klaatu’s story was the start of this blog back in June of 2013. Klaatu had already been trapped and neutered by a neighbor across the street but needed rabies vaccine. We managed to trap him for that, but he remained wild, never letting us get too near, though he would come by and spend time in the garden when we worked out there. Klaatu gladly partook of food up on the wine barrel. The photo below was taken through the kitchen window of the old house.
Old Klaatu on his barrel dining station, original old doublewide house on this site.
Nano needed the works – neutering and vaccination – he was quite wild and proved hard to catch until Klaatu, whom Nano used to annoy for fun, tricked him into going into the trap. Our local vet made room in his schedule and took care of the rest, and we released Nano afterwards, thinking he was probably done with us and headed for the hills. The food here was too good though, and he came back, gradually accepting us and eventually coming inside for good. I have never met a cat more exuberant in his love of life, and love of his people. Running full tilt and sailing through the rungs of the orchard ladder just for the joy of it. Master hunter of pocket gophers and mice, he would throw the gophers against the sliding doors of the old house to tenderize them before ingesting them head first. Startled the first time I saw a gopher go down his gullet head first, tail disappearing in the last gulp, I was glad Nano was not the size of a T. rex. Things might have been quite different around here! Shrews and small mice were left in a pile for us by the door. I assume he wanted us to eat them, or at least let us know he was working. By contrast, Klaatu took his own catches off behind the shed to eat them. And then that day one knows will come, finally comes. In many cases, a decision must be made. It is true age is just a number, but age and its infirmities eventually get us all in the end, if we make it that far and disease or accident does not take us first. Robust for his age until his kidneys seemed to suddenly hit a tipping point and gave out, he was put to sleep on August 4th. He will be sorely missed but loved and remembered as long as we live. He was my guardian angel, and Rick’s best cat friend. Blogging friend Doug Thomas posted a tribute here.
Rick working in the garden, September 28th. Nano’s passing has hit him hard.
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A young Big Leaf maple tree at wood’s edge turning gold. I rescued this tree when it was a foot high sapling up by the road, and planted it out back. It now produces seeds of its own and someday will be a towering giant. These trees are often poached for guitar wood. See https://www.hcn.org/issues/49.5/busting-the-tree-ring
Spring passed quickly, and dried into summer, and late summer’s heat. The time of daffodils came and went as it does every year, followed by the time blooming fruit trees and irises. Blooming cycles vary a bit around the annual increase in warmth and light, depending on the vagaries of the weather. Fewer irises bloomed this year, and no lovely pink nerines, which were given to us many years back by artist friends in Fort Bragg. I did not take many photos over the spring and summer.
Yellow flag of yesteryear.
Small things seen and experienced can be the most meaningful, and memorable. Maxfield Parrish colors at the bookends of the day. First light’s pale golden blue-green glow, the “pinking” of high ice clouds at dawn, the fading colors of a post sundown sky. The moon-eye formed by the bright crescent moon and its silhouette when it is in the west early in its cycle, or in the east towards the end of its cycle. I track Artemis as she comes and goes. The sounds of tree frogs and late summer insects, distant thunder and rain on the metal roof. Grey fox’s growly bark. The endless symphony of life in all its forms, colors and sounds.
One of the young oak trees up front grew some tremendous oak galls this year. I’ve been observing them.
Tree frog from 2016 hiding in the greenhouse roll up window. We get a few that hang out on the porch every year, usually in flower pots.
Solar frog light. This frog is there year round.
I think more about where I come from, remembering those along the way who have shaped my life in one way or another. Watermarks on my life studied, processed and understood through the perspectives of age and life experience.
Dad (middle with monkey) and his Marine buddies, WWII
A relative sent me this YouTube link of Hyden, Kentucky in 1949 as covered by Life Magazine. My father and his people came from there, and this is what it looked like when my father and mother met there in the late 1940s. Neither was young at the time. She was from rural Connecticut.
Mom as baby and at 4 years 8 months. Her mother was a librarian, her father a fine cabinetmaker as best I remember.
The eldest of seven children, she raised her younger siblings after her mother died. She was highly intelligent and motivated, worked hard, put herself through nursing school. She had a strong sense of duty and service to others, and also had a desire for adventure. She took a train down to the mountains of eastern Kentucky to work for Mary Breckinridge. Breckinridge’s autobiography Wide Neighborhoods is recommended reading for anyone interested in her life and work. My father was veteran of WWII, fighting in the Pacific theater. He didn’t talk much about his life to his children, especially the war. My mother talked a lot about many things, but I did not have sufficient patience to listen to all the stories when I was young. I was busy trying to figure out and make headway with my own life.
Lavinia Bird Scout age 5.
The youngest born to older parents (Dad was a couple months shy of 50 and Mom was 47), time ran out for me to ask all the questions I have been pondering of late. I have to collect stories and compare what I think I remember with older relatives who are now growing older, and scarcer. At some point, no one will be left to remember, nor will it matter to anyone behind me. The line grows shorter with time, no matter who you are.
Me and Mr. Pluff the rooster.
For Pacific Paratrooper – Michael’s tree September 28, 2023. Way taller than me now!
The garden went in later than planned, and was stymied by excessive heat and drought, but still has yielded plenty to eat.
NT Half-runner beans 2023
Summer yellow crookneck squash!
Netted pinot noir 2023
The birds, wasps and bees left us plenty of grapes to make two batches of rosé wine this year according to “handmade”methods used in a previous post that has photos of the process. We used Red Star Premier Blanc yeast, a happy accident in a previous year when a sales clerk at a different company insisted it was the new name for Red Star Epernay 2 I had been experimenting with. It was not, as I found out when I got home, but we decided to try it and the results were good so we have stuck with it for now. Both batches are settling and cold stabilizing on the lees. I don’t sulfite anything at this point, and keep everything cold and in canning jars.
16 quart stockpot of new wine cold stabilizing until late November or December.
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Thank you for reading down this far! Three more gigs for this year. My music schedule for 2024 is filling up, and I am booked into December of 2024, with a little room to fill in a few extra shows here and there as things come up and they fit into my life. Due to responsibilities here at home, I don’t go further afield than I can make it back the same day, which means I am prepared to do some long drives. Some readers may consider this limiting, but it is my life by my own choice these days. If you happen to be in the neighborhood of where I am playing, please do drop in and say hello.
The blog portion of this site will be ending in December of 2023. This blog began in June of 2013 and will end in 2023. The last ten years of my life on this farm in Oregon are enough to look back on, and I am looking forward to devoting my time to projects here. The blog will be archived for people to wander through if they are interested, and the site rearranged. Some of the commenters over the years are no longer living, some have quit blogging for various reasons. The archive is a place to remember them, to stop and think about them and what they mean to me. Friends I never met. I will still drop in on readers from time to time to see what they have been up to. Some of you have also known me outside the blog. That will continue as before. I wish my readers safe travels, wherever their destination in life may lead them.
View taken from airplane on the way in to LAX.
I leave readers with an old Irish blessing. Until we meet again.
Our feature photo is of our female persimmon tree after a late February snowstorm. Same tree, different season. If you look carefully, some of last year’s fruit is still clinging to the branches amid the snow.
Same tree, different season.
The old Sony Cybershot P93 camera finally died, and I have been experimenting with a Canon A800 Powershot on loan from a relative. It will take a little getting used to.
An old apple tree with a “home” at the base.
Like many areas of the country, we are having an unusually difficult ride into spring. She has arrived, bucking and snorting, attempting to throw Old Man Winter off her back. He is a determined soul, and is attempting to hang on as long as possible. We have had rain, snow, hail, rain mixed with snow punctuated by sun and some days in the 60s. Clear nights bring mornings below freezing.
Out back past the persimmon tree.
Daffodils proceeded with caution, and are now finally adding a bit of color to the farm. Life emerges, as it does every year. On warmer days the scent of petrichor greets me as the breeze plays in the chimes, reminding me there is life in that dark soil. I must be patient. It may be a few weeks until the kaleidoscopic weather patterns have passed, for the most part, before I get to cleaning up garden beds. They are all untidy, in need of weeding and a fresh load of compost and manure. I am pacing myself and taking my time with various projects. I will have Herman’s Cherry Tree garden tidied as well as Elbert’s Garden (Doug Thomas) with additional plantings by next post. I have put in flowers or trees for many other friends, family and readers and over the years.
On occasion, non-blogging guests have made an appearance on this blog. Marti and John, who live in Sicily, run a working olive farm there, and have plenty of helpers, both canine and feline. Here two of the kitties are helping run the tractor.
For you speed readers, long time friends Marti, John, and their cats and dogs live on an olive farm in Sicily. Marti writes “I thought you would enjoy this picture, Lavinia. Ranger is on my lap, Spanky on my left Art and YouTube on my right and NewDude in front. The only one missing is Simon as she is in the house napping on a chair away from the Almond Brother bullies and Ranger who is the gentle bully. That bench is the best spot for all of us. John made this bench last year and it is perfect for me and the cats.”
Marti and the cats on the olive farm in Sicily
Marti sent me her morning musings from Sicily on February 2nd.
Seated on the bench my husband made
Sun beating on my knee length black sweater,
Espresso in hand.
Youtube, the kitty sheriff, arrives first – chatty as usual,
NewDude horns in, head butting his almond colored brother.
Ranger, next, upon my lap,
Obsidian fur melting into the sweater.
Simon the heat seeking feline basking in the warmth
On top of the spiral staircase
Doing a pole dance with the railing.
Starlings cackling in the mulberry tree
Hatching the day’s avian devilry.
Magpies chittering and whistling in the conifers
Dive bombing each other for the best perch
Hilda pressed against the warm metal siding of her chalet
Thank you for reading down this far!My music schedule is filling up again, and I am booked through the end of 2023, with room to fill in a few extra shows here and there. If you happen to be in the neighborhood of where I am playing, please do drop in and say hello.
The blog portion of this site will be ending in December of 2023. This blog began in June of 2013 and will end in 2023. The last ten years of my life on this farm in Oregon are enough to look back on, and I am looking forward to devoting my time to projects here. The blog will be archived for people to wander through if they are interested, and the site rearranged. Some of the commenters over the years are no longer living, some have quit blogging for various reasons. The archive is a place to remember them, to stop and think about them and what they mean to me. Friends I never met. I will still drop in on readers from time to time to see what they have been up to. Some of you have also known me outside the blog. That will continue as before.
I leave readers with an old Irish blessing. Until we meet again.
Our feature photo this season was taken on a frosty morning back on December 17th. It is the female tree of a male-female pair of persimmon trees planted by the old owner’s parents. As best we can tell, the female tree is of the hachiya type, with fruits that turn orange and need a good frost or two to lose their astringency before they are edible. I am the only one here that will bother to collect and eat them, and I only do so some years as it is a race with the weather. They have large seeds that need to be removed, and I suspect the fruits are are best made into sauce.
Female persimmon tree. The smaller male partner is off to the right.
This year, we had a run of very cold days which quickly turned the fruit black. We noted robins, jays and larger birds eating the fallen fruit, and everything was left for them to glean.
The male tree, shorter and and not as robust-looking as the female, looked particularly striking in the angled winter light, and sported a good coating of frost. Both trees provided nectar and pollen for bees in late spring, welcome shade in summer’s heat, and leaves for the garden in December. We recycle as much plant material as we can back into the gardens here, and collect the mounds of pulverized clay soil the gophers leave behind to use in pots and as fill in garden areas.
The male of the pair, female companion just off to the left.
It has been both a quiet and and busy time for us. Bees and birds managed to get under the insect netting on the pinot noir, and stripped the vines clean before the grapes were ripe enough to harvest for winemaking. No wine was made this year. We suspect the local rascally raccoons of opening areas of insect net in the pinot vineyard. I have seen them use their fingers quite adeptly, pulling single grapes out from sections of table grapes covered with the much larger mesh bird net. It was a hard year for wildlife between late spring and hot dry summer. Fortunately, they were not interested in our cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers and eggplant, and Rick made a record number of jars of pickles and tomato sauce. Extra eggplant and peppers were cut up and frozen away.
Early memories. Trying out my brother’s Boy Scout uniform. My mother said I called myself a “Bird Scout”.
It has been a year of reflection on where I came from and how I got here, a year of hellos and goodbyes. Reconnecting with old friends still living, moments of silence and reflection for other people and animals that have passed on, a requiem for an old tree.
The old purple plum and her twisted trunk, taken in 2018..
Taken in 2016. She was loaded with blooms. Much of the fruit was dried.
The recent windstorm took down the old purple plum tree that had provided us with copious amounts of good fruit for years, eaten both fresh and dried. She was the last of three, planted by the old owner’s parents’ hands. For several seasons, the blossoms in spring were fewer. More dead branches to prune, lichens grew with abandon on aging, crumbling bark. She had grown with a twist in youth, the spiral in her main trunk and limbs easier to bear, then. Ancient heartwood, weakened by time, insect and fungus, finally gave in. With one not so gentle shove from Brother Wind, she lay down to rest.
Both honeybees and yellow jackets will feast on fallen plums.
Snapped off below the base, she left two vigorous shoots coming up from the roots. If protected, this tree will live again, like the yellow plum that came down many years ago, and is now two trees, already bearing fruit.
Blynken, 2022. We said goodbye to her at the end of February.
Between working, going to cardiac rehabilitation, occupational rehabilitation for last December’s shoulder injury, getting back on my feet playing music, and general catching up with things here after my heart attack in June, I had little free time. I’ve learned to sit back and take a better look at life – what is important, what is not – and most importantly, how to space things out to make it easier on myself. As the box says, “Plant Happiness”.
The sun has begun the long trek northward along the eastern ridge, though that is hard to tell during these winter days of wild clouds and storm light. Signs of spring appear in winter – Dutch iris and daffodil shoots rising up out of the dark, wet soil, growing catkins on the hazelnuts. Come early January, I’ll notice a change in daylight in the evening. By the beginning of February, the mornings will start to look a bit brighter.
Thank you for reading down this far! My music schedule is filling up again, and I am booked through the end of 2023, with room to fill in a few extra shows here and there. If you happen to be in the neighborhood of where I am playing, please do drop in and say hello.
From there, conducting the pet Leghorn rooster…..
…to here.
I leave readers with an old Irish blessing. Until we meet again.
Trumpet vine from July 30th. A perfect blue sky day.
Our feature photo this season is of the trumpet vine, blooming at its peak at the end of July. This tough old vine has weathered the summer well and is still producing enough blooms to attract hummingbirds and bees. It has been entertaining to observe them all summer, along with other residents passing through, including the visiting black-tailed buck below, who discovered the bird feeder was easy feed. He seems to have moved on. The photo was taken through the window, and is not very clear, but shows him caught in the act of eating fallen seed.
Black-tailed deer buck from July 29th, helping himself to seed at the bird feeder.
Summer moved along far more quickly than I have ever known it to do in my life. In early June, Rick drove me to the ER for what I thought might be severe flu or possibly covid, and found out to my surprise I was having a heart attack, an STEMI, sometimes called a “widowmaker”. I remember watching Rick’s face as we were given the news in the ER, his eyes widening like the Sifaka in a video I once saw where a Sifaka youngster, in an effort to free himself, bites the tail of the adult, who has inadvertently pinned the youngster down. The adult did not move at first, but the eyes got very, very wide. Unfortunately, I cannot find the footage, and don’t remember which nature program aired the original segment. I was quickly whisked away by ambulance to a bigger hospital with a catheter lab. The catheter lab team did their job well, saved my life and implanted a stent in my right coronary artery. I spent a few days in the hospital, and came home to recover and get back on my feet. Having survived cancer 12 years ago, I remember thinking that was a life changing experience. I would say that for me, this recent event has exceeded that experience. We all come stamped with an expiration date, not readable by the normal person. Fortunately, mine has not come up, yet, and I continue to wake up on the correct side of the ground. A good friend back east set up a GoFundMe page to help defray medical bills not covered by commercial insurance.
A shy daisy in May.
Many things got away from me this season, though I will attempt to present the highlights as they have flown by, mainly in pictures. I have not felt very motivated to write, though I have made daily observations for myself. I feel a need to rest and readjust, much like a field left fallow in an off year between crops. The productivity will be better later on.
May is the most colorful month here, and this year was no exception. A long, cool and wet winter and prolonged cool and wet spring that continued into early June contributed to a slightly late but profuse showing of blooms, and rainbows. Most of my photos for this post were taken in May.
May 19th rainbow coming down into the hills to the southeast.
Willow mallow in back lot
Thyme sported many blooms.
Snowball bush in May.
Irises in May.
German bearded iris
Reblooming iris
Dutch iris
Yellow flag iris
Reblooming iris
Hawthorn blooms in late May.
June passed by in a blur for reasons stated earlier. I was pleased to find a pair of leopard slugs (Limax maximus) rendezvousing on the door jamb of the garage. Although they are not native, they are predatory slugs, and can move considerably faster than the other non native slugs that patrol the farm looking for tasty produce to eat. Being from New England where we only had “little grey” slugs, I still find all these giant Pacific Northwest slugs fascinating.
A pair of leopard slugs back in June.
August 28th: Another slug I think is one of the European ones. Last seen crawling along the outer well house wall.
Same slug making his way into the morning sunlight. They will all take shelter soon as the day progresses.
July was another month that passed quickly. I went back to playing music out, sufficiently satisfied with my progress.
Ima Blueberry, at the Albany Farmers Market on Saturday, July 9th
Queen Anne’s Lace provided beautiful umbrels to enjoy, and are still blooming.
Queen Anne’s Lace – a tough survivor, weedy and incredibly beautiful.
One of the few rose blooms this year.
August, the hot and very dry month, was not quite as hot as expected, although we have had a number of days in the 90s. There were enough clouds to make some interesting sunrises and sunsets, though nothing quite like spring and fall skies.
A river of clouds stretching from east at the point of sunrise, all the way over to the western horizon.
We have mainly been spot watering, the good old bucket brigade, using a sprinkler only as needed to keep the gardens and plantings alive and not use too much water, which is becoming a scarcer resource out here in the PNW. I noted the other day that one of the crabapples sported a new cluster of blooms alongside fruit. I also found the same on one of the large apple tree this morning. Both trees bloomed normally in the spring – this was a very limited second blooming – and I am not sure why this has occurred. Click on any photo in this post to enlarge.
Almost fully formed apple and new bloom on August 28th.
Crabapples fully formed on right, new blooms on left. Click to enlarge.
One for the lichen lovers. Lichens growing on the apple tree with the August blooms.
Thank you for reading down this far! My music schedule is filling up again, and I am booked into 2023. If you happen to be in the neighborhood of where I am playing, please do drop in and say hello.
I leave readers with an old Irish blessing. Until we meet again.
The winter days have quickly passed into spring, bringing forth new life and new beginnings. The sun’s rising point has moved northward along the eastern ridge, and with it, the days have grown longer, the sun brighter and less angled. Another year is underway.
One of my favorite photos of Blynken as a kitten, pushing her brother’s head down to get a better look at the camera.
This is one of my favorite photos of Blynken as a kitten, pushing her brother’s head down to get a better look at the camera. She had a quiet intensity in her gaze, making one feel as if they were being studied. Here is another photo of her as a youngster, trying to figure out what I am up to with the camera.
Blynken, the Quiet Intellectual. Wonders what I’m up to with that camera!
We said goodbye to Blynken at the end of February. As a kitten, a heart murmur had been detected, but she soon outgrew it, and it remained undetectable on auscultation for many years. She had seen two different veterinarians in the months before her death, one for an exam and rabies vaccine, the second for a dentistry, and no problems were noted with blood work or anesthesia. At the end of February, she was found in the morning with her nose pressed against the window. It seemed she was having trouble breathing. Blynken was taken in immediately on emergency where it was determined she was in left heart failure, and placed in an oxygen cage. The ER vet contacted a cardiologist. Based on his recommendation, a three drug combination from the compounding pharmacy – Pimobendan, Spironolactone and Clopidogrel – was tried. She was kept in the ER overnight. Although she seemed to feel better the next morning and was making biscuits on her blanket, Blynken could not survive outside the oxygen cage and the clot suddenly moved and painfully lodged in a front leg before it could be dissolved. At this point it was agreed it was time to let her go. Our friend and fellow blogger Doug Thomas posted a memorial to Blynken after her death. We are grateful for Doug’s steadfast friendship through good times and hard times.
We all come into this world, and we all leave it after a time, in way or another. Sometimes one is lucky enough to go in their sleep. Although Rick and I know that, and our own time will come eventually, it is never any easier to bear the loss of a loved one, and I have not felt the motivation to write. This post was due to come out a month ago. Goodbye, Blynken. You are missed.
Wynken, Blynken and Nod (left to right) as youngsters.
News from the farm
It has been a long, cool transition into spring, randomly punctuated by some unusual warmth. A number of mornings were in the lower 30s to below freezing during the time the plums, pears and cherries were blooming. The black tartarian and a few of the wild cherry hybrids bloomed late, and will probably produce something. We will see what we happens with the apples, which are blooming now during all the rain.
This February I managed to catch a hazelnut bloom after a rainstorm. The tiny red female flower held a droplet of water, reminding me of a gemstone in a setting. Such finds in nature are a reminder that some of the most beautiful things in life are hard to see, often right under our nose or feet. One must take the time to look.
Hazelnut bloom in February after a rainstorm.
Daffodils planted in late autumn have come and gone. The new planting below was put in for fellow blogger Tim Price’s mother and father. His mother passed away last year. Tim has been a big supporter of other bloggers, and has recently been charting the progress of a new clutch of great horned owl chicks in his area. Tim, a photographer, multi-talented individual and owl whisperer, is from Corrales, New Mexico and lives near the Rio Grande and Sandia mountains.
Daffodils planted for Tim Price’s mother and father. Tim’s mother passed away last year.
Tomato, eggplant and pepper starts have been quietly growing in the plant room, and many have already been transplanted into bigger pots, waiting for warmer weather to move them to the garden. As my left arm and shoulder have been slowly healing, I have been able to do more outside, cleaning up and preparing for the season ahead.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
I have guarded the arm and shoulder carefully these past months, and I have been able to practice and play out. Should you be in the area and wish to see me play, do check out the performance schedule page and drop by. See previous posts for videos and stories. There will be more next time.
See you soon!
I leave readers with an old Irish blessing. Until we meet again, safe travels to wherever your destination in life may lead you.
Our feature photo this season is of a golden crowned kinglet that paid a visit on November 16th. Early that chilly 34 degree morning, I heard a thud on my office window and looked up to see that this little bird had conked himself on it. I went out and collected him off the window; he was upside down, hanging on to the sill by the little toenails on one foot. I warmed him in my hands for a bit, and got some quick photos of him.
Top view – golden crown with orange stripe is a male.
He was alert, though he did not want to leave my hand, finally walking up my arm and trying to stay perched on my sleeve. His toenails are designed for gripping, and they did a good job. I did manage to get him off onto an old raisin canister, which I placed in a paper bag so he could warm up until he got his senses back.
He finally walked onto a raisin canister.
I knew those old raisin canisters were good for something.
By the time the sun had risen above the mists, he had flown off. Sometimes Nature gives us a close look at our fellow creatures. This one was indeed a brave and regal little bird. I was pleased to be able to help him on his way back to his own kind.
News from the farm
The autumn passed quickly here, and we found ourselves back in the rainy season again, long days of grey and wet punctuated by weak, low-angled sun. After the summer’s above normal heat and drought, we do not mind it, though it makes stargazing and moon viewing difficult. It is a transitional time of year to enjoy dawn as well as the post sundown sky in all their vivid colors. I have tried to slow down, and rest more, though somehow I am busier than ever. The new wine has been cold stabilizing on the lees, and I have been too occupied to rack it off. It will be fine until I can get to it within the next couple of weeks.
Dawn’s pink clouds December 4th.
Trees and sky on December 4th.
Post sundown sky on November 25th.
Gopher mound soil, freshly dug and pulverized by those industrious rodents, was collected for making grape vine cuttings, both table grapes and wine grapes. We keep cuttings on hand to replace vines that fail, and to propagate some of the more interesting varieties. Summer is hard on new plantings, which require a lot of water to get established.
Grape cuttings waiting out the winter.
I bought a used van for escaping with all the humans, cats and a few supplies. In case of fire, this vehicle could hold all that. I was going to call the van “Voyager“, but a relative has christened it “Jupiter 2” instead, and the name seems to be sticking. Old Seabisquit the Subaru is garaged, waiting for repair work while my left arm and shoulder are waiting to heal up from some hard work and overuse. For those readers who have wondered and previously commented, or may be wondering anew , I spell Seabisquit the Subaru with a “q”, not a “c”, as it is only a name, names can be spelled different ways, and I wanted it to be different from the famous thoroughbred, whose story I read as a child. I don’t plan on changing it for anyone.
For GP Cox at Pacific Paratrooper, here is the winter 2021 photo of the coastal sequoia planted in memory of your son Michael some years ago. The tree, 10 years old, is now making cones! Cone formation is a new milestone in the life of this handsome tree.
Micheal’s tree, tall and proud.
Note pine cones at the top. First year we have seen them!
A lot of daffodils went in this autumn, and a few new redwoods given to us by a tree farmer were transplanted into pots for the winter. Even in this dark time, green shoots of daffodils and dutch irises are poking their heads out of the cold, damp earth, answering a call far older than mankind. Lichens, swollen with rain water, festoon trees in a greenish-grey, covering branches, logs and stumps. It is winter in the Pacific Northwest.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
It has been a difficult two years. Loss and isolation have touched so many we know. Mr. Nano, our head correspondent, tends to look on the lighter side of life, and has decided to share his thoughts on the season with readers. His enthusiastic spirit continues to brighten darker days, reminding us that everything in life is temporary, our basic needs are met, and there is nothing much to complain about.
Mr. Nano, ever watchful.
Nightfall comes early, and dawn’s first light a glimmer well past rising time. Barn and utility lights glow like earthbound stars on the surrounding hills; those in the shadow of the eastern ridge still blazing for a while after the first blue light of early morning has faded into day.
Cloud cover obscures much of the moon’s activities, though at full moon, she is so bright, all appears visible out there in the vineyards and orchard to the east, and I can see all that moves. A spider patrols a web she has built off of the porch thermometer, and can be observed in weather one might think too cold for such activities. Many generations of her kind have taken up residence there for the winter.
Snow comes most years, at least some, often driven by a stiff west wind that plays a pensive tune in the chimes on the porch. Snow fall comes in many sizes and forms, quietly covering the normal green of winter grass, a reflective blanket of white. Even at new moon, when no moon is visible in the night sky, visibility in general increases, and much can still be seen.
The rain returns soon enough, a gentle staccato on the metal roof. Snow melts, green widens and coalesces. A tree frog calls somewhere not far from the window. It is the ebb and flow winter weather in the Pacific Northwest.
– Correspondent Mr. Nano, reporting from the Feline Desk of Salmon Brook Farms
We wish our readers safe travels to wherever their destination in life may lead them.
Mount Hood as seen from the plane some years ago on the way into PDX..
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
I have been able to play music out on a limited basis this past year and will continue to do so again in 2022, as the Covid situation permits. If you are in the area and wish to stop by and see me play somewhere, do check out the Performance Schedule page.
For those readers who missed previous posts or are new to this blog, I am posting on mostly seasonal basis now. Hopefully someday, I may be able to actually catch up on the many projects, including updating the pages associated with this blog, as well as stay in touch with all of you. I will keep the performance schedule updated regularly. New videos will follow as soon as I can get to them. For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTubechannel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017.
Those who know me well also know I am a big fan of the late Kate Wolf, recorded a few of her songs on my last CD, and I will be recording some more of her music in the future as well. The Minstrel is one of her songs I learned a while ago. Here it is adapted and arranged for the 12 string guitar tuned to Open G.
Full Circle, one of my own songs, was written in the aftermath of 9/11/2001 and is a song about love and enjoying life while one can. I’ve played it out all the intervening years, and recorded here recently with the lights down, much like a typical evening here I’d be practicing. It is a bit dark, but I make no apologies. There are no flashy graphics, just one woman, one voice, and a guitar. The guitar featured here is my old Ventura 12 string. I bought this old friend at a kiosk in a mall for $100 back in 1977. For those interested in lutherie, this guitar is a bit different in that it has a zero fret up by the nut. To my knowledge, this brand of guitars, which were made in Japan, are not made anymore, and I have only come across one other, not nearly constructed as well. I keep the Ventura tuned to DGDGBD or DGDGA#D. Flat the 3rd and you get G minor. Alternate tunings are easier for small hands and present a bigger box of acoustical paint from which to draw upon. I use Martin Acoustic SP extra light phosphor bronze strings on the Ventura, Martin Acoustic SP light gauge phosphor bronze strings on the Martin guitar, And D’Addario light gauge coated phosphor bronze on the Guild.
I am 18 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come! The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on Spotify and YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked due to digital rights content. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site.
Rick retired from playing music some years ago, but he still practices, and plays a few tunes at some of my shows.
The usual autumn leaf colors here tend towards a dull yellow which quickly fades to crinkled brown and quietly slips away with the daylight hours. Blueberry and snowball bush add a darker, almost maroon color to autumn’s palette, though in a good year, the grapes can dress the vineyard in vibrant gold. A sizeable vineyard can be rather striking in autumn. An early light frost and a long drought this year have diminished the chances of that happening here.
The vineyard colors in autumn 2021 may look more like this one from our pinot noir vineyard.
One of several snowball bushes adding a maroon shade to autumn’s palette.
I did find some unusually festive color while wandering about the back lot on October 1st. Our feature photo is of a colorful sprig of what looks to be hawthorn berries, also known as haws, a more unusual orange-gold color than most of what we see for hawthorn fruit around the old farm. Members of the genus Crataegus , hawthorn leaf shape varies, and as well as fruit color can vary from yellow through red to blue-black depending on the species, estimated to be roughly 200 in number. There are a few small bushes of this yellow haw kind growing along the north border.
Hawthorn with orange-yellow fruit. We spotted a few of these this autumn.
A red berried hawthorn, the most common type we see here.
Lichens are beginning to recover from the heat and drought, including my favorite patch of Cladonia I have been watching. The old defunct hazelnut grove is a particularly good place to observe lichens and mosses which grow copiously along the branches, forming multi-species communities up the trunks and along the branches.
A lichen and moss community along a hazelnut branch. There are at least three types of lichen here.
Cladonia growing on old black locust stump.
Delicate Cladonia cups in a miniature garden on same stump as above.
News from the farm
Summer in our region has been one of extreme heat and drought this year, requiring hours of spot watering and rotating which plantings got water so as to conserve well water, and well pump of unknown age. We will have been here 18 years come December. Most plants that tolerated the heat came through the season, though fruit set was often limited, and quite small in the case of our blueberries. Trees with relatively shallow root systems were particularly hard hit, and we may yet lose some of our older fruit trees. Unlike birds and animals that can migrate and search for water, trees and fellow plants are rooted in place and must make do with what they have. Mycorrhizal networks can assist in water and nutrient transport, and general soil health is of particular importance.
Grapes throw roots that can reach 5 to 6 feet down. Our pinot noir did well in spite of the heat, and ripened early. The harvest came in at 22 brix, and two separate fermentations of rosé wine using Premier Blanc yeast finished up on September 25th and 27th. I leave them to settle out on the lees under refrigeration until December, when they will be bottled. Hand crushed, strained, inoculated and fermented in stainless steel stock pots by me, it is enough to keep Rick in lunch wine for a good part of the year. I have reused some old photos of the process here.
An old photo from the 2017 harvest. This is still my own time honored way of making small batches of wine.
Rick working Quality Control in 2017.
Most readers are aware of the fires out here in the West, along with the resulting smoke and poor air quality, even in areas the fires did not reach. We have been lucky here, and are now entering the rainy season. Each year is a bit different, though the overall trend is becoming hotter, and drier. We note what does well, and what does not, and will adapt what we attempt to grow to conditions as they change.
The constants in life I hold dear are the rising and setting of the sun, the cycles of the moon, familiar constellations in the night sky. Night’s dark veil rising in the east after sundown and rolling away to the west come morning, the color changes at the bookends of the day. I wake up during the night, and watch out the window. I see and hear a lot on moonlit nights. Tree frogs chorusing in late winter and spring, raccoon tries to get through bird netting to eat our grapes in fall. I listen to the coyotes sing up in the hills, the piercing cry of the hawk, the pleasant peeting of the chickadee. I know when the neighbor’s chicken has laid an egg. We all have our time and place. Time is a precious thing, as is a sense of place. There is less road ahead than there is behind me, and choices have more meaning.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
It has been a hard year for the crew with the loss of three of the old guard. The remaining five have been adjusting, and establishing new routines, and alliances. They will return to news gathering and writing their observations come December.
Marcus, Wynken, Blynken and Nod enjoying a sunny day. Looks a bit crowded up there in the window.
Nano enjoying a peaceful snooze on a soft blanket. He is now the oldest.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
I have been able to play music out on a limited basis this year. If you are in the area and wish to stop by and see me, do check out the Performance Schedule page.
For those readers who missed previous posts or are new to this blog, I will be posting on mostly seasonal basis now. Hopefully someday, I may be able to actually catch up on the many projects, including updating the pages associated with this blog, as well as stay in touch with all of you. I will keep the performance schedule updated regularly. New videos will follow as soon as I can get to it. For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTubechannel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017.
Those who know me well also know I am a big fan of the late Kate Wolf, recorded a few of her songs on my last CD, and I will be recording some more of her music in the future as well. The Minstrel is one of her songs I learned last year. Here it is adapted and arranged for the 12 string guitar tuned to Open G.
Full Circle, one of my own songs, was written in the aftermath of 9/11/2001 and is a song about love and enjoying life while one can. I’ve played it out all the intervening years, and recorded here recently with the lights down, much like a typical evening here I’d be practicing. It is a bit dark, but I make no apologies. There are no flashy graphics, just one woman, one voice, and a guitar. The guitar featured here is my old Ventura 12 string. I bought this old friend at a kiosk in a mall for $100 back in 1977. For those interested in lutherie, this guitar is a bit different in that it has a zero fret up by the nut. To my knowledge, this brand of guitars, which were made in Japan, are not made anymore, and I have only come across one other, not nearly constructed as well. I keep the Ventura tuned to DGDGBD or DGDGA#D. Flat the 3rd and you get G minor. Alternate tunings are easier for small hands and present a bigger box of acoustical paint from which to draw upon. I use Martin Acoustic SP extra light phosphor bronze strings on the Ventura, Martin Acoustic SP light gauge phosphor bronze strings on the Martin guitar, And D’Addario light gauge coated phosphor bronze on the Guild.
I am 18 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come! The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on Spotify and YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked due to digital rights content. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site.
Rick retired from playing music some years ago, but he still practices, and plays a few tunes at some of my shows. Here is is at St. Innocent Winery back in August.
It is high summer here on our little farm in the Cascade foothills, on the other side of solstice. The long, cool, but insufficiently rainy spring ended, throwing us rather quickly into not only hot weather, but into extreme heat coupled with drought. There is nothing much to do except spot water plantings, try to stay cool, and ride out the season, hoping the garden and trees do too. I look forward to September and the coming rainy season, and if I listen carefully, I can hear Autumn’s slow, steady footsteps as the sun begins his journey south.
Hope 2007-2021
Our Hope cat, July of 2013, in her prime.
Our cats have been aging along with us, and with age comes many age related illnesses and conditions. We have lost a few of our seniors and elderly cats since this blog was started. As Greg Lake said, “death is life”. Along with the spring, we said goodbye to our little Hope cat. She had developed intermittent intestinal problems which were finally diagnosed as cancer. We opted for palliative care. Knowing I only post four times a year, our friend Doug Thomas offered to post Hope’s memorial on his site the day after she was euthanized. Doug and I thought it might also be a helpful post for others agonizing over the decision to euthanize their animal companions when it is time. I’ve never found it to be an easy decision, and never will. We are grateful for compassionate veterinary care.
Named after one of my aunts, Hope was one of several kittens born to a feral mother under our old house. Homes were found for all, but Hope and her brother Marcus remained with us here as indoor kitties. Skittish and not trusting in her early years, she grew accustomed to indoor life, eventually sleeping on the bed, and waking me with a paw in the face. Hope will always be remembered for her endearing personality, and unique barking meow. I’ve included a few photos from her life. Rest in Love, dear Hope.
Hope, May 2014
Hope, December 2014
Hope, December 2014
Hope, March 2016
Hope, April 2021
As one life passes, another is born. All manner of life sprang up around us, as it does each year. April’s apple blossoms and dark skies soon gave way to the time of irises and transitional skies, rainbows and roses. Ghostly crab spiders could be found waiting in ambush for their next meal.
Apple blossoms and dark skies of April
Crab spider in bloom (left side) wait for prey.
View to the east towards the Cascades, June 8th.
One of the first irises to bloom.
Out by Elbert’s Garden.
A new wildflower was sighted, I think it may be sort of Mimulus as best I can tell.
A close up of the bloom. Some kind of Mimulus?
A better view of leaves and stalks.
Blackberry. Though invasive, its nectar is part of the main honey flow in the Willamette Valley. Bees, birds and animals, including humans, feed from these plants.
Pandemic restrictions are slowly lifting, and music has started up many places. My schedule is beginning to fill again, at least for the time being. If you happen to be in the neighborhood of where I am playing, please do drop in and say hello.
I leave readers with an old Irish blessing. Until we meet again.
Way back when Marcus, the little orange cream tabby, was a half-grown kitty, he had crawled into Lucio’s favorite chair and was adopted and cleaned on the spot. They were friends for life. Lucio passed away on January 23, 2021. Photo credit – Lavinia Ross, March 2008
Everything is temporary. The seasons, and the years, come and go on our little farm in the Cascade foothills. Come December this year, we will have been here 18 years, and our lives and our farm have undergone many a change during that time. We’ve grown older, the seasons seem to pass more quickly each year. The old farmhouse was rebuilt, gardens have moved or been reconstructed. Various animal friends have come and gone, and Rick’s mother came to live with us. We took care of her until she died in December of 2015. The cycle of life, punctuated by changes. Yet it is the animals who wander through our lives, I find most intriguing. Friends for a short time, remembered for a lifetime. Wise old souls and teachers, comforters in hard times, playful little elvish creatures who help us see the lighter side of life. They teach us how to be better people. Their lives, and all the memories they leave behind after they depart, are all woven into the fabric of our own, becoming part of the legends and history of this place we call home. The post this quarter will be dedicated to animals I have known throughout my life, and will include a final farewell to our own Lucio cat, and to M & J’s cat Lulu, from their olive farm in Sicily. A little news from the farm will come at the end.
My pet Leghorn rooster, Mr. Pluff. I was about 5 years old here, and was teaching him how to sing. There were no children in our immediate area. Old Mr. Pluff was my best friend.
Lucio, 2005-2021
Rick named the cat for his deceased friend, Lucio Sorre, a former President of the Society of Wine Educators. Old Lucio cat had been diagnosed with hyperthyroidism at the end of December, and put on Methimazole. He seemed to be doing well on his medication, and was due for more blood work in only a few more days when on the morning on January 23rd, he crawled into his current favorite cardboard box, fell asleep and never woke up. I found him curled up and peaceful. He was 15 years and 7 months. Lucio was a big cat, with a personality to match. Throughout his life with us, he enjoyed zooming around the house, and jumping up on cabinets and high places in general. Interior decorating was one of his passions. One of his favorite pastimes was annoying Abby, the old Abyssinian. In turn, she never hesitated to try to get him into trouble. He will always be remembered for his loving, independent spirit, his dedication to his friend Marcus, and larger than life presence in our house. He left us the same way he came to us, on his own terms.
Our friend and fellow blogger Doug Thomas knows I only post four times a year now, and offered to put up a memorial to Lucio on his site right after Lucio died. Doug lost one of his Persian cat brothers to sudden unexplained death last year, and understood the shock we were going through. Doug’s very thoughtful memorial to Lucio can be found here. I’ve included a few more photos below.
Marcus liked to do everything Lucio liked to do.
Sit there for too long Marcus, and you will get cleaned.
Lucio took his role seriously. He trained Marcus to hold still.
Lucio kept Marcus very clean, even if Marcus didn’t think he needed it.
Lucio always took the best seat in the window.
And wrapped a protective tail around his buddy.
Lucio loved his people, too.
Goodbye, dear Lucio. May you rest in love.
Lulu – The Olive Farm, Sicily 2015? – 2021
It was a rough start to the year on many fronts. M. had written me on January 10th with the news that Lulu had died. Lulu was one of our foreign feline correspondents from the Sicilian Olive Farm Cats. “Our cat Lulu just died from a sudden onset of FIP the dry kind. It might have been lurking behind his teeth problem (stomatitis) but last week in the space of three days he stopped eating, ended up at the vet and died New Years Eve. He was with us six years and a companion to Lucky and J’s cuddle kitty in the afternoon and during evening TV. He was a chirpy little cat with his unique vocalizations when asking for food . RIP Lulu.”
Lulu – always ready to travel for a good news story.
For those readers unfamiliar with FIP (feline infectious peritonitis), here is a good article from Cornell University, College of Veterinary Medicine:
Lulu and Lucky the blind kitty. Both are gone now.
Mount Etna, smoking away, can be seen from the Olive Farm.
M & J have taken in and cared for many stray cats and dogs over their years in rural Sicily. Lulu was one cat who was lucky enough to find a home with them. Readers will hear about the Olive Farm from time to time. It is a working olive plantation in rural Sicily.
As for music, I will leave readers with this song by Dave Mallett, rural folk singer from Maine. For all of us who miss our loved ones and hope to see them again someday. May an old friend come to take you home, when it is time.
Unusual visitors, here and there
We have had the usual assortment of deer, skunks and the occasional rabbit or squirrel. Every skunk that wandered through was named “Stinklesby”, and they generally lived up to their name. The camera was set on telephoto for these fellows.
Stinklesby 2014. YOUR grapes? I thought these were MY grapes!!!!
Being from New England, I had read about Nutria, but never seen one. New England winters were too cold for these animals, originally from South America and imported for the fur trade, to survive. We had muskrat and beaver back in Connecticut, and at one point I lived near a large pond and was able to observe both species. After we had been in Oregon for just about 12 years, one evening in November, 2015, I went out after dark to investigate the activities of a Black-tailed deer buck grazing on fallen fruit under an apple tree near the shed. The buck, who was probably the same one who demolished 10 blueberry bushes in the process of scraping his antlers on them a week earlier, trotted off as I neared the tree, but there came a pig-like grunting and snuffling from somewhere very close by. Startled and feeling like an encounter with whatever it was could have a bad ending, I looked around, but could see nothing, and the grunting creature sounded very displeased by my presence. A small greyish creature at ground level appeared out of nowhere, and charged at my leg. I quickly high-tailed it, and got the flashlight and camera, hoping to at least identify my would-be assailant. Although not the best photo, it was good enough to check the mug shot online and confirm my suspicions. Our visitor appeared to be a nutria, a young one, from what I could tell.
Young nutria under the apple tree.
It turned out there were three youngsters. The biggest and most aggressive one I named Yosemite Sam. He would challenge me coming down the walkway, and I learned that if I stamped my feet and made noise back, he would spin around, walk a few steps and let me pass.
Yosemite Sam (front) and Gidney.
The three took up residence in the shed, and would leave as a group during the day, eating the grass and leaving my roses and other plants alone. I didn’t have to weed the rose bed all summer. If only the deer would think that way, we wouldn’t need deer fence. The three mowed parts of the lawn as well, moving as a set, side by side. Rick and I used to marvel at their machine-like efficiency. With all that grass, they passed copious scat, which became hard to avoid.
Nutria scat.
Yosemite Sam, Gidney and Cloyd eventually became used to me coming and going, but would dive for cover in the shed if anyone else came over. Being wild animals, I never trusted them, and kept a respectful distance. At dusk one evening, the utility pole light came on when Sam was grazing below. He stopped, and slowly looked up, contemplating the sudden change in illumination. Satisfied, he went back to eating.
Yosemite Sam
Eventually they started gnawing at the inside of the shed, and making messes in there. It didn’t seem they were going to move along on their own. They had to go. I blocked off the shed entrance one day while the trio was out, and a neighbor helped trap them and move them to the wooded area of the property. The shed stayed blocked for a while, and I could see signs of them trying to get back in. Eventually they gave up, and stayed out back. Yosemite Sam was livid when he was caught, and set up a loud fussing. Nutria seem to know more cuss words than most sailors. A bag of apples was left for them after they were released with great caution. I saw Gidney a few times after that, and noted scat and patches of mowed grass for a couple of years. I found two skulls out back last year, complete with those long orange incisors. Foxes and coyotes wander through from time to time. I never knew what happened to the the three of them. They do not have a long life in the wild.
The Goat– I originally posted about this fellow in 2014, and have incorporated that part of my post from 2014 here. We encountered this very unusual animal during one of our travels up to Washington in 2005. Looking at the photos, I am noting my hair was not yet grey, and I looked a lot younger back then.
Saddle up a trusty vehicle and go north up the Willamette Valley to Portland, Oregon. Turn east along the Columbia River, where the vegetation transitions from the lush greens, and lichen dripping Ent-like trees of home into much drier grasslands and sagebrush of land in the rainshadow of the Cascades. Sculpted by the Great Missoula Floods, the region bakes in summer and freezes hard in winter. From Route 84 on the Oregon side, the hillsides over in Washington appear to have a strange velvety texture, and look like giant tan-colored lion paws where they come down to meet the mighty Columbia as it rolls on by. Cross the river around Hermiston and head on up to the Tri-Cities area, or perhaps further on to Spokane and points east.
We were staying with a very gracious couple that put us up during the Tumbleweed Music Festival in Richland, Washington that particular weekend. The four of us were sitting on the front porch in late afternoon, enjoying good company and conversation, when we heard the sound of hooves coming up the driveway from the road below. Much to everyone’s surprise, a lone billy goat appeared. He appeared to be familiar with the place, like he owned it, coming right up onto the porch! Our hosts were perplexed, never having seen this goat before, and not knowing of any farms with such animals in the immediate area. His lower jaw appeared to be deformed, or had been broken at some point and healed in a strange position. The jaw, coupled with his wild-eyed goaty stare, gave our horned visitor a slightly demented look that was both alarming and endearing to behold. Being an intact male, he stank, adding the dimension of ripe male goat odor to his persona. He laid down by my feet, like a dog, joining the group as if he had stopped by for afternoon tea with friends. Not wanting to keep referring to our strange, stinky visitor as “The Goat”, I thought he should have a proper name for the evening. “Thelonious” came to mind, and it stuck. Strangely enough, the goat responded to it as if it were his own name. Our hosts’ full-grown Airedale Terrier was not pleased, however, at the goat’s intrusion onto his property, and rushed at Thelonious, barking furiously. Undeterred, the goat calmly leveled an evil-eye at his assailant, backed up a few steps, and gave the dog a swift ramming with his horns. This sent the Airedale packing behind his owner’s chair, whimpering curses from a safe position. Goat “1”, Airedale “0”, Thelonious settled back into a comfortable position and rejoined the party.
After a bit, our hosts took us on a tour of their property, thinking the uninvited horned guest might leave of his own accord. Instead, the goat joined us for the tour, sticking close to me. We all went in for dinner after the tour, leaving Thelonious to his own devices on the porch for the evening. Our mysterious visitor was gone by morning, disappearing into the night without a trace. Why he came to visit us, and where he came from will forever remain unknown. In mind’s eye, however, I picture his departure ending like a Twilight Zoneepisode:
“The day, with all it strange events, has ended. The house is now dark, the inhabitants sleeping. Outside, an unusual goat quietly scans the heavens, perhaps looking for a sign among the myriad stars that span the sky. A light breeze stirs the darkness, and a thick mist slowly creeps into the lower end of the driveway, down past the gate posts through which he had arrived earlier that day. Nostrils quivering, his ears turn in the direction of a voice. A voice calling from somewhere beyond sight, from somewhere beyond the writhing fog. Eager with anticipation, he rises, disappearing into the beckoning misty tendrils that await him. He has answered a call to return home. A call that could only have come from…the Twilight Zone.”
***********************************
For those of you patient enough to have read down this far, I thank you. I have quietly noted the progress of spring and all manner of new life. A pair of killdeer have decided to attempt a nest in our gravel driveway again, and we have blocked it off from traffic. They are attempting to hatch four eggs.
Killdeer parent on gravel nest.
Lichens, mushrooms and mosses are refreshed in the wet season, and my favorite patch of Cladonia on the black locust stump is doing well.
Cladonia lichens on the black locust stump.
Fungi on an old hazelnut trunk.
Delicate moss growing on a hazelnut limb.
And finally, crocus, one of those early harbingers of spring.
A beautiful sunlit day, and a patch of crocus not disturbed by voles.
And a cloudbow, digitally enhanced here to make it easier to see.
On January 8th I spotted this beauty.
I leave readers with an old Irish blessing. Until we meet again.
Our feature photo is a view of sunrise back on November 3rd. The colors change rapidly at the bookends of the day when conditions are right for viewing, and one must be both patient and quick to catch these ephemeral beauties.
Sunrise on November 3rd.
There has been many I time I have looked up from whatever I was working on, noted a particularly glorious sky, run out with camera in hand, only to discover I was a minute too late. Fortunately the sun rises and sets every day, so far, and I am lucky enough to catch one of them now and then in full glory. Each one is unique, and I never tire of seeing them.
Sunrise on December 3rd. Some of these appear to be an example of virga, rain that evaporates before it hits the ground.
Sunrise on November 28th. Long low clouds provided a banding effect.
Sunset on October 21st, as seen looking east, captured on the bottom of this large cumulus cloud.
The sun was low in the southwest on November 2nd, seen through smoke from a burn pile out that way.
News from the farm
Covid-19 and the western wildfires, some of them very close to us, have received more than enough coverage elsewhere on the Internet, and in the interest of moving on with life and the coming new year, I will not mention them here other than we were fortunate enough not to have to evacuate, and have been relatively healthy. We are grateful for all that we have, and silently thank all those who have helped us along the way in this life.
Wishing our readers a peaceful and healthy winter season, and a bright and beautiful year ahead.
Although we lost roughly a month of ripening in the vineyard to to adverse fire weather, suffered a “volemic” of tunneling voles in garden and vineyard (which inspired one poet to write a limerick), as well as attacks on fruit from wasps, bees and birds, Rick was able to harvest enough reasonably ripe pinot noir to make two small batches of rosé wine. For us, that equates to roughly two 16 quart stock pots worth, hand crushed and strained in a colander, inoculated with yeast, and fermented at room temperature in a cat-proof room which varied from 68 to 72 degrees. We used Red Star Premier Blanc yeast, having been told by the supplier that Premier Blanc was the current replacement for Cotes de Blancs (Epernay II) we have used before. This was apparently not correct information, but our small batch winemaking here, like our life here, is a bit of an experiment, what is done is done, and we happily grumble onward, learning along the way. The new wine was deemed reasonable considering we were only able to ripen the grapes to about ~ 20 brix (Vat 1) and a few days later, 21 brix (Vat 2).
Rick’s tasting notes from 2020:
Vat 1 very delicate, but balanced if very slightly oxidized (possibly due to the low alcohol). May be just fine with some time to develop.
Vat 2 very promising, delicate but with more concentration and less oxidation. Can hardly wait to try again in 2 or 3 months.
Rick enjoying our 2018 vintage with lunch. That was a good year. Birds and wasps decimated our 2019 crop.
It is both sadness and relief I feel every year when the harvest is in and the gardens wind down for the year. The energy can be redirected to where it is needed, repairs made, maintenance performed. I remind myself it will not be long before seeds for 2021 need to be ordered, and then started indoors again, kicking off another yearly cycle.
Plant happiness where you can.
On November 1st, the clocks changed. Cat stomach clocks do not recognize the vernal and autumnal spring ahead and fall back changes, and expect food at the accustomed time, regardless. They do not seem to have as much of a problem with the spring ahead clock change though, merely expressing pleasant surprise at an early breakfast and dinner.
Nod voicing her opinion in Rick’s ear.
On clear mornings, I watch the growing light in the east as night rolls away to the west, stars and planets fading from view as a new day begins, each one full of promise. It is up to me to fulfill that promise. Even grey wet mornings have their place, offering peace in the gentle staccato of rain on the metal roof, the call of the tree frog and the scent of damp earth. Sometimes a low grey ceiling settles in like a brooding hen, trapping smoke from neighboring fireplaces and distant burn piles. This is home in the dark season, when night falls early, and barn lights and colorful Christmas lights around the area mark the closing of another year. Sunrise will continue to come slightly later for a while even as the sun begins its slow but steady tread north after solstice, and I will chart the progress along the eastern rim, as I do every year. Even in this dark time, green shoots of daffodils and dutch irises are poking their heads out of the cold, damp earth, answering a call far older than mankind. Lichens, swollen with rain water, festoon trees in a greenish-grey, covering branches, logs and stumps. It is winter in the Pacific Northwest.
What I believe are Pixie Cup lichens, genus Cladonia, growing on a black locust stump.
Assorted fungus and lichens growing on hazelnut trunk 11/28/2020
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Mr. Nano, head of the Feline Correspondents Desk of Salmon Brook Farms, always watchful.
Mr. Nano, head of the Feline Correspondents Desk of Salmon Brook Farms has contacted Sicilian Olive Farm Cats Correspondent Desk to provide this month’s report on this year’s olive harvest. The Sicilian Correspondents are also known as the Fratelli Mandorle (Almond Brothers). Correspondents NewDude, YouTube and Spanky have collaborated on this month’s report from their homeland. Without further ado, they will present their report.
Photo credit M.G.
The rhythm of nature has brought us to another olive harvest. The yellow of the withering grape leaves, red bark of the leafless peach trees, and the fiery red of the ornamental grape vine, color the autumn palette. The shimmering green leaves of the olive trees form the backdrop for the green, purple and black olives.
Ripening olives. Photo credit M.G.
Hilda (resident canine) took charge of inspecting the olives for ripeness while the Almond Brothers checked the nets to make sure they were in working order. There are three types of olives on our farm. The small ones are called Frantoio are an early variety and turn from green to black in what seems to be the blink of an eye. The green varieties, which ripen later, are both medium and large sized olives that slowly change from green to purple to black. In September we pick the larges green olives put them in a salt water brine solution for a month to cure.
Hilda takes charge of inspecting olives for ripeness while the Almond Brothers check the nets. Photo credit M.G.
Mother Nature was generous this year. A hot summer killed most of the olive fly larvae, and the absence of extreme heat wind and rain during pollination set the stage for a bountiful harvest.
Two workers arrived on November 2nd, and in just short of two days, harvested forty trees. Spanky was the only Almond Brother courageous enough to help. Correspondents New Dude and YouTube decided napping was a much better idea, and of course, slept in the almonds.
Spanky assists with harvest while the rest of the team naps. Photo credit M.G.
Four trips to Olio Arke, the olive milling plant, or oleficio, delivered over nine quintali of olives, or a little over 2000 lbs! A quintale is 100 kilos or 220lbs. The olives are emptied into a hopper where they are washed and leaves and twigs are separated. A conveyor belt brings them to the frangitore where they are crushed to form a paste. The paste is then transferred to the granola or kneading machine which facilitates the separating of the oil from the paste. This process takes roughly 45 minutes, and during this time, the social aspect of the process take over. Invariably, neighbors or acquaintances are there as well, and there is lively chatter about this year’s harvest and yield.
In the final step of the process the paste is immersed in the centrifuge separating the oil, water and solids. As the new oil flows, neighborly hands appear to help decant the oil into the waiting containers.
Olive paste and olive oil. Photo credit M.G.
As we settle into winter, we wish you peace and good health in the coming new year.
– The Fratelli Mandorle reporting from Sicilian Olive Farm Cats Correspondent Desk
The olive farm in Sicily. Photo credit M.G.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
For those readers who missed previous posts or are new to this blog, I will be posting on mostly seasonal basis now, four times a year, and the end of the solstice and equinox months, while I try to catch up on the many projects, including updating the pages associated with this blog, as well as stay in touch with all of you. I will keep the performance schedule updated as venues become available to me again. Due to Covid-19, what was once a full schedule is now empty.
Nod, aspiring guitar shredder. Practices on scratching post, eyes my guitars.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTubechannel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. It’s been a while, but I put up two more recently. Full Circle was written in the aftermath of 9/11/2001 and is a song about love and enjoying life while one can. I’ve played it out all the intervening years, and recorded here recently with the lights down, much like a typical evening here I’d be practicing. It is a bit dark, but I make no apologies. There are no flashy graphics, just one woman, one voice, and a guitar. The guitar featured here is my old Ventura 12 string. I bought this old friend at a kiosk in a mall for $100 back in 1977. For those interested in lutherie, this guitar is a bit different in that it has a zero fret up by the nut. To my knowledge, this brand of guitars, which were made in Japan, are not made anymore, and I have only come across one other, not nearly constructed as well. I keep the Ventura tuned to DGDGBD or DGDGA#D. Flat the 3rd and you get G minor. Alternate tunings are easier for small hands and present a bigger box of acoustical paint from which to draw upon. I use Martin Acoustic SP extra light phosphor bronze strings on the Ventura, Martin Acoustic SP light gauge phosphor bronze strings on the Martin guitar, And D’Addario light gauge coated phosphor bronze on the Guild.
Those who know me well also know I am a big fan of the late Kate Wolf, recorded a few of her songs on my last CD, and I will be recording some more of her music in the future as well. The Minstrel is one of her songs I learned this past year. Here it is adapted and arranged for the 12 string guitar tuned to Open G.
I am 17 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come! The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on Spotify and YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked due to digital rights content. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site.
I was able to play two outdoor shows this past summer. This photo was taken by Rick at Marks Ridge Winery on July 7th.
Rick retired from playing music some years ago, but he still practices, and played a few tunes at some of my shows before the Covid-19 lockdown, and was my roadie and sound man. His music is also distributed by The Orchard, and you can find him on Spotify and YouTube. Readers will need to search on the album or song name or you will come up with one or more other musicians named Rick Ross.
Photo of Rick Ross, bluesman, taken in his younger days in Connecticut. Photo credit C. M.
Abby, taken back in February of 2019, a commanding presence in her favorite chair. She was always on the move, and difficult to photograph unless she was sleeping or eating. Take too long, and one would be guaranteed a good picture of her nostrils in the lens.
There comes a time when the body is too worn and tired to continue, and the spirit longs for freedom from it. Abby had a good long run with us, and at 18 1/2, she had run out time. Since March we had noted she was losing a little weight, and some muscle mass, although that only slowed her down a bit. Although she was never overweight, she had always been a good eater, even when she was down to two teeth, her upper canines, by the end. Those upper canines were also used to get attention, and Abby would bite the top of my head with those sharp teeth at night if I was asleep and she wanted petting. Rick and I used to joke about her having a hollow leg to hold all that food, and I would say when the day comes she stops eating, she is probably done for.
We noticed she was not so interested in her food for the last few weeks of her life. A trip to the vet revealed high blood glucose that was spilling into her urine. Abby’s urine had been fine in March, her last checkup. She was fitted with a sensor and calibrated reader, and started on one unit of Lantus glargine insulin twice daily on September 4th. Her kidney function was deemed good for a cat that age, and staff remarked how beautiful she was and how sleek her coat was.
Abby with newly fitted Freestyle Libre glucose sensor.
Her interest in food continued to go down, although her attitude was good, and she still greeted people with a purr and inquisitive paw. Her glucose took some wide swings, and she was brought back for observation and recommendations a few days later. On the 10th, I checked her at 4:00 AM, her glucose was reasonable, and she was awake and sitting up in her basket, so I went back to sleep for a little while until it was feeding time. I found her immobile, unable to lift her head, under the entertainment center, but still purring and happy to see me. She went back in immediately on emergency. The emergency vet indicated Abby’s glucose was fine, but she had palpated a mass along the GI tract. She asked us what we wanted to do. The Oregon wildfires were in full swing at the time, and we were situated in a Level 1 evacuation area, with a Level 3 about 10 minutes down the road. Given her age, a probable tumor, diabetes and possible evacuation to unknown facilities that would accept 8 cats along with us, the decision was made to let her go peacefully. Euthanasia has never an easy decision for me. Never will be.
It is here I will close my own thoughts, and leave readers with an eloquent note I received from Kerm Jensen, an old friend and long-time mentor, back in 2015 when Rick’s mother passed away. This note from our friend still brings us great comfort.
“I join you in your sorrow and joy. I am aware that getting old is mostly a matter of letting things go, giving up many thoughts and dreams that we compile during our lives. I have come to believe a page from the Buddhist philosophy, dependency arising. All things are connected to all things. Nothing happens without a ripple through the universe whether we are able to perceive it or not.
I also believe it has been a blessing that she was surrounded by the cats and the farm, all the things that speak of life with their cycles and acceptance of all that happens. A few days ago I had a five minute stare down with a four point buck and several does. He was a little curious but very separate with his little family. He was also fearless and accepting of our sharing a space and time. Eventually he went back to eating and I went along my way. The does weren’t concerned in the slightest.
There’s nothing special in that five minutes except that we are all here, we all have our part to play and then we go forward to whatever dimension is next. The rest of us remain with our memories, selecting out the good and mostly letting the rest fade away. While I’m in no hurry, to me Death is a friend whom I’ll have plenty of time to get to know in the future. I’m watching the seasons come and go with more intensity than ever before.
You and Rick have come through a very difficult time that has increased the wear and tear on both you. You are changed by it as we all are by every difficulty that comes our way. Now is the time to sit back quietly for a short while and cement the good while letting the bad find it’s own way down the road. I admire your strength and fortitude tremendously, both of you. I want you to finish out this winter and walk into spring with all of its new promise. I hope you will find renewed happiness in the renewed season. – Kerm. December, 2015”
Our feature photo this quarter is of a snail visitor, whom we think may be a Monadenia fidelis, spotted back in late April. Although we see many slugs, we don’t often see snails on the farm. Often times it is only the shiny, dried slime trail left behind, as well as damage to plants, that indicates slugs and snails have been by during the night. The State Library of Oregon has an informative snail and slug poster available for those interested in such animals. Nature’s creatures come in what seems to be an endless variety of forms, lifestyles, colors and patterns.
A visiting snail whom we think may be a Monadenia fidelis, seen making his way along the garage wall.
Of the various slugs we have seen about the farm, I find the most intriguing species to be the leopard slug, Limax maximus. They are also carnivores, and prey on other species of slugs. Although it is difficult to envision these animals as moving quickly, Limax maximus is roughly four times faster than other slugs, including our native banana slug, and easily overtake their prey.
News from the farm
The last three months have gone by more quickly than expected. I’ve watched the new crescent moon appear above the Maxfield Parrish colors of the fading western sky, and followed its waxing and waning cycle back into darkness, each time eagerly awaiting its reappearance in the west . It is an old friend I have known all my life. At times, I have seen her set upon blue sky, white marbled with grey. She is like quartz tumbled by the sea and cast upon the shore by the tides, waiting for the fingers of a wandering, small beachcomber to pick them up and admire them. My mother called these rounded quartz treasures “moonstones”, and I think of her when I see the moon amid the blue. After nightfall, she takes on gold to golden-orange hues as she rises, desaturating as she sails overhead, bathing the farm in cold, pale light. In the shadowy, colorless world of a moonlit night, many nocturnal creatures can be seen moving about, and I will wake up and spend a while at the window. It is a time to remain still and observe, watching for movement, capturing the moment in mind’s eye. I think of those who are no longer with us. The memories travel on starlight, replayed under the moon’s soft ghostly glow. Long-stilled voices are heard once again, riding on the night breeze as it prowls about the farm, rustling leaves and plucking a melody on the wind chimes on the porch.
Sunset on May 5th.
April still presented mornings down near or below freezing, resulting in some frost damage to trees and plants heeding the call of the sun, now past the equinox position in his travels north. Our new everbearing strawberry plants, Charlotte and Eversweet, were set out under small grow tents to protect them during their vulnerable phase.
By early May, we had flowers on the strawberries!
Kale from last year was still producing, and the flowering tops fresh from the garden made a good stir fry with sweet potato, chickpeas and onion for lunch, along with with our own fresh asparagus, broiled with lemon juice, oil and vinegar. Life can be simple, and good. Little to no processed food is eaten here.
The greenhouse frame from the last project back in 2016 was moved to the main garden, and the remaining cement slab had two raised beds built on it from pavers removed along the edge of the original gravel drive, put in by the old owner. They had been sinking over the years into the wet clay soil, serving no use as a border, so I began digging them up for the purpose of building raised beds for chives and oregano. Elbert’s Garden lies along the north side, Surya’s Garden along the east side, Peter’s Garden on the south. I am slowly adding perennials to all.
The new herb beds and flowers planted for friends and fellow bloggers in memory of their loved ones.
May irises in Elbert’s Garden.
The annual parade of flowers begins in January with the first daffodils and snow irises that brave the cold and dark days, surviving below freezing temperatures and tolerating coverlets of snow. Crocuses soon follow, along with the one tulip that has not been eaten by gophers or voles as I planted it in gravel near a building, a note to self for the future. Cherry, plum and pear explode in a profusion of white, then apples in shades of white to pink. The droning of bees can be heard throughout the orchard. Petals soon fall like snow, drifting on the breezes that wind through the farm, settling on the green grass below.
A crab apple in early May, a blue sky, warm day.
And the parade goes on! The tall bearded and Dutch irises in many shades and moods will pass quickly, as come late May and early June, daylilies raise their blazing orange trumpets in a joyful noise. Reblooming varieties will fall in behind them.
A sunny yellow flag iris, simple and elegant.
A reblooming iris, bending low out of her barrel to catch the sun.
A shy beauty. These will be moved as the crab apples shading them have grown. She needs more sun.
A cheerful bloom!
Trumpets held high, nothing says early summer like a daylily.
One of our rebloomers, planted in a barrel in memory of a girl who was bullied to death some years ago. She took her own life.
In May, the snowball bush blooms grace the dark green leaves like a shower of bridal bouquets.
The snowball bush on May 11th
A bridal bouquet of flowers!
This rhododendron bloomed profusely even after it was severely damaged by rutting deer last autumn.
The end of May also found us blocking off part of the gravel drive containing a slight depression with a killdeer egg was found. It blended in so well that I almost stepped on it. There were numerous such scraped depressions in the drive, but apparently she settled on this one. I did not find eggs in the others. We roped off that section of drive, a bad location for the mother bird to have chosen. Although we were fairly sure she had abandoned the egg, we left it roped off for a month. There was no sign of the parents.
Lone killdeer egg in the gravel drive.
Roped off area.
June brings the roses, at least what was left to us after three wandering young male deer came through nightly. Blackberry blossoms, the main honey flow in the Willamette Valley attract honeybees.
A hardworking bee collecting nectar and pollen from invasive blackberry. Oregon does have a native trailing blackberry, but the invasive varieties are everywhere. At best, we keep them at bay and collect the fruit for ourselves.
Finally flowering! The deer have chewed them repeatedly.
Young buck, one of three I’ve seen.
We are privileged, having what we need, living here in a tranquil bucolic bubble. Covid-19 did not affect us in the same way as it has those who live in cities and more heavily populated areas. Seasonal chores still require us to outside and working. Nature waits for no one, and we are isolated enough to work outside on our farm in relative safety. We are also privileged to not have to live under the same fear for our lives as do many of our fellow Americans and citizens in other countries. The news has been nothing short of horrific. We stand with Black Lives Matter, because all lives matter. Our species, which has given itself the arguable genus and species classification of Homo sapiens, or “Wise Man”, makes slow progress with each generation before passing the torch. The real hope of each generation for continued change for the better lies with the young. They have the opportunity, and ability, to continue to make this a better world than what the previous generation was able to achieve. They are open to change and new ideas. Many of us live in bubbles of one kind or another, oblivious or indifferent to the lives and needless suffering of others. Author Cynthia Reyes has offered 8 Specific Actions one can take to attempt to understand and bridge the gap. When all else fails, there is also the Golden Rule, simple yet complete in its message, and I still find it worth aspiring to, especially in these times.
The western sky on June 15th. We all share one planet, and all see the same moon.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Miss Abby sailed into her 18th year this April. Although she has retired from filing reports, she would like readers to know she is comfortable and happy, and enjoys a good nap. Although she only has two teeth left, her upper canines, she eats well, and enjoys a good meal.
Abby was sleeping in her padded chair when she was awakened by the photographer.
Mr. Nano, head of the Feline Correspondents Desk of Salmon Brook Farms, always watchful.
Mr. Nano, head of the Feline Correspondents Desk of Salmon Brook Farms has asked correspondents Mr. Marcus and Mr. Lucio to present their report for this quarter. They have been quite busy observing the farm from their various window posts.
Marcus (left) and Lucio (right) leisurely collecting news.
Without further ado, correspondents Mr. Marcus and Mr. Lucio will present their report.
It has been a prolonged, cool and wet spring here on this little farm in the Cascade foothills. The nightly enthusiastic chorus of frogs continued on into April, audible even with the windows closed. It is an annual event we look forward to after the winter’s long darkness, one of Nature’s timeless rituals that speaks of life and its cycles. Birds, as well as the chipmunk, were continuing to feed from the north side bird feeder that caught the first rays of morning sun. Cold mornings, the grass heavy with dew and temperatures near freezing marked the month of April. Some days soared into the lower 70s, with marbled skies and a promise of warmer days to come.
In mid to late April, the air between sundown and nightfall is overwhelming with a symphony of scents from the various fruit trees, their brush-like forms in blossom coloring the farm and distant hills in shades of white to pink. A lighter yellow-green amid the blossom colors begins to offset winter’s grey-green lichen covering. It is spring, a good time to be alive, and observing Nature.
By April’s end, the bird feeder was abandoned, only the occasional towhee stopped by to kick out seed, which was promptly picked up by mice that live under the thick cover of vinca on the north border. Spring continued her annual roll out of blade, leaf and flower. The season of the daffodils was at its finale as a few late plantings finished their bloom cycle. Pears, plums and cherries had already finished and were forming tiny bulbs of developing fruit at the base of older browning blooms. Apples were done blooming within the week, and forming new fruit. The vineyards were in bud break, some sections further along than others. Purple columbines began to open along with Dutch iris as German bearded irises were still forming fat buds. Petals from trees, especially apples, fell like snow. The grass seemed to grow ever faster, higher than the day before, while irises continued to unfurl. Everything was proceeding according to its own life plan on the grand Stage of Life. The play is always a bit different year to year, weather and temperature drive the script.
Rainbow in the east after a storm on May 2nd.
The month of May was the peak month of the iris with her subtle fragrances and Marilyn Monroe frills and flair. Only the gardener knew her secrets. There were still many passing storms, and rainbows, an offering of peace from the heavens. We are grateful for the rains, and that ever changing canvas of sky. We find ourselves looking more closely at things with new eyes. We are all temporary here, each with our own time in the sun.
Sunset clouds on May 5th
We spotted the first goldfinches of the season on May 4th. Post sundown skies were particularly colorful, as a clearing in the west allowed the longer rays to highlight the bottoms of higher clouds and lower sitting cumulus directly. Windows started opening at night to let fresh air in, and we heard the chorus of frogs continuing on into May. The air was fragrant with hawthorn’s musky sweetness, and the white fragrant bells of blueberries.
On May 22nd we watched the tree swallows begin their evening feed around 5:00 PM, a great number of them performing an elaborate aerial ballet as they caught dinner on the wing. A pair of them stopped to rest and preen on the overhead electric wire we could see from the office window. The hummingbird finally made an appearance in the trumpet vine as well. We had wondered where they were this year.
On May 25th,we listened to a robin and another unidentified bird that evening at dusk. Visibility was good enough to see the growing crescent moon in the west. The few clouds about the horizon caught the last pink rays of sun, ever running westward, a time of peace and beauty. We noted the waxing crescent moon was higher in sky each night.
The month of June brought warmer mornings, and silver-grey mists that rose with the sun. A pair of grackles performed their courtship ritual on the overhead electrical wire early in the morning on June 8th. Careful observation found their well constructed nest in the upper profusion of new growth. They were not able to tolerate the comings and goings from the new garage, and abandoned the nest. Tree swallow continued their aerial feeding acrobatics.
We saw two bucks early in the morning on June 21st, both 4 pointers, one slightly larger than the other, who was limping slightly. He stood and looked around intently, with those deep brown eyes and serene expression, before moving off along with his companion. A third buck, another 4 pointer, was spotted on the 27th.
The days are slowly growing shorter as the year progresses, another trip around the sun. We wish our readers a pleasant day ahead, and safe travels to wherever your destination in life may lead you.
Taken from the plane coming into LAX in 2018.
– Feline correspondents Mr. Lucio and Mr. Marcus, reporting for Salmon Brook Farms
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
For those readers who missed previous posts or are new to this blog, I will be posting on mostly seasonal basis now. Hopefully someday, I may be able to actually catch up on the many projects, including updating the pages associated with this blog, as well as stay in touch with all of you. I will keep the performance schedule updated as venues become available to me again. Due to Covid-19, what was once a full schedule is now empty. New videos are in process, and will be posted to YouTube before long. Unfortunately they did not make the train for this quarterly post. Life has not slowed down for me at all since mid March, and somehow managed to speed up!
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTubechannel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 17 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come! For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site.
Our feature photo this quarter is of the Oregon coast as seen from Route 101 on our way to Yachats back on January 14th, a view which we will not be able to see again for a while due to the current pandemic.
Sundown on the Pacific, from Route 101 on the Oregon coast on January 14th, 2020.
The Pacific is a beautiful and powerful entity, from steady and serene on a calm day to a deadly force to be reckoned with at her worst. I find myself thinking back to much younger days, when our 9th grade English class read The Odyssey during our study of Greek mythology; its description of the sea-grey eyed goddess Athena struck me at the time for the poetic beauty of it. Goddess of wisdom and war, I can see her eyes in the restless grey of the Pacific.
“I really don’t know why it is that all of us are so committed to the sea, except I think it is because in addition to the fact that the sea changes and the light changes, and ships change, it is because we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting biological fact that all of us have, in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch it we are going back from whence we came.” – President John F. Kennedy, Newport, Rhode Island , September 14, 1962
News from the farm
Mr. Chipmunk has discovered the feeder. His motto seems to be “Come early, come often.”
The last three months have passed quickly, with spring arriving shivering, wet and cold. There has been little snow this year at our elevation, about 800 ft, for which we are grateful. This farm is nestled in a geologic bowl of sorts, with cold air ponding, and uphill water collecting down in the bowl.
With January comes the slow, but steady increase in light. Our daffodils, which began emerging from the soil in December in the more sheltered south facing locations, commenced their bloom cycle in mid January, the first golden trumpets lifted their heads to herald warmer days to come.
The cherry tree garden on March 25th
Dandelions bloomed throughout the mild winter, keeping leafy rosettes and sunny faces close to the ground. Rain pools formed in the low areas, soon followed by the nightly calls of chorus frogs. The grey foxes were still about, their unusual call and response growly barks and whiny screams could be heard back in the wooded area. One year, a fox came up to the big fenced-in garden where Rick was working on the other side and held a conversation with Rick for a while before moving off and returning to his haunts back in the woods.
The increase in daylight comes faster during February and March as the sun rises ever earlier and makes his way northward along the horizon. The transitional days bring a kaleidoscopic selection of weather and cloud forms as the aerial river of moisture travels up the Willamette Valley, condensing and congealing into some of Nature’s most beautiful displays.
A section of sky on March 25th, full of towering clouds with silver linings.
Some days, the grey fractures, and one can appreciate the multilevel, textured sky, canyons and caverns of cloud given depth and character by angled sunlight finding its way through. Above it all, the riverbottom of blue sky. From sunrise to sunset, the sky is a work of art, a study in shades of blue, grey and gold, painted in the swirling, heartfelt brushstrokes of a keen-eyed master.
Sunrise on February 4, 2020.
Sunrise on January 15th.
There is an old saying that if one sees enough blue to make a pair of Dutchman’s breeches, the sky will clear. Often there is only enough blue to make breeches for the Dutchman’s cat, but it may or may not clear anyway. Clouds pay no attention to human proverbs.
Another dramatic section of sky on March 25th.
It is still the bookends of the day I find most intriguing, a time to see crepuscular wildlife wander though, and enjoy the quiet and Maxfield Parrish colors sometimes graced by a waxing or waning moon. On February 17th I recorded the following:
“I heard the heat come on frequently during the night, so I knew it would be on the colder side this morning. It was 34 degrees when I awoke around 6:30 AM, in time to see the waning crescent moon, still golden and bright against the deep blue tinted with first light from the east. Morning clouds had not yet obscured my view of her. Our sky has been filling in rapidly since then – these fleeting glimpses of the edge of night and day are lost to those not actively seeking such things. My last view of of the disappearing orb was 6:55 AM, peering out from a thinner area of cloud, soon vanishing behind the thickening mass. I will not see her again until tomorrow. Mists and chimney smoke stratifies and rises as the last barn lights on the southeast hill still send their beacons across the bowl. All is still as the light grows and sky congeals, soon area lights will be off for the day.”
Sometimes it is night’s deepening purple veil rising in the east as the last of the gold fades in the west that catches my eye. In the waxing part of the lunar cycle, a thin crescent moon can be seen in the west, at times with a bright planet, and the first bright stars in the deepening sky overhead.
I enjoy my time working quietly among the gardens and vines, and feel at peace and a part of things as only one can outdoors.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Mr. Nano, ever watchful.
Mr. Nano, from the Feline Correspondents Desk of Salmon Brook Farms has asked for a brief update from the Northeast Regional Farm Cats Desk in Connecticut, given by Rosie, the sole remaining dog on the horse farm, who has been accepted into the feline correspondents circle. They have not had a report from the Northeast since head feline correspondent Otis passed away.
Rosie, enjoying the snow in New England this winter.
Without further ado, Corresoondent Rosie will present her report.
It has been a while now since my canine companion Sadie passed away, leaving me as the remaining dog on this horse farm in rural Connecticut. Otis is also gone, leaving my feline companion Izzy and two new recruits, Odin and Nick, to carry on where he left off.
Sadie and Rosie by the wood stove, on the Connecticut Horse Farm homestead. From November 2016.
Nick came to live with us a year ago November, a rescue from a feral colony. He sports a clipped ear and bears a very strong resemblance to his predecessor, Otis, although he does not have the size or stature of his predecessor.
Nick, taking over Otis’ old chair.
Odin, or Odie as he is known to us, rode in from parts unknown. He is thought to be a Maine Coon Cat, and at an estimated 9 months old, and quite large already, has much to learn about farm protocol.
Odin enjoys high places.
As for more general news, more land was cleared, new fencing was put up, the electrical to the house was upgraded, and the new generator was installed. There will be no more worries about losing power in our remote area Last year’s vegetable garden was a fine producer of greens and tomatoes, while the human master of the house is in a much better frame of mind now that his back is mending. Aside from the human master’s car getting totaled when a backhoe backed into a fallen tree, life has been good.
We wish our readers a pleasant evening ahead, and safe travels to wherever your destination in life may lead you.
The late correspondent Otis, gathering news from the hayloft on the Connecticut horse farm.
– Canine Correspondent Rosie, reporting from the Northeast Regional Feline Correspondents Desk in Connecticut.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
For those readers who missed previous posts or are new to this blog, I will be posting on mostly seasonal basis now. Hopefully someday, I may be able to actually catch up on the many projects, including updating the pages associated with this blog, as well as stay in touch with all of you. I will keep the performance schedule updated regularly. New videos will follow as soon as I can get to it. After a very busy start to the new year, I fell ill with a tenacious respiratory bug at the end of January, requiring me to cancel most of my shows during February. It was a rough start when I did return, as my voice had not quite recovered. I had finally gone to Urgent Care after 4 weeks, where it was deemed a sinus infection, and given antibiotics for a week. I got in a few shows and then the pandemic hit, requiring venues to close down and people to self-isolate.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTube channel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 17 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come! For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos. The coughing and what seemed like endless sleepless nights in February had been hard on me, and I have not attempted to actually record anything yet until I feel my voice is back to where it was. It is still a little rough. We are almost there.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site.
Our feature photo this month is from sunrise on December 28th, the morning clouds provided a canvas upon which the longer rays emanating from below the horizon painted in fiery rose.
Sunrise on the 28th, painted on the underside of a bank of clouds.
A wider view of sunrise.
The sun rises in the southeast these days, quickly traversing a southerly arc before disappearing in the southwest. Days are short, and often grey and wet, low clouds and mists clinging to hillsides and low areas. Our mornings will continue to get darker for a while, even as the evenings slowly gain daylight, an observation I made as a child having spent much time outside, and many years later was pleased to find is actually a real phenomenon.
Copper-colored sunrise from December 17th. I’ve always loved the black lace effect of trees against the sky.
News from the farm
Jack Frost has paid us many visits since October, shutting down the garden except for the hardiest residents, broccoli, kale and brussels sprouts, and the occasional intrepid dandelion which flowers low to the ground in this season.
A bright and cheerful dandelion in winter, blooming low to the ground. We will see them in more protected areas all winter long.
After clear, cold nights where it may drop into the 20s, grass stays frozen in shaded areas that do not see direct sun. This photo was from late afternoon on November 29th.
Mists form, rise, and float away as cloud over the Cascades, although sometimes they settle in, cloaking tree and surrounding hills in a silver-grey shroud. After night, tendrils of fog writhe and curl under the floodlights with a life of their own, the damp currents of air brushing against my face, and I am aware of a primordial uneasiness of things that might be in the dark, things unseen under the cover of fog.
Mist covered hills to the southeast on December 13th.
As happens every winter, a spider takes up residence by the thermometer on the porch, conveniently noting the spiders activities as well as the temperature. I have only seen her out on the web after dark, or in the early blue light of morning. A shy creature, I have not been able to get a good photo of her to attempt to determine her species. A small, fat-bodied brown spider, she works in lower temperatures that I would think would discourage most of her kin. She hides in the space behind the thermometer in bad weather. After a wind and rainstorm, she will repair her web in preparation for the nightly feast. I find tiny wings and body parts stuck in her web when she has had a successful hunt.
I lightened this photo using the Gimp editor so that the web would be more visible.
It was 40 degrees on December 23rd when these photos were taken. The small dot off to the right near the top of the thermometer is our spider. Click on any photo in this post to enlarge.
I welcome the winter darkness as a time to rest and recover from the warmer months’ activities about the farm. It is good time to walk about, and observe the small signs of life everywhere, from fat buds waiting for spring, growing hazelnut catkins, to lichen and moss communities on branch, trunk and rock. Moss thriving in some areas tells us that the soil is acidic there. Daffodils are already up several inches by the old garage where it is warmer; their golden trumpets will soon herald spring. We have past winter solstice, and all is dormant with one eye open, trained on the sun’s slow progress back north.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Mr. Nano, ever watchful.
The Feline Correspondents Desk of Salmon Brook Farms has decided to file a brief end-of-year report written by Mr. Nano. November and December were tough months for the correspondents. Mr. Lucio had surgery in November to remove four small tumors, which fortunately were benign. There was a suspected brawl at the Correspondents Desk, resulting in Mr. Nano getting a bite at the base of the tail which abscessed, requiring his veterinarian to lance and clean out the wound. No one is talking, but Correspondent Nod is the prime suspect.
Correspondent Nod in her innocent kitten days.
Without further ado, Mr. Nano will present his observations of from November and December 2019.
The slow, steady tread of winter can be heard in the wind, and felt upon the cold, wet ground. Leaves in shades of brown, red and gold abscise after their duties of turning sunlight into food have completed. Tired and spent, they quietly slip way with the daylight hours, returning to earth and completing the yearly nutrient cycle. They have been gathered up several times, and placed on the garden beds, along with kitchen compost and manure from the neighbor’s alpacas, adding to the tilth of the soil there.
The moon’s progress is more difficult to track in this time of heavy skies and passing rainstorms, although at full moon, the farm appears somewhat illuminated even under heavy cloud cover. The soft ghostly glow illuminates yet masks the color of things we know by day, giving the night and its wandering creatures an other-worldly appearance. At waxing and waning thin crescent stage, the moon’s silhouette gives the appearance of a giant eye trained out into the greater universe, and we know there is something out there, greater than ourselves. These are the cyclical things we know will continue happen long after we are gone from this world.
The foxes are still about, and can be seen and heard in the night. Four were counted earlier this year. By morning, they have left copious scat on the gravel drive, rocks or other objects, calling cards of their visits. Gophers, mice, moles and voles still tunnel about the farm in this weather, kept in check by the foxes and other predators. We have heard an occasional tree frog, but not the early winter chorus we have had some years. The winter rain pools are forming in the low areas, and we will soon hear their song, indicating all is proceeding as it should.
As always, we wish our readers a pleasant evening ahead, and safe travels to wherever their destination in life may lead them.
– Resident Feline Correspondent Nano, reporting for Salmon Brook Farms
View from the plane coming into LAX in January of 2018.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
For those readers who missed previous posts or are new to this blog, I will be posting on mostly seasonal basis now. Hopefully someday, I may be able to actually catch up on the many projects, including updating the pages associated with this blog, as well as stay in touch with all of you. I will keep the performance schedule updated regularly. New videos will follow as soon as I can get to it. I have my new used computer now, specifically for video and music, a gift from friends and a serious nudge from them to get moving on this project. I have loaded it with Lubuntu Linux, and am in the process of learning the tools, amid all the other activities that occupy my days. There was not enough time to get a new music video out with this end of year post.
Setting up to play by the Christmas tree at D’Anu. I saw old friends and made new ones, too.
If you are in the area and wish to see me play live, please visit the Performance Schedulepage in the ring menu at the top of this post.
Mural from The Drift Inn over on the coast, one of my favorite places. The restaurant interior displays beautiful murals of all kinds of exuberant sea life.
Rick will be making a guest appearance with a couple of songs at the end of some of my more local shows in 2020. He had given up playing for some years now, but has taken an interest again. His music is also available through The Orchardas well as Getty Images.
Rick Ross the Bluesman, in his younger days back in Connecticut. Photo credit C.M.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTube channel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 16 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come! I am now almost sold out of CDs and must get to work on the new one.
This may be the cover of the next CD. This was my pet rooster, Mr. Pluff. I was teaching him how to sing.
We have enjoyed playing out in both new and familiar places this year.
A view of the bridge over the Siuslaw River, seen from below, Florence, Oregon.
A view of Bay Street and River Roasters, Florence, Oregon.
A lone seagull that day, on his post in the Siuslaw River. He gave us a good look.
And then decided we were not a threat. He continued his vigil.
For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos. There will be more videos available before the end of March post. I have been playing out far more this year, which by necessity slows down progress in other areas.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site.
In the meantime, in your area, wherever you may be, please do all you can to help keep your own local music alive. Go out and see someone you don’t know, host a house concert, download songs or buy CDs. Or even just stop for a minute to hear someone at a Farmers’ Market. Live, local musicians provide a wealth of talent most people will never hear about in this age of iPods, Internet and TV.
If you have read this far, please note we will post again at the end of March in 2020. In the meantime, please visit our other pages in the menu at the top of this post
The sun low in the sky, almost sunset, on Christmas day.
Our feature photo for this autumn is sunrise on September 26th. The waning crescent moon can be seen to the right, catching the growing light of morning. The rising mists take on dawn’s colors before coalescing and floating away over the Cascades as clouds. Color and intensity change rapidly at the bookends of the day, requiring one to be aware of the impending transition, put aside other activities, and observe the Earth and sky at work. I feel privileged to witness such beauty unfolding into a new day, or writing the final chapter of one.
Sunrise on September 26th. Click on any image in this post to enlarge.
Sunset on September 22nd. Such a warm coverlet of golden light upon the day’s clouds!
News from the farm
Our weather tended toward cooler and cloudier in late summer, and a bit wetter than recent years. We were pleased not to see any days over the mid 90s, and the extra moisture helped with fire suppression and watering the gardens. Rainbows abounded; sunrises and sunsets were more dramatic and colorful than usual due to the canvas of cloud cover.
A molten sky on September 5th.
Early August was still fairly dry, but cloudy, as can be seen in this photo of Rick watering the vines. We had good grapes, but did not get the pinot noir netted in time. Birds, wasps and we suspect foxes helped themselves. Fox scat loaded with grape skins and seeds was noted along the gravel road, and the unmistakable growly bark of Mr. Grey Fox and family was heard off in the woods. We counted four of them this year. No wine was made this year – no wine grapes, and no spare time.
The grass was dormant, dry and brittle on August 6th.
Sunflower and attendant bee on August 1st. A feral flower that came up in the rose bed.
The same sunflower plant commiserating with a wet rose on August 10th.
Time passes all too quickly here on our little farm in the Cascade foothills. Once again, another year has almost completed its cycle. The garden beds, except for the ones containing cold-hardy kale, broccoli and brussels sprouts, have laid themselves to rest following numerous sub-freezing mornings. We are grateful for the bounty of squash, cucumbers, tomatoes, eggplants and peppers. Each year, Jack Frost, herald of Old Man Winter, paints a silvery shroud upon the land, smiting all but the most cold tolerant. The rising sun slowly warms the glittering frozen, stoically rooted in place; by early afternoon the extent of the destruction is evident. Dandelions, those cheerful, intrepid souls, still bloom, although much lower to the ground. Small birds attack the globular seed heads; the breezes disperse the tiny parachutes, which sometimes lodge in spider webs. After a windstorm, remnants of the webs, still carrying seeds, cling to their anchors, their builders dead or in hiding.
A fern growing among the vinca on the north border, turned to gold by frost.
Like spring and summer, autumn wears a cloak of many colors. Although the reds and golds here seem muted compared to my native New England, western Oregon puts on a fine show, assisted this year by cooler temperatures and some summer rainfall. Mostly we observe tired leaves wither into pale yellow and brown, and quietly slip away with the daylight hours.
A blueberry bush in full autumn color.
News from Canada!
Cynthia Reyes has published another excellent memoir, Twigs in my Hair, accompanied by lovely photographs from Hamlin Grange. The chapters are well-written, straight from her heart, the vivid descriptions leaving me with the feeling that I was there, too, seeing all through her words. Although I knew I would love this book based on her earlier memoirs, ” A Good Home” and “And Honest House”, I found myself particularly moved by her latest work, as she takes her readers through her early days and gardens in Jamaica, her first real teacher and mentor, Mr. Smith, to all the various gardeners she has come to know, learn from and share with over the years. Beginning with her accounting of her elderly mentor Mr. Smith, it became apparent that one’s relationships with others need to be tended just like our gardens, each person being different, with different needs. Lives are gardens, blossoming and fruiting if carefully tended. Love of gardening and love of life, even in the face of physical adversity in the form of a serious accident, are the ties that bind this work to the heart of not only any gardener, but to anyone with an interest in life.
Created with GIMP
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Mr. Nano, ever watchful.
The Feline Correspondents Desk of Salmon Brook Farms received the sad news back in September that Lucky, occasional guest columnist and distinguished member of the Sicilian Feline Correspondents Desk has died. Lucky was recused from the streets by our friend M.G., who realized by his movements that he was blind. Lucky’s eyes were infected past the point of saving, requiring his eyes to be removed. He adapted beautifully to life on the olive farm, even climbing trees. On September 8th, his curiosity about the world outside the olive farm beckoned him to escape through a hole in the fence. He was struck by an automobile. Correspondent Lucky will be remembered for his plucky can-do spirit, and knowledge of olive farm operations.Mr. Nano, with the help of friends M.G. and J.P., will present the eulogy.
Correspondent Lucky, scouting for news in his beloved olive trees. Photo credit M.G.
When Lucky arrived on the olive farm in Sicily, he was a wild one, blind and injured, and trusted no one. Time and patience eventually won over this tough marmalade street cat, and Lucky became overseer of the farm and his caring humans. His communication style was unique, described as sounding much like a quacking duck. When he needed to check his surroundings or go exploring, he would extend his paw like a cane, and wave it around until he touched something solid, or found empty space. Lucky also knew when to turn left on the walkway around the house because he could sense the changes in the passing air.
Lucky holding court with fellow correspondents. Photo credit M.G.
In spite of his blindness, he could climb trees, climb up on rocks, tables and chairs. Always testing the boundaries, he learned how to push the window screens out and escape. Furniture had to be moved away from the windows, although this action did not deter him. Lucky would sit under the window, staring up, and planning his next escape. His veterinarian called him Houdini. Lucky was also clairvoyant, appearing to know when a sewing project was being planned. He could found napping in the middle of the fabric or in front of the sewing machine.
Lucky hard at work. Photo credit M.G.
One of Lucky’s favorite spots was under the grape arbor that covered the driveway. With his head pointed up, he could listen for the birds and track them with a unique head bobbing movement. Among his favorite locations was up the spiral stair case up to the terrace, where there was a birds nest behind one of the lights. He was not able to reach it, but the chirping and comings and goings of the birds fascinated him for hours.
Olive trees in bloom. Photo credit M.G.
Lucky took his gardening and olive tending activities seriously. He would be in the fresh tilled or planted beds or up the olive trees making his supervisory rounds. Lucky touched many people during his life. Friends who met him never forgot him and were fascinated by his ability to navigate blind. Correspondent Lucky will never be forgotten, and will always be loved.
Lucky on patrol in the olive farm garden. Photo credit M.G.
Lucky is survived by M.G. and J.P., and all the feline and canine residents of the olive farm.
– Resident Feline Correspondent Nano, reporting for Salmon Brook Farms
Sicilian countryside as seen from the olive farm. Photo credit M.G.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
For those readers who missed previous posts or are new to this blog, I will be posting on mostly seasonal basis now. Hopefully someday, I may be able to actually catch up on the many projects, including updating the pages associated with this blog, as well as stay in touch with all of you. I will keep the performance schedule updated regularly. New videos will follow as soon as I can get to it.
One of my favorite places on the coast!
Dorian Michael graciously invited me to play a couple of songs during one of his shows. Photo credit Rick Ross.
I bring three guitars along, the Martin, Guild, and my old Ventura. providing me with a larger palette from which to paint music. Photo credit Rick Ross.
If you are in the area and wish to see me play live, please visit the Performance Schedulepage in the ring menu at the top of this post.
The old Ventura 12 string I am playing here is no longer made. I have only come across one other one in all these years, and it was not made as well as this one. Photo credit Rick Ross.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTube channel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 16 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come! I am now almost sold out of CDs and must get to work on the new one.
For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos. There will be more videos when I can get back to this project.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site.
In the meantime, in your area, wherever you may be, please do all you can to help keep your own local music alive. Go out and see someone you don’t know, host a house concert, download songs or buy CDs. Or even just stop for a minute to hear someone at a Farmers’ Market. Live, local musicians provide a wealth of talent most people will never hear about in this age of iPods, Internet and TV.
Our feature photo this summer is of Queen Anne’s Lace. It was difficult to choose a favorite flower from the season’s parade of blooms, although at this time of year, this familiar wildflower with its lacy white umbrels can be seen practically everywhere along with the ubiquitous oxeye daisy.
The hardy yet delicate-looking Queen Anne’s Lace.
A neighboring field of oxeye daisy
News from the farm
With the month of May, came the time of irises and rhododendrons, heralds of summer. Each year is unique in how the oscillating weather patterns play out over the season, affecting bloom time and growth. The residual coolness this year prolonged the time we enjoyed some of our garden residents, as well as the symphony of chorus frogs whose music graced the late spring nights.
We planted this beauty last spring.
A few of these irises were given to us by a friend. There are now many of them.
Daylilies followed, along with spearmint in spires of pale lavender, attracting clouds of bees and various insects. Each passing year I watch the procession, never tiring of what nature sends us.
The color of summer, captured by a sun-dappled daylily growing beneath a crabapple tree.
The barrel of reblooming daylilies, hard at work.
The rains have since ceased. Late summer is harsh as the daytime temperature rises, cracking open the hard clay earth. Grass, a collection of hardy souls here in the Willamette Valley, goes dormant when not watered, taking on a whitish-tan hue, becoming brittle and cracking underfoot. Our gardens and plantings need spot watering and heavy mulching to stay alive. Some garden areas have gone feral while I have been occupied with other needs, needing no help from me, just yet.
Feral California poppy and sweet pea amid a bed of untended irises.
The dark green, hungry-looking maw of a developing feral sunflower that came up amid the roses.
That sunflower now has many colorful heads and little visitors.
One of our red roses unfolding. The mulch is sawdust, and helps with needing to water less often.
It is the seasons of dust devils in our area, those carefree vortices spinning lazily across farmland, spawned in the late summer heat after grass seed and wheat farms have harvested their crops. I noted my first one this year on July 23rd, while driving across the valley. I find myself patiently waiting for autumn’s cornucopia, and the first rains.
For Pacific Paratrooper – Michael’s tree is now taller than me!
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Mr. Nano, ever watchful.
The Feline Correspondents Desk is back at work after recovering from a respiratory illness earlier this summer that affected most of the crew, passing cat to cat, taking several weeks to recover from it. Mr. Nano, head of the Resident Feline Correspondent’s Desk, will provide a short essay for May, June and July.
Spring tarried a while this year, long and cool, accompanied by the nightly sounds of chorus frogs as darkness set in. She sent the rains, the moon bobbing along on her nocturnal cloudy seas, and the morning’s rain drenched flowers.
A clump of Dutch iris after a storm in May.
Our days grew longer as Old Sol approached his northernmost post, peering over the horizon, spilling golden light across a green land, sending the myriad drops of water on leaf and blade of grass into prismatic brilliance. Those who have witnessed sunrise, seen the gold upon the green, the sparkle of a new day, know an ephemeral wealth far greater than any jewel cut by Man. No day can be replicated, only appreciated in mind’s eye and felt in the soul.
Some cloud sport downward tails, appearing much like the trumpets of chanterelle mushrooms as seen looking up from the forest floor
I watched the glow one evening as molten golden-white clouds took on the longer peach and rose colored rays post sundown. The grey fox was sighted out back, leaping and prancing with his long brushy tail streaming out behind. Humans had only been walking through his area a few minutes earlier.
The longer rays light the clouds in a post sundown sky.
The tree swallows followed summer’s longer days, wheeling in the early evening sky, catching insects on the wing. Grass grew long and coarse, a house finch sat on the overhead electrical wires and sang his heart out to no one in particular. Goldfinches arrived, darting about the roses and out in main garden. A mole came up out of one hole, and went down another, a great blue heron flew overhead, long legs out behind, wings like oars methodically rowing across the river of sky, out towards the lake. Each species goes about life according to its own needs, in its own time and space, separate yet shared and connected, gears in the great clockwork of life.
Chive blooms from earlier this summer.
Now well past solstice, the days grow perceptibly shorter, and the transition of day into night seems different somehow, perhaps reminiscent of my own aging bones, knowing the road ahead is shorter than the road I have already traveled. The same barn lights glow softly on neighboring hills as night’s deepening veil rises in the east, and the last rays disappear below the horizon, as they always have done. Stars emerge, one by one, lighting the blackness of space, beacons for imagination. Another day has come to a close.
A spectacular sundown from October, 2018.
As always, we wish our readers a pleasant evening ahead, and safe travels to wherever their destination in life may lead them.
– Resident Feline Correspondent Nano, reporting for Salmon Brook Farms
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
For those readers who missed the spring post, I will be posting on mostly seasonal basis now. Hopefully someday, I may be able to actually catch up on the many projects, including updating the pages associated with this blog, as well as stay in touch with all of you. I will keep the performance schedule updated regularly.
The westbound PIE sign as seen on May 7th on the way to the Oregon coast. This time there was no traffic behind us, and Rick was able to slow down the car while I took this shot out the window.
If you are in the area and wish to see me play live, please visit the Performance Schedulepage in the ring menu at the top of this post.
The source of PIE, further on down the road. We did not check the odometer.
I have been enjoying playing over on the Oregon coast regularly. Rick has been an excellent driver, roadie and sound man. I grow his tomato, eggplant and pepper starts, and make wine for him from our grapes in autumn.
View from a scenic area on Route 101. Filtered light played on a thrashing silver-grey sea, the wind cool and refreshing with the light tang of salt. The Pacific has her own spirit and mood compared to her sister, the Atlantic, scents and sounds particular to her.
We stopped here for a quick look around.
We will come back and hike the trail.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTube channel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 16 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come!
For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos. There will be more videos when I can get back to this project.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site
In the meantime, in your area, wherever you may be, please do all you can to help keep your own local music alive. Go out and see someone you don’t know, host a house concert, download songs or buy CDs. Or even just stop for a minute to hear someone at a Farmers’ Market. Live, local musicians provide a wealth of talent most people will never hear about in this age of iPods, Internet and TV.
Our feature photo this spring is of a lively cluster of crabapple blossoms from April 25th.
One of my favorite trees. This one was grown from a 1 foot high start obtained from the National Arbor Day Foundation in 2004.
It is said that change is the one constant in life. My responsibilities and activities have been rapidly increasing over the last year, bringing more change to my own. I will be posting the Salmon Brook Farms blog less often now, so I may be able to actually catch up on farm, music and winemaking projects, including updating the pages associated with this blog, work on the book that my dear friend, blogger and author Cynthia Reyes has been gently nudging me to write, as well as stay in touch with our readers and their own endeavors. The format will remain the same, but will now have a more seasonal focus. The feline correspondents may actually find time to compile their journal notes into real essays, at least that is what I have asked them to do. We thank all our readers who have stayed with us as the blog site enters its sixth year, and our lives evolve. Life’s adventure here in Oregon continues.
News from the farm
After a relatively mild December and January, we experienced an unusual amount of snow for our area in late winter. The brown, dried skeletons of lemon balm stalks and seed heads caught the fine snow in small tufts, icy inflorescences that did not last the day of our first snowfall.
Dried stalks of lemon balm, February 2019.
Lured by increasing daylight and January’s relative warmth, irises and other early risers from the sleeping earth found themselves shivering in a frozen world. Green shoots, swelling buds and birdsong told of the coming spring, not far off, in spite of the cold and snow.
Green swords of iris making an entrance in February, only to find snow.
And of course, snow iris!
We found ourselves wielding snow shovels when the biggest storm hit, bringing back distant memories of life in another time back in New England. Snow has a way of softening sight and sound, lulling one into a sense of peace and tranquility. Dark forms of conifers, frosted white, loomed tall amid the mists and falling snow, giving the appearance of a scene one might typically find on a Christmas card. Little to no traffic except for snow plows passed by on the main road that day; I could hear birds singing somewhere off to the south. Shrubs and blueberry bushes were heavily bent earthward under the weight while daffodils by the old garage stood tall and perky up against the building where snow did not accumulate. There is something peaceful about watching snow fall, if one does not have to travel anywhere. Distances shrink, boundaries are softened, sounds and colors muted in a womb-like enclosure of white, a death waiting for rebirth in a state of colorless tranquility.
The farm in snow. We don’t usually see this much, if any.
Many days the surrounding hills and southwest pass were completely hidden behind the soft veil of light silver-grey, tendrils of fog curling and writhing before me, examining my presence. I could feel the water droplets that comprised it settling on my face, each drop an individual entity. Many small streams from melting snow and rain flowed toward the low areas, rippling and sparkling in the late winter sunlight.
Early March brought many cold mornings in the low 20s. Looking up into the starry blackness one such morning at 5:20 AM, I could almost feel the heat escaping from everything, including myself, radiating out into space. On mornings like this I have a much greater appreciation of our position, third planet from the sun, orbiting in a habitable zone, and just how much the sun’s warmth makes our present life here possible.
Spring arrived, as always, amid a riot of rainbows, catkins, blooms and new life in all forms. I found several osoberry bushes in the back lot, one of the first bloomers.
An intense rainbow in the east. A sign of peace.
Osoberry, also known as Indian plum.
Osoberry and lichen.
The annual symphony of chorus frogs performed magnificently in the many late winter and vernal pools on this farm we call home. Tree swallows have also returned, gracefully swooping about the farm and perching on the wires. Out in the back lot, blue camas are flowering. Cold hardy dandelions have been showing their faces about the farm for some time, and forming seed heads.
What I believe is a camas in bloom in the back lot.
A Dandelion in Winter.
Forming seeds.
Broccoli, sheltered under mini-greenhouses in the garden all winter, have been providing nutritious greens and stalks. They have started flowering, along with last year’s kale.
Overwintered broccoli. Quite tasty!
Old Man Winter and his companion Jack Frost have been slow to leave, and still send us an occasional night below freezing, even though the daytime temperature may rise into the 60s and 70s. They are headed north, climbing higher into the mountains as the sun rises further north along the eastern horizon. The air still feels crisp and cold here under the warm, golden light, their cold breath lingering in the foothills and shaded areas of the farm as April comes to a close.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Mr. Nano, ever watchful.
The Feline Correspondents Desk is back at work after a brief hiatus. Mr. Nano, head of the Resident Feline Correspondent’s Desk, has asked correspondent Miss Abby to file an essay about her observations from late winter through early spring, and about life in general as seen from the perspective of advanced years. Correspondent Abby has consulted her notes and has agreed to share the wisdom of her 17 years with readers. Without further ado, correspondent Miss Abby will present her essay.
Correspondent Abby, celebrating her 17th birthday this April.
I have reached a venerable age, having traveled around the sun and observed the changing of the seasons 17 times, although I still promptly greet all guests, and make them feel welcome in my home. I spend more time looking within, and dreaming, not only of what was, but where I am going in the years that are left to me.
Correspondent Abby, enjoying her shelf in the bookcase some years back.
With age comes that quiet realization one cannot jump as high, or as accurately as one did in their youth, and that to remain engaged in life, one must find other avenues of self-expression, while attempting to keep a positive demeanor as long as possible. The day will come, as it comes for all of us, when it is time to relinquish our past, with all the associated memories and emotions, and look forward into that bright abyss from which there is no return, following those before us. That is the nature of life and its cycles, as it plays out on this Earth, in this universe. There is no sadness, no regrets, only what is. Those to whom we mattered will remember, their memories of us evoked by some random sight, sound or scent, traveling on starlight, or distantly seen the moon’s soft, ghostly glow. We all walk among ghosts, including our own.
A sunset scene here from 2018.
Winter’s dark season has passed once again, barn lights on the distant hills glowing through the mists and snowfall like stars in hues of orange high pressure sodium and blue-green mercury vapor. Lichens, swollen with winter rain, helped catch and retain the fine coating of snow; trees, especially apple and plum, stood frosted with an icing of the first snowfall of the season. Mornings often came in silver-grey, soft and quiet. Green grass in the wetter areas poked up through the covering, a juxtaposition of spring green and winter white. After sunrise, milky white mists would coalesce and rise, floating up the hills and skyward with the sun.
Winter view of the hills to the south of the farm.
Spring came slowly, stealthily to the farm, changing the face of sunrise and sunset. The white mists of dawn ran like a river of spilled milk along the base of the hills to the south; dark forms of trees rose up from the vapors, waiting for sunrise to give them color and substance. The time between first light and the first rays of emerging sun is a magical time, quickly changing its character and mood on the threshold of a new day. Crepuscular wildlife can be seen going about their business on the farm. In evening, the final rays of sun as it disappears below the horizon mark day’s end, and the transition into night.
Day’s end as last colors are caught by clouds to the east.
The sun has made good progress northward towards its position at solstice along the eastern horizon. High ice clouds and contrails catch the longer wavelengths of pink and rose; each partly cloudy morning makes a different yet equally spectacular entrance in form and hue. Once the transitional colors have passed, the blue dome above is marbled with stark white, that in itself a miracle of Nature. Down below, filtered sun streams across spring’s emerald green growth; heavily dewed grass scintillates from a myriad tiny prisms. The mornings are lighter now as old Sol moves northward along the eastern horizon. Come solstice, he will be rising behind the trees on a neighboring property and more difficult to spot peering just over the horizon.
One evening I watched as thickening contrails and filamentous cirrus clouds had not yet occluded an almost full moon in the eastern sky, a ghostly white orb marbled with grey, like quartz tumbled by the sea. A chorus of frogs was singing in the vernal pools as the sun dipped below the horizon, and night approached. Somewhere up there above the chorus of late winter frogs and cloud cover that night, the moon was sailing in the blackness of space, staring back at her companion, this marbled bright blue gem called Earth.
As always, we wish our readers a pleasant evening ahead, and safe travels to wherever their destination in life may lead them.
– Resident Feline Correspondent Abby, reporting for Salmon Brook Farms
Miss Hope and Mr. Nano, enjoying quality time.
Sisters Blynken and Wynken enjoying quality time.
Sisters Blynken and Nod enjoying quality time.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
February, March were a relatively quiet month musically, with construction projects (some more difficult and time consuming than initially thought) and family matters taking precedence. I will be blog posting less often now, so I may be able to actually catch up on many projects, including updating the pages associated with this blog, as well as stay in touch with all of you. I will keep the performance schedule updated regularly.
If you are in the area and wish to see me play live, please visit the Performance Schedule page in the ring menu at the top of this post.
Live with the Martin, Guild and Ventura.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTube channel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 16 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come!
For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos. There will be more videos when I can get back to this project.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site
In the meantime, in your area, wherever you may be, please do all you can to help keep your own local music alive. Go out and see someone you don’t know, host a house concert, download songs or buy CDs. Or even just stop for a minute to hear someone at a Farmers’ Market. Live, local musicians provide a wealth of talent most people will never hear about in this age of iPods, Internet and TV.
Our feature photo this month is of a particularly beautiful sunrise on January 1st, starting off the new year on a colorful note.
Our morning sky on January 1, 2019.
The waning crescent moon hung in the sky accompanied by a bright planet.
Readers may click on any image in this post to enlarge. The moon and one bright planet (to the lower left of the moon) hung amid the pink clouds and early blue. I believe the planet pictured to the lower left of the moon here is Venus.
The 2nd of January was no less delightful, making her debut in pink, peach and blue. Dark branches of bare trees made a fine filigree set against an early sky.
Like waves reaching for the shore, the clouds this morning gave the appearance of rosy-peach colored white caps on morning blue seas.
Of Special Note to Readers
I am not someone who offers reviews of books, art or music, being neither qualified nor having the time, energy or interest to do so. I am an observer and recorder of life as it wanders through this farm, brushing against my own in some way I find meaningful to share with others once every month, sometimes two, and I am very grateful to all who have stopped by to view the reflections of it in the still waters of my words and photographs. Artists, musicians, photographers and writers are among the regular visitors here on this blog site, and I cherish all of you, not only for your individual creativity, but for whom you are as people. That said, there are times when someone’s work comes to my attention, not only for the quality of the individual work, but for something I find inexpressible, something I find of far greater value to society than the sum of its parts.
Author Cynthia Reyes, and her then 4 year old daughter Lauren, and Cabbage Patch doll Quentin.
Cynthia Reyes, a former journalist, producer-director and executive producer with the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, turned to blogging and writing after a serious car accident derailed her career. I thoroughly enjoyed her first two books, A Good Home and An Honest House, both memoirs, but it was Myrtle the Purple Turtle, a children’s book of all things, that spoke to my heart. The story was written to comfort her four year old daughter Lauren, who had been bullied at school for bringing a black Cabbage Patch doll named Quentin. The other children told her they would not play with her if she brought the black doll along, because they thought it was dirty. Over a period of weeks, the family worked on improving the story until all were happy with it, and many years later, in 2017, it finally became a published children’s book.Myrtle the Purple Turtletells the tale of her initial heartbreak at learning she is different, and being bullied for that, but in the end comes to respect herself for who she is, with the help of her friends. In my enthusiasm for the message behind this book, I gave a copy to our local library for the children’s section, sent a copy to Operation Respect, and also sent one to Scott Simon at NPR. I would love to hear Scott interview Cynthia and Lauren someday!
Cynthia, her daughter Lauren, and students.
I was pleased to learn that Cynthia and her daughter Lauren Reyes-Grange have jointly written a sequel to Myrtle the Purple Turtle titled Myrtle’s Game, which expands upon the lesson of acceptance to include working and playing together in spite of our differences. The illustrations by Jo Robinson in both books are beautifully done; the colors vibrant and rich, the animals expressive. My hope is that there will be a entire series of Myrtle books to encourage young people to grow up leading more tolerant, happier lives. It is unfortunate that books like Myrtle the Purple Turtle and Myrtle’s Game did not exist back in my childhood days. They should be required reading in the classroom. I believe Myrtle is a great educational tool for teaching the Golden Rule. For all of us who share this one Earth, it is really the only one we need to remember.
News from the farm
The dark month of December has come and gone, a time of death and rebirth, the cold earth sleeping yet quietly incubating life for the coming spring. The first shoots of January’s daffodils were emerging in December, even as our old Willow cat took her last breath, joining the ranks of the sleeping. Come spring, her daffodils will bloom, and I will see her peering out from behind the golden cups, calling me to play. She loved the sun and its golden warmth.
Willow in younger years.
Trees also come and go here. These old friends do not have the option of moving themselves out of harm’s way. These stoic individuals, rooted in place, must endure weather, pests and the whims of mankind. We lost our big black locust tree to construction equipment’s needs, but still have a smaller one which had grown from the roots of another locust lost in a windstorm back in 2006. I will remember the fragrant, creamy blossoms, and bees attracted to the heady scent and promise of nectar. The tree service company was requested to give the firewood to a family in need.
Creamy white locust blooms from 2017. I will miss this tree.
The black locust tree after an ice storm in 2016, covered in icy jewels and sparkled like diamonds in he sun.
Other trees and some gardens were impacted by construction projects and equipment, and will need serious repair. A large redbud tree up front was lost as the result of a car going off the road and crashing through the tree, snapping it off at the base. These trees are beautiful, but seem to have brittle wood. I will not plant another one of these ornamental trees up front, although perhaps in the back if my cuttings from this fallen beauty manage to root. I had watched it grow over the last 15 years, having planted it and its smaller partner tree back in 2004 from roughly 1 foot high starts obtained from the National Arbor Day Foundation. The smaller partner tree also suffered some minimal damage, and we will see how it fares this summer.
I will miss this tree. We still have the smaller of the two redbuds left.
The old black tartarian cherry tree still graces the back lot, minus some limbs and a few side roots. The garden there is intact, but has a gravel road running right past it now, and that bed will require attention and reworking very soon.
The cherry tree garden will be much closer to the cherry tree on the front side, as a gravel road runs right past it now. We avoided having to have this tree cut down. The garden will have more of a horseshoe shape to it this year.
The days are noticeably longer now, although clouds and mists hold the winter’s chill; I must keep moving to stay warm out there. Daylilies have emerged, and are already several inches high. Some have divided beyond their original borders and will need moving to spots where I feel their summer beauty and protective nature would help some of the apple trees. I am acutely aware of the passage of time, and nature’s gathering surge; it is time to attend the gardens, trees and vines. She will not wait for me, and says I am already a bit late; catching up will be difficult. I give her a nod, and tell her I will do my best. Rick has already begun work in the vineyards.
Daylily bed from 2017.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Mr. Nano, ever watchful.
The Feline Correspondents Desk was closed during December in honor and remembrance of fellow correspondent Willow. Mr. Nano , head of the Resident Feline Correspondent’s Desk, has asked correspondent Miss Blynken, to file a brief report of her observations from January, even though the farm photographer was unavailable to help her. Miss Blynken has consulted her notes and has agreed to share some of her entries that she feels may be noteworthy to readers, and hopes her words will suffice for lack of photos. Without further ado, correspondent Miss Blynken will present her report.
Correspondent Miss Blynken, facing the camera. She is pictured here with her sister and fellow correspondent, Miss Wynken.
January 1, 2019
Dawn arrived, colorful and cold at 24 degrees. The undersides of clouds reflected the rose colors from the longer rays from the sun, still well below the horizon. A single planet and the crescent moon hung in a Maxfield Parrish blue sky. Even a minute or two makes a difference at the bookends of the day, the colors quickly taking on the shorter, brighter wavelengths of peach, cream and finally stark white. Our sky soon populated with clouds, leaving winter grey and filtered sunlight until the herd moved on up the valley, leaving mostly ice crystal cirrus, some formed by spreading early morning contrails. Every drop still clinging to tree, shrub, rosebush and blade of grass scintillates in the angled light, a good omen for the year.
January 4, 2019
A variably partly cloudy day reaching the low 50s, clouds just as soft looking as the air felt mild and springlike. Filaments of cirrus, high level ice clouds, marbled the blue above the breaks in river of moisture headed northeast.
I can see some stars overhead, but barn lights on the distant hills reveal a growing fog at ground level as the temperature falls.
January 5, 2019
A variably cloudy day with some periods of sun, peaking in the higher 40s. A freak wind squall came through this evening. I could see stars through patches of cloud and driving rain. A few strategic plastic cross member supports gave way, destroying the small greenhouse on the porch. Most of the strawberries and the tray of garlic starts survived. There will be a lot of work tomorrow cleaning up the area, and seeing what else gave way in the night.
January 12, 2019
A frosty 26 degrees under mostly clear skies this morning, warming into the high 40s. Everywhere daffodils and more ambitious winter shoots are poking above the soil, lured by the increasing daylight and relatively mild weather. By the old garage, daffodils will bloom soon in this protected space.
A clear calm, and cold evening in progress. It is already down in the 30s. An old friend, the constellation Orion, is overhead. I can pick out a few others.
January 15, 2019
Barely 32 this morning before 7:00 AM. The sky has been mostly overcast, with a few breaks to the south-southwest which seem to be filling in. The sun is attempting to burn a hole through the cloud cover in the southeast, and appears as a bright glowing orb behind sintered glass.
January 16, 2019
Barely 32 degrees under mostly cloudy skies at dawn. The sun rose about 5 minutes ago amid a clearing sky of passing smudges of cloud, spreading contrails and bright filamentous flows of cirrus. It is still, and peaceful.
The clearing skies of early morning did not last long, and our sun soon became a bright light behind a sintered glass disc before disappearing entirely behind a thickening cloud cover and light rain. Another raw day in the lower 40s.
January 17, 2019
A balmier 43 degrees this morning under mostly cloudy skies. The air felt as soft as a fuzzy cat’s tail. There were enough breaks in the clouds to allow the longer, redder rays to catch on the undersides of clouds. Sunrise was mantled in lavender and gold, quite pleasing to behold.
PM PST: Our high was somewhere in the mid 40s, with some morning sun, soon returning to silver-grey followed by charcoal grey, heavy skies and light rain. A stiff, biting wind from the south-south west made it feel colder than it was. The sun made a brief appearance again at sundown.
January 18, 2019
A chilly 34 degrees under generally overcast skies. Any hint of clearing has vanished in the east as the thickening clouds in the southwest slowly advance up the pass. The grey has a hint of blue steel to it today, making it feel colder than it is. The sun weakly shines through the veil of thinner cover in the southeast, as if a light source behind sintered glass. The winds are absent at ground level. Everything waits.
January 20, 2019
Mists have been wandering through the farm this morning, with a very light wind from the west at ground level. The neighboring properties where vegetation has been grazed down to nothing are rutted and flooded, the sort of mild winter conditions nutria would enjoy, but I haven’t seen them, or any sign of them, in a long time.
January 26, 2019
The first glimmers of eastern light at 6:37 AM are visible. A clear sky dawn graced with stars, planets and a bright half-moon overhead, the night’s citizens retreating as the light grows and spreads, chasing them westward. Barn lights on the distant hills glow softly in shades of blue-green and pale orange. I love the transitional times of the day, the time between the dark and the light. It is a cold one out there at 29 degrees on the porch thermometer. I can smell fireplaces burning, and some burning plastic amid the woodsmoke from folks burning things they should not be burning.
The mists thicken and rise, obliterating the hills except for the dark forms of trees higher up the slope, and the barn lights in shadow further down still glowing like beacons. The white icy sheen on the grass will disappear quickly once the sun has risen and temperatures rise. Our local forecast is for clouds and mid 50s. It remains to be seen what the day will actually bring.
January 27, 2019
35 degrees and a thick ground fog out there in the morning darkness. It must be clear above it all, as I can see the veiled, waning moon overhead.
A cold, damp day in the mid 40s in spite of some good filtered sun. The morning mists never quite cleared, and a mist roller crept down from the mountains to the east by afternoon, the cold breath of the mountains on a slow moving ground breeze that was palpable in its moisture content.
We are fully encased in palpable fog this evening, and I watched it writhe in the beam of a flashlight. On nights like these, fog feels like a living thing that could ingest one, and not leave a trace. It is already down in the 30s, and will be quite cold by morning.
January 30, 2019
A silver crayon morning at 28 degrees, is what Jack Frost’s handiwork looks like, cold and glittering lines upon this first page in morning’s sketchbook. Our skies are mostly clear except for thin, high clouds and contrails in the east, which are reflecting the peach colors emanating from below the horizon at this time. Even the thickening mists at ground level are taking on color as they form and rise. All is still, and frost covered, but will thaw as the sun climbs. Sunrise, as we see it here from the view of the geologic bowl in which this farm sits, is now at 8:05 AM, and old Sol is slowly working his way north along the horizon. At Equinox, sunrise will shine directly in the east window.
More sunrise clouds from January 2nd.
As always, we wish our readers a pleasant evening ahead, and safe travels to wherever their destination in life may lead them.
– Resident Feline Correspondent Blynken, reporting for Salmon Brook Farms
Correspondent Miss Blynken (in back) with her sister Miss Wynken (long haired cat in front), gathering news.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
January has been a relatively quiet month musically, with construction projects (some more difficult and time consuming than initially thought) and family matters taking precedence.
If you are in the area and wish to see me play live, please visit the Performance Schedulepage in the ring menu at the top of this post.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTube channel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 15 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come!
For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos. There will be more videos when I can get back to this project.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSICin the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site.
In the meantime, in your area, wherever you may be, please do all you can to help keep your own local music alive. Go out and see someone you don’t know, host a house concert, download songs or buy CDs. Or even just stop for a minute to hear someone at a Farmers’ Market. Live, local musicians provide a wealth of talent most people will never hear about in this age of iPods, Internet and TV.
Willow, taken back in October, 2015. One can see the love between these two elder ladies, one human, one feline. Rick’s mother, holding her here in this photo, passed away in December, 2015. Willow has now joined her elderly companion.
There comes a time when the body is too worn and tired to continue, and the spirit longs for freedom from it. Willow, by all reckoning 22 years old, had been losing ground to extreme old age and failing kidneys. The intervals between her trips to her veterinarian had become shorter and shorter this year, and she had been placed on subcutaneous fluids for hydration these last few weeks. There came the dreaded but expected morning when she made it known that it was time to assist her departure from this life, with all the infirmities of her age and chronic illness. She went for her last ride to her veterinarian that afternoon. We are extremely grateful to River’s Edge Pet Medical Center for their compassion and support.
Willow, in younger days, reading a card from her friends, Doug (human), Andy and Dougy (cats) over at Weggie Boy’s Blog, https://phainopepla95.com/ Doug has Wegener’s granulomatosis- now called GPA- that attacks the small and medium-sized blood vessels in the body, and is on dialysis due to kidney failure.
Willow was laid to rest the following morning at sunrise, on the farm she loved so well, facing the eastern light.
It is here I will close my own thoughts, and leave readers with an eloquent note I received from an old friend and long-time mentor, back in 2015 when Rick’s mother passed away. We had cared for his mother in our home for over three years, until her body finally gave in to the infirmities of old age. Willow, her elderly companion cat, was there with her when she died. This note from our friend still brings us great comfort.
“I join you in your sorrow and joy. I am aware that getting old is mostly a matter of letting things go, giving up many thoughts and dreams that we compile during our lives. I have come to believe a page from the Buddhist philosophy, dependency arising. All things are connected to all things. Nothing happens without a ripple through the universe whether we are able to perceive it or not.
I also believe it has been a blessing that she was surrounded by the cats and the farm, all the things that speak of life with their cycles and acceptance of all that happens. A few days ago I had a five minute stare down with a four point buck and several does. He was a little curious but very separate with his little family. He was also fearless and accepting of our sharing a space and time. Eventually he went back to eating and I went along my way. The does weren’t concerned in the slightest.
There’s nothing special in that five minutes except that we are all here, we all have our part to play and then we go forward to whatever dimension is next. The rest of us remain with our memories, selecting out the good and mostly letting the rest fade away. While I’m in no hurry, to me Death is a friend whom I’ll have plenty of time to get to know in the future. I’m watching the seasons come and go with more intensity than ever before.
You and Rick have come through a very difficult time that has increased the wear and tear on both you. You are changed by it as we all are by every difficulty that comes our way. Now is the time to sit back quietly for a short while and cement the good while letting the bad find it’s own way down the road. I admire your strength and fortitude tremendously, both of you. I want you to finish out this winter and walk into spring with all of its new promise. I hope you will find renewed happiness in the renewed season. – K. December, 2015”
Our feature photo this month is of a particularly interesting sunset cloudscape from November 27th. I was captivated by the sense of depth, texture and mood presented on this particular evening.
Sunset clouds on November 27th.
Each day is unique, quietly revealing ephemeral treasures to those who take the time to look for them.
Heart of blue amid stormy skies.
Sunset in pink.
The transition into night is a time for reflection as the day comes to an end; the purple veil in the east rises earlier and earlier as the season progresses. Our November moon is waning, just past last quarter, rising later each evening. She is a beacon for all who wander about in the darkness, observing the heavens. We will not see her tonight due to heavy cloud cover and rain.
Night draws closer as the sun drops further below the horizon.
Early morning is a beautiful, contemplative time of day; silver-grey mists form and rise, taking the sunrise colors of pink and gold, and finally stark white when the sun has climbed well above the horizon. They will quickly drift away as cloud.
Early morning mists.
Morning contrails.
News from the farm
It is the time of year when the farm may stand enshrouded in heavy fog all day, with no sign, no hint of the blue river above the soft, quiet coverlet of mist and low cloud. Occasional pockets of cold air moving at ground level brush against my face and arms as they wander across the farm, like the touch of passing ghosts, sentient and otherworldly.
A doe and her offspring grazing along the row of table grapes back in October. Click on any photo in this post to enlarge.
The months of October and November marched on through the farm in the yearly parade of seasonal produce, changing colors, turbulent skies, windstorms, falling leaves and deer in search of greenery. Jack Frost, herald of Old Man Winter, has come by on clear nights with his silver brush, leaving a trail of both scintillating sunlit morning beauty and destruction in his wake. The persimmon tree, and some types of apples, welcome his return with sweeter fruit after a good frosting.
Lovage growing in a half barrel sports a light covering of frost. The lovage clump did not appreciate Jack Frost’s visit.
Our beautiful old persimmon tree, festooned with fruit and colorful leaves.
Apples on a frosty morning.
Most leaves except for the marcescent have fallen, and have been raked up and placed in garden beds to help build the soil. The last roses of the season have bloomed; I lost a dear relative to extreme old age; the eldest of our cats now lives on borrowed time, the endless cycle of life of which all of us are a part. We all have our time. It has been a bitter-sweet season, and when darkness falls, I find myself thinking of a Maori evening prayer I learned from a friend in New Zealand. Safe and warm inside, the Christmas cactus enters its bloom cycle again. Outside, a lone red rosebud which never opened remains tightly folded against the cold.
Ross were still vibrant and blooming in late October.
Rosé wine from our own pinot noir is still cold stabilizing on the lees; samples were taken for evaluation today. I processed and fermented two batches of our best pinot noir grapes, selected and harvested by Rick, within a week of each other. Epernay 2 yeast (Red Star Cotes des Blanc) was used for its characteristics, as was done the previous year. Rick found both samples acceptable, they will be bottled soon.
Rick, hard at work evaluating the new rosé wine with food.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Mr. Nano, ever watchful.
Mr. Nano contacted the Sicilian Feline Correspondents Desk for this month’s report, as old Willowis seriously under the weather and receiving much attention. Her kidneys are failing, and she is currently on subcutaneous fluids. For readers familiar with the BBC/ PBS series Poldark, Mr Nano is of the opinion Willow would have made a most fitting old Aunt Agatha Poldark, as played by Caroline Blakiston. One a geriatric feline, the other a fictional human, both are beloved to those who understand and appreciate their unique spirits.
Willow in earlier times, reading a card from her friends Doug (human), Dougy (cat) and Andy(cat). Willow is not well these days.
Without further ado, Sicilian feline correspondent Lucky and his fellow correspondents from the olive farm present their findings on life in the Sicilian countryside. Readers may note from previous posts that Lucky is blind, and although his acute hearing, exceptional navigational abilities and sense of olfaction are invaluable to his reports, his fellow correspondents have provided all the visual descriptions. Olive farmers and photographers M. and J. have kindly provided the photos of their farm in Sicily used in Lucky’s report.
Autumn on the Olive Farm in the Sicilian Countryside
Autumn arrived, bringing more rain than is seen in a normal year for our region. Between August and October, almost a year’s worth of rain fell, making tilling the ground and harvesting olives extremely difficult. Fortunately, we did not have to harvest olives this year. The previous year, a bountiful harvest gave us enough oil to last two years, allowing one time enjoy reading and strolling through garden and olive grove.
Although Lucky is now blind, he understands the value of reading. Photo credit M.G.
While making my daily rounds, I happened upon a visitor lurking in the lavender, an Acherontia atropos, more commonly known as a subspecies of the Death’s head hawkmoth. As an adult it is commonly identified by the vaguely skull-shaped pattern adorning the thorax.
A hawk moth caterpillar. Photo credit M.G.
Due to unusual weather, a prickly pear plant with a flower, opuntus fica-indica, was found near others bearing their fall fruit.
Prickly pear cactus in flower. Photo credit M.G.
Prickly pear with fruit. Photo credit M.G.
The array of autumn colors was stunning. Fiery pyracantha presented its bright orange berries while the Lantana burst with red flowers.
Pyracantha. Photo credit M.G.
Lantana. Photo credit M.G.
Fall irises and golden oxalis were nestled in along the path while wild mushrooms were discovered scattered throughout the field, much to my delight.
Iris. Photo credit M.G.
Oxalis. Photo credit M.G.
As always, we wish our readers a pleasant evening ahead, and safe travels to wherever their destination in life may lead them.
– Lucky, Sicilan Feline Correspondent, reporting for the House of Many Paws
Correspondent Lucky, at home in Sicily.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
I was privileged to be accepted into the Spokane Fall Folk Festival again this year. Once again, we saddled up a trusty vehicle and made the trip up over the Cascades, through eastern Oregon and on to Spokane in eastern Washington. We stopped to eat at the Black Bear Diner, our favorite breakfast place.
The Black Bear Diner in Madras, Oregon. The bear is still driving the truck.
I was pleased to have a good set, superb sound engineers and an appreciative audience. It was all I could have asked for at the festival.
A blurry photo as the flash was unfortunately off, and the hand of the photographer unsteady as my own. Photos of all the performers can be found on the festival’s site.
If you are in the area and wish to see me play live, please visit the Performance Schedulepage in the ring menu at the top of this post.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTube channel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 15 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come!
For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos. There will be more videos when I can get back to this project.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSICin the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site.
In the meantime, in your area, wherever you may be, please do all you can to help keep your own local music alive. Go out and see someone you don’t know, host a house concert, download songs or buy CDs. Or even just stop for a minute to hear someone at a Farmers’ Market. Live, local musicians provide a wealth of talent most people will never hear about in this age of iPods, Internet and TV.
Ourfeature photo this month is of an orb weaver spider found inhabiting the northwest border of the farm. Although not as large or colorful as the resident orb weaver from 2017, I was quite taken with the intricate design on this one.
Our 2018 resident orb weaver, sporting some striking markings.
Rather camera shy, she fled into the arbor vitae and this photo was the best one I was able to take of her. A very brief rain and wind squall took down her web. We hope she was safely ensconced in the arbor vitae until she can rebuild.
On the other hand, our 2017 orb weaver in the garden was quite willing to be photographed from many angles, and was featured in our August 2017 post, where she is presenting her best pose.
Our orb weaver from 2017, a bit larger and more colorful.
News from the farm
The month of September has passed, along with summer’s intensive heat. Even on an aberrant late September day in the low 90s, the sun coming in at a much lower angle is much more pleasant in mid afternoon. Although still fairly dry, rain has come in small amounts in the form of misting rain or brief squalls. Not enough precipitation has fallen to soak the hard, sun-baked clay soil, only just enough to wet flower, leaf and stem, with promises of more to come.
After a brief storm, roses were beaded and heavy with raindrops.
The leaves seem more intensively colorful this year, showing a bit more orange and gold among the usual paler yellows and crumpled browns. Perhaps it is all my perception, wishing this year’s work on all fronts to be completed as soon as possible, so I may rest, dormant until spring might awaken me in all its floral abundance and sense of wonder at the annual renewal of life. Dormancy is never an option here, though; life only slows down, temporarily. Yet I would hold onto this transitional time of year, savor all its sights, scents and sounds. The unique sense of clarity in autumn’s low angled light, the touch of warm sunshine and cooler air on the skin, the colorful cloudscapes at the bookends of the day are all unique to the transitional seasons here, although autumn wields a special magic all her own in this season of falling leaves and bounty from garden, orchard and vineyard.
Developing apple in progress!
Cascade table grapes behind bird netting. They are providing good eating!
Suffolk Red table grapes behind bird netting. Ready to harvest any time now.
A good supply of plums have been dried and stashed away for the winter months. There are days when I feel much in common with some of the little fellows in the order Rodentia during the late summer and autumn months of food preservation and storage. In the old doublewide “farmhouse” that stood on the same site as our present home, wild mice bunking in for the winter would bring in hazelnuts and store them in my boots, which were kept in the back extension. For good reasons, we nicknamed that house “The Mouse Hotel”. At night, stray hazelnuts energetically rolled down the inner walls, sounding much like bowling balls fired down an alley, the final crash at the bottom reminiscent of a multiple pin strike. I sometimes wondered if the mice up in the ceiling were gleefully squeaking, “Strike!” Perhaps the old house should have been named “Murine Lanes”. Fortunately there are no signs of mice in the new home, now 6 years old, and the youngest cats, now 5 years old, are content to be the lead investigators regarding any anomalous noises.
The Boys of Salmon Brook Farms, Mr. Lucio (left), Mr. Nano (center) and Mr. Marcus (right), keeping vigil in the old house. That house did have bigger windows, which they enjoyed very much. The only cat from that time period to ever catch a house mouse was Abby, who has been blind in one eye since before we acquired her. Nothing escaped her one good eye. She will be 17 years old next spring.
Our pinot noir grapes are almost ready to press for wine now, and other tasks will wait while grapes are harvested, crushed and the grape must (juice) inoculated with Epernay II yeast. Our goal is to make a rosé wine as good or better than our 2017 vintage.
A small number of pinot noir grapes from our 2017 harvest, enough to squeeze juice to fill a 16 qt sock pot for inoculation.
2017 harvest and crush – all done by hand for small test batches.
Rick, our Quality Control person, personally testing two different batches at lunch last year.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Resident feline correspondent and head of the local correspondents desk Mr. Nano has agreed to let correspondent Miss Nod present September’s report. She has been gathering news from the various window stations, and keeping a journal, from which she would like to share a few selected entries, which she feels would give readers the sense of wonder she experiences here. The farm photographer agreed to assist her. Without further ado, Miss Nod will present her report.
Feline correspondent Miss Nod, conducting an eye to eye interview.
Wednesday, September 5, 2018
It was a beautiful late summer evening, passing all too quickly, as they all do. It was a bit warmer today, which enlivened the stridulators’ evening symphony. A light veil of thin clouds gathered in the west, catching the last glimmer of deepening rose on their undersides, was noted past sundown. The last bit of light disappeared from view around 8:30 PM, the sun headed ever westward. Somewhere in the world, dawn is always breaking.
Sunrise on the farm, September 17, 2018.
Friday, September 7, 2018
In the predawn hours, I noted the constellation Orion near the horizon in east. Towards sunrise, the silhouette of the waning crescent moon hung low in the eastern sky, as the first rays from below the horizon lit up the underside of morning clouds, a beautiful scene to hold in mind’s eye.
A variety of cloud forms noted today, from long, sweeping cirrus mares’ tails to cirrocumulus and altocumulus along with a lower trail of smoky, dusty pall that crept in on September 6th.
A beautiful sundown tonight. One must be quick with the camera at the bookends of the day, when lighting changes rapidly. Nature waits for no one.
Saturday, September 8, 2018
56 degrees and mostly overcast at daybreak, with a narrow blue rift in the bank of clouds to the south. I watched the doe and fawn for a while this morning, grazing out at the edge of the hazelnut grove. The fawn was running high speed circles and figure 8s for the sheer joy of it, the strong legs and spirited heart of youth at work on a cool morning. The doe would join her offspring now and then, but only racing a few strides before returning to foraging. Mother had her own priorities.
Monday, September 10, 2018
Clouds crept in overnight, allowing a warmer morning today at 55 degrees. A light misting rain fell at daybreak. Not enough to soak the ground, just enough to caress the earth and tired vegetation with promises of more to come later. The ceiling soon fractured into heavy cumulus clouds. The cumulus grew fat and woolly during the day, feeding on the aerial river of moisture coming up the Willamette Valley. Stark white to pendulous and grey, these wanderers headed north, sometimes straying over the Cascade foothills to the east.
Thursday, September 13, 2018
A cool, relatively cloudless evening in progress, with a growing, thin crescent moon above, a clear silhouette of the dark side present forming the illusion of an eye trained out into the greater Universe. The temperature is already in the low 50s and dropping. It will be cold in the morning unless a new blanket of clouds buffers the fields and garden from the night’s chill.
Saturday, September 15, 2018
41 degrees before sunrise under mostly clear skies, which are now filling in quickly. The rapidly changing cloud forms are fascinating to watch, especially at the bookends of the day when light levels change rapidly. A few cirrus here and there become long rows of cirrocumulus, looking like corduroy patterns in the sky.
Sundown on the 17th of September. The photographer missed the sunrise clouds on September 15th.
Wednesday, September 19, 2018
Down in the low 40s this morning at sunrise under mostly clear skies. The season of thick morning mists that stratify, curl and wind among the hills is here. Eventually they rise along with the climbing sun, and drift away over the mountains.
The mists of dawn on September 17th. Soon they will rise and drift away as cloud.
A mostly clear evening in progress, with a waxing gibbous moon overhead shining down upon the nightly stridulators still singing out the end of summer.
Thursday, September 20, 2018
I watched a most beautiful end of day present itself, complete with the rising purple veil of night in the east, a golden gibbous moon overhead, and the fading glow of the sun to the west, which had just gone below the horizon. The summer stridulators are still performing nightly in this fine transitional weather.
Saturday, September 22, 2018
It is 58 degrees at 9:19 PM under a fractured night sky, and a gibbous golden moon peering out from behind the galleons sailing by.
Shadows and light from earlier in the day on September 22nd.
Tuesday, September 25, 2018
Young ladybugs were found in the greenhouse, under a strawberry leaf, sitting among the remnants of the egg cases. The nymphs had metamorphosed into tiny adults. They had been feeding off of aphids, some still visible on the underside of the leaf along the mid rib.
Click on photo to enlarge. The photographer returned the ladybugs to the greenhouse after documentation.
Sunday, September 23, 2018 – Autumnal Equinox
45 degrees and mostly cloudy at daybreak, the official first day of the fall season. A daily pattern can be seen now of mists that stratify and rise with the sun, coalescing into ragged clouds that wander away to the north or east over the Cascades. We soon had an autumnal blue sky with patches of cloud, and light breezes stirring about the farm.
Tuesday, September 25, 2018
A chilly 37 degrees under clear skies before sunrise. The purple veil of night rolled away to the west, accompanied by the bright, full moon majestically set upon it. Mists stratify and wind around the hills, thick in the low areas, but soon rising and drifting away. I particularly enjoy these times when night is caught running westward while the brightening new day draws near the eastern horizon. One leaving, one arriving, different colors and moods.
A closer view of sundown on September 17th.
A warmer, summer-like day, rising into the low 80, with a few scant cirrus clouds. The sun is still quite warm, although not so intense. I have been watching its progress south along the eastern ridge at sunrise, and south along the far hills at sunset. A mostly clear night in progress. A deer took off down the driveway after dark.
Thursday, September 27, 2018
It was not quite 44 degrees under clear skies just before sunrise. A waning gibbous moon hangs higher and higher in the western sky each morning, an apparent retrograde movement of the orbiting body to the observer. Mostly clear skies and as warm as a summer day at 87 today, although the sun was not as intense, being at a lower angle at this time of year. The air has a slight nip to it by sundown, even after a warm day. A time to observe pink contrails forming in the western sky, and the rapidly changing colors of any clouds present as the sun continues to sink below the horizon. They eventually fade to lavender, then grey, as night overtakes them.
Saturday, September 29, 2018
A brief thunderstorm dropped 5 minutes of rain, cooling things off and making creating one of the most beautiful and colorful cloudscapes towards sundown.
We wish our readers a pleasant evening ahead, and safe travels to all wherever their destination in life may lead them.
-Resident Feline Correspondent Nod, reporting for Salmon Brook Farms
Wishing our readers safe travels to wherever their destination in life may lead them.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
A couple of musicians I know from the Corvallis Folklore Society, Kurt Smith and Dick Thies, performing at the Corvallis Wednesday Market on September 26th.
Kurt Smith and Dick Thies at the Corvallis Wednesday Farmers Market on September 26, 2018. A thoroughly enjoyable show, and great sign on Kurt’s wagon.
September was a relatively quiet one musically, as most of my time was involved in projects here and working extra time. I am looking forward to October!
If you are in the area and wish to see me play live, please visit the Performance Schedule page in the ring menu at the top of this post.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTube channel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 15 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come!
For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos. There will be more videos when I can get back to this project.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archivesite.
In the meantime, in your area, wherever you may be, please do all you can to help keep your own local music alive. Go out and see someone you don’t know, host a house concert, download songs or buy CDs. Or even just stop for a minute to hear someone at a Farmers’ Market. Live, local musicians provide a wealth of talent most people will never hear about in this age of iPods, Internet and TV.
Our feature photo for August is of a resident crab spider that has ambushed an unwary visitor to this lovely rose. I have often found these spiders inhabiting floral truck stops in the gardens, waylaying assorted pollinators that have come seeking refreshment, and sometimes a place to spend the night, amid the beautiful but potentially deadly blooms.
An unwary visitor has been captured by this flower’s resident crab sider.
News from the farm
The air has been hazy with dust from agriculture, and smoke from field burning and distant fires. There is little to no rain, and what seems like endless days in the 90s. Rooted in place, trees, shrubs and other plant life stoically wait out the dry season, the only indication of their stress noted in their dry, drooping leaves. We spot water the most needy, conserving water and well pump.
We have four young pinot meunier vines that were given to us. They came from a heritage block up around Newberg, Oregon. A place has been found in the vineyard to grow these youngsters who will require water until they are established.
August is the primary month to view dust devils, those carefree vortices seen spinning lazily across farmland after grass seed, wheat and straw have been harvested in Oregon’s Willamette Valley. Impressively large machines harvest, plow and pulverize the soil, sending the dust of Oregon swirling up into the atmosphere until early summer’s azure blue has taken on tones of tan and grey. The clarity of light noted earlier this summer is now gone, and will not return for some time. As this month of heat and dust comes to a close, we are grateful for this year’s bounty of fruit and vegetables, and anxiously wait for the grape harvest and this year’s wine.
Pinot noir before covering with insect netting. It is a heavy yellow jacket year here.
Insect netting was quite effective last year, and worth the investment.
We have a short row of Early Muscat and Gewürztraminer. The grapes shown here are Early Muscat.
It is cooling down sooner in the evenings now as the last light fades and the stellar community reveals itself, as a symphony of stridulators performs in the growing darkness. The rising veil of night in the east comes earlier; the calendar shows we are only about three weeks now from autumnal equinox.
Sunset on the 29th of August.
The same sunset, a short time later.
A week earlier, I saw one of our grey foxes one evening when I was finishing up watering the garden. A sleek healthy fox had flushed a dove, and was chasing it down past the garden where I stood not 50 feet away. The fox was not quick enough, and the bird escaped the jaws of death yet another day. Looking longingly after a lost meal, our fox sat down, unaware of my presence, turning to look at me only when I called to him. He moved only when I went out the gate, disappearing back into the woodland, long brushy tail streaming out behind.
We have been enjoying eating fresh plums and apples right off the trees these days, as well as blackberries, raspberries and tomatoes. We are grateful for all that we have, and consider ourselves very lucky to be here on this farm. Life is good.
Raspberries, variety “Amity”.
Raspberries, variety “Autumn Bliss”.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Resident feline correspondent and head of the local correspondents desk Mr. Nano is still on vacation this month, sleeping off the summer heat and enjoying the breezes coming in the window. Miss Wynken of the Three Sisters will file another report in his absence. She has chosen a few excerpts from her daily logs for August, 2018. Without further ado, Miss Wynken will present her report.
Correspondent Miss Wynken gathering news from one of her many window stations.
Correspondent Miss Wynken contemplating her report. “What do I tell our readers?”
Saturday, August 4, 2018: A breeze sprung up in mid morning, and a front appears to be coming in from the south. A long swath of altocumulus and cirrus, a clear zone, and then another band of interesting development, including some kind of cumulus convection cell that grew in the shape of chanterelle mushrooms. Flared tubes with delicately gilled throats, rising up and capping off in a frilled top, were a reminder that mushroom season will be here again in a few months. I see these unusual cloud forms from time to time. The waning moon in last quarter, white with faint grey marbling like sea-tumbled quartz, was sailing west on an intensely blue river of sky between the swaths of frontal cloud.
Sunday, August 12, 2018: 52 and mostly cloudy at daybreak, which opened up soon enough into mostly clear skies,a pleasant breeze and a high somewhere in the low to mid 80s. I watched a squirrel come barreling down the driveway, followed closely by a blue jay who was pecking the squirrel’s behind. The windows stayed open until the late afternoon sun heated the house up; the arrival of dinner guests who had been traveling in a hot car were pleased to come into a cool place. It was a day busy end to end with small things. By post-sundown, a patch of hazy clouds to the southwest had grown, and more had flocculated in the direction of the setting sun. A partly clear night in progress here as another day has slipped though my paws like sand.
Tuesday, August 14, 2018: A pleasant 52 degrees under hazy skies at daybreak. It was extremely hazy but not humid today. I did not smell smoke today or this evening, yet it looks smoky; the dark forms of conifers on the surrounding hills appear as if through a veil. I am becoming used to heat in the 90s, perhaps because the daylight hours are shrinking and the heat does not build for quite as long.
Another orange-red sundown this evening. It is still near 80 out there at this time as another day comes to a close, and the stridulating insects of late summer play their symphonies out there as the daylight fades and the cooler realm of night rises up from the east.
Thursday August 16, 2018: Small birds perched sideways on lemon balm stalks collected seed. I noted a brief interaction between a goldfinch and a hummingbird, the surprised goldfinch getting out of the way of the hummingbird.
A summer night in progress, complete with August’s nightly symphony of insects, signaling September is not far off. A waxing orange-red crescent moon sails across a smoky sea. Even the bright planets appear reddish, and far fewer stars are visible through the haze.
Tuesday August 21, 2018: Another orange sunrise, hazy morning down in the low 50s, rising into the mid 90s by mid afternoon. A warm breeze blew most of today, with a pensive, wandering feel to it; its path revealed in the rustling of leaves, shrubs and dry grass . Everything is so dry, waiting for rain that will be a while in coming.
Saturday August 25, 2018: A variable cloudy day, rising into the mid 70s by afternoon. The feeling is more autumn-like out there, and it is easy to envision first frost within a month. The bright orange, golds and reds of New England do not grace the hills here. Tired, drought-stricken leaves slowly turn a faded yellow and brown, quietly slipping away with the daylight hours. The rains and winds will come, stripping the remaining leaves off the branches.
Sunday August 26, 2018: The earth is damp this morning; dew covered webs of ground nesting spiders cover the yard in a silver gossamer patchwork. A light breeze gently ripples through trees and vegetation, a whispered prayer for rain.
Monday August 27, 2018: I awoke just after 7:00 AM to overcast conditions. A relatively warm 57 degrees; all was wetted down from a very light rain sometime during the night, not enough to really do much good except keep down the dust and bring an arachnid Brigadoon into view. A rain-drenched city of spider webs, particularly the ground spider webs that resemble tiny faerie trampolines, was now visible. Eventually they will all fade from view in the heat of the day, concealed until the next damp window of visibility.
We wish our readers a pleasant evening ahead, and safe travels to all wherever their destination in life may lead them.
-Resident Feline Correspondent Wynken, reporting for Salmon Brook Farms
Bright sunset clouds on August 29th. Nature’s most beautiful skyscapes, and wildlife, can be seen at the bookends of the day.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
On our way over to a show in Yachats, on the westbound side of Route 34 we passed a small wooden sign with red letters which read, “PIE 3.14 miles”. Unfortunately, there was no good place to stop on that side of the narrow road, which winds its way through a sparsely populated section of the Coast Range, and take a photo. We did pass a real pie shop out in the wilds further down, and figured there must be a sign somewhere on the eastbound side about 3 miles down. Sure enough, we did see one, managed to turn around without getting ourselves killed, and got the photo below. Some mischievous soul had added “.1427” after the “3”. My brother the mathematician informed me that the sign was incorrect, and that the decimal expansion of pi is approximately 3.14159265.
There really was a pie shop down the road, although we are not sure of the exact mileage. Click on photo to enlarge.
If you are in the area and wish to see me play live, please visit the Performance Schedule page in the ring menu at the top of this post.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTube channel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 15 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come!
For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos. There will be more videos when I can get back to this project.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archivesite.
In the meantime, in your area, wherever you may be, please do all you can to help keep your own local music alive. Go out and see someone you don’t know, host a house concert, download songs or buy CDs. Or even just stop for a minute to hear someone at a Farmers’ Market. Live, local musicians provide a wealth of talent most people will never hear about in this age of iPods, Internet and TV.
Developing blackberries, variety “Black Magic”. The changing of the seasons and so many good, healthful things to eat make the end of summer and early autumn my favorite time of year.
Our feature photo this month is of a bumblebee parked in a hollyhock bloom after sundown. Like truckers on the interstate, over the years I have seen bumblebees pulled over and settled in for the night in blossoms, on grape leaves, or other plants.
Let sleeping bees lie. This little bumblebee tucked into a hollyhock bloom for the night.
News from the farm
June’s fractured skies, cold mornings, lush green and colorful flowers have given way to hot, bone dry conditions in July, and an early fire season. The frogs have long since ceased their songs of vernal pool days and are quiet, occasionally found hiding in a flower pot, or in the greenhouse; only the sound of a distant peacock rocks the night from somewhere over across the fields on another farm.
Early June’s rain-drenched roses.
And a daylily bloom, beaded with raindrops.
Spring was long and cool, although drier than normal for our area, her mood pensive and unresolved. She chased Jack Frost about with cloudy nights, driving him away while fruit trees blossomed and set. We will have pears again this year.
The multilevel skies of early June.
A wild rabbit inhabits the north border once again, and has become somewhat used to my presence. At times, rabbit is bolder, wandering about the rose bed on the other side of the house.
Our north border resident, just below center. Click on any photo to enlarge.
Grass, now mostly golden brown to whitish-tan and punctuated by heat tolerant coast dandelions, hypochaeris radicata , crinkles and crushes underfoot. I feel the changing of the seasons more acutely with every passing year. A lifetime of noting the temperature, the skies, vegetation and wildlife, knowing what to expect and roughly when, yet each year is unique in its presentation, sometimes oscillating wildly about the normal of my experience. Each passing year is more precious, not only for its annual abundance, but for its bright parade of memories, and for our own growth as individuals living upon this Earth. All things are connected to all things.
Early June – old heirloom roses on the north border, with myrtle growing below, wild and carefree.
Early June – the first peony to bloom.
Watering becomes more critical to heat stressed plants that do not have deep root systems like mature grape vines, resulting in much spot watering, bucket brigades and soaker hose sessions.
A view up the row of table grapes from this afternoon.
And up a couple of rows in the pinot noir vineyard. Rick has been hard at work trimming and tying up canes. We had good fruit set this year.
In the cool of the evening, hummingbirds dart about the hollyhocks in the main garden, occasionally coming close in to observe us. The resident doe sometimes comes out to feed up near the house. Sundown does not often disappoint, coloring whorls and flows of cirrus clouds in flaming orange-rose set against a fading light blue sky.
Dust devils, those carefree vortices spawned by heat and dry soil conditions, have been sighted already since wheat and grass seed appear to have been harvested early by several weeks. They will soon turn summer’s brilliant blue skies to tan and grey, especially when soot and smoke from forest fires around the state add to the mixture of airborne particulate matter.
One evening, I found an old tattered honeybee of the field class, crawling along the ground. Young bees have a fuzzy thorax, the older ones go bald on the thorax, giving away their age. The typical life span of the field worker in season is only 6 weeks. She was found crawling at a good pace along the ground; a yellow jacket was hovering around, perhaps having caught her scent. I scooped up the old bee on a dandelion leaf, and put her in a shallow container with a few drops of water and some honey on a toothpick to help revive her. She was gone an hour later, after darkness had fallen. Most likely she crawled away, or was eaten by something.
I sit in my office, well fed and safe. Everywhere out there in nature, small dramas continually unfold. Someone is eaten, someone survives another day, someone dies or is born. The moon rises as it has for millions of years, watching the history of Man unfold, and endless cycles of life on this planet.
Sunset on July 24th, clouds over the hill to the south.
News from the Cats of Salmon Brook Farms
Resident feline correspondent and head of the local correspondents desk Mr. Nano is on vacation this month, sleeping off the summer heat. He has assigned correspondent Miss Wynken of the Three Sisters to file a report in his absence. After much thought, she has chosen a few excerpts from her daily logs for July, 2018. Without further ado, Miss Wynken will present her report.
Correspondent Miss Wynken gathering news from one of her many window stations.
Correspondent Miss Wynken contemplating her report. “What do I tell our readers?”
Wednesday, July 4th: I enjoyed the post sundown sky, mostly lavender-grey and cream colored splotchy cumulus type clouds, splattered across the dome above like paint thrown at a canvas. Summer is moving along at a fast clip; I note the daily changes in the land and in myself.
Thursday, July 5th: The moon is approaching last last quarter, or waning half-moon, and rises late. She is a good companion, shining in the east window, golden and bright in the wee hours of the morning, still bright enough to illuminate the farm and its nighttime residents lurking about.
Tuesday, July 10th: A cool and breezy 49 degrees morning here under clear skies. Cheery, fair weather cumulus soon made an appearance, dotting the azure blue above with stark white cotton ball forms. From the window, I watched blueberry picking in progress in late morning, a moving meditation for the human among the curious and playful breezes, insects and birds, at times feeling the cool shadow of a passing cloud overhead.
The hummingbirds have been quite active, probing the sweet pea blooms along the north border. Occasionally one hovers in front of a window, where I am stationed. Curiosity satisfied, they return to their duties among the flowers.
Wednesday, July 11th: The land has cooled down at this time; tendrils of night air bring in the scents of grasses, various forbs and dry earth. Another day comes to a close. Darkness does not descend upon us, rather it rises in the deepening band of purple-blue on the eastern horizon as the sun continues its westward run below the horizon, and the last glow fades. Stars make themselves known, the brighter ones a few at a time until blackness overtakes the dome, and vastness of space with its stellar community is revealed again.
Wednesday, July 18th: Sundown on July 18th was memorable, not so much in terms of color but in clarity of light. A clear night in progress here; the occasional breeze off the cooling land plays amid the chimes on the porch. Summer stridulators have replaced the chorus frogs of spring, changing the mood and tempo of the Nature’s nightly performance.
Friday, July 20th: I awoke to a cool and clear 43 degrees at 6:30 this morning. A small band of clouds appeared around the south to southwest horizon not long afterward, which have now almost overtaken us. Morning light dims, but somehow still maintains the sharp, crystalline look of daybreak. A light breeze has sprung up, gently rocking the vegetation at close to ground level. Another day begins.
We wish our readers a pleasant evening ahead, and safe travels to all wherever their destination in life may lead them.
-Resident Feline Correspondent Wynken, reporting for Salmon Brook Farms
Crossing contrails that have spread, and captured the last colors of the day in pink. Another day ends.
Music news (schedule posted on the Performance Schedule page)
I continue to enjoy playing out again, especially as a terminal musician. Juggling music, family, farm, and outside work, which pays the bills which enables us to play music and keep the farm (and cats) going, has kept me more than occupied. June and July have not been any more conducive to finishing music projects at home than May, but I did make time to attend John Doan’s 11th annual harp guitar retreat, a much needed refreshing and energizing four days at the end of June. Rick took excellent care of the cats while I was away, and he says they were very good boys and girls, mostly. It sounds like the nine of them kept him quite busy, with little time for anything else.
The harp guitar is a both a beautiful and amazing sounding instrument; I encourage readers to learn more about it, and the musicians that perform this kind of music. Readers can visit John Doan’s official website here and see videos of his concerts, presentations, and interviews. He is a master of the 20 string harp guitar, Emmy-nominated performer, composer, public speaker, historian, instrument collector and university professor.
In July we were visited by our traveling musician friends Laurie Jennings and Dana Keller. It is always a pleasure to hear them perform when they pass through our area. Please check their tour schedule. You may be able to catch them in California or Texas before they return to Florida at the end of October. They are considering a tour of the United Kingdom. Please don’t hesitate to contact them if you would like to see them in your area! You can catch their videos here.
If you are in the area and wish to see me play live, please visit the Performance Schedule page in the ring menu at the top of this post.
For those readers who are new or catching up, do visit the Salmon Brook Farms YouTube channel. Our first Tiny Farm Concerts one song music video was posted at the end of March, 2017. I am 15 years older and a good bit more grey since my first and only CD was released back in 2003, but still in the saddle. It has been an interesting ride, with more to come!
For those who have missed previous posts and wish to view the channel content, here are links to the previous two videos. There will be more videos when I can get back to this project.
The Orchard, our distributor, has placed some of our music from the Keepsake CD on YouTube. Anyone wishing to see the entire track listing and stories behind the songs should visit my personal page under MUSIC in the menu at the top of this post. Depending on what country you live in, the music placed on YouTube by The Orchard may be blocked. Readers can also access some songs from the CD via the old IUMA archive site. See https://archive.org/details/iuma-lavinia_ross
In the meantime, in your area, wherever you may be, please do all you can to help keep your own local music alive. Go out and see someone you don’t know, host a house concert, download songs or buy CDs. Or even just stop for a minute to hear someone at a Farmers’ Market. Live, local musicians provide a wealth of talent most people will never hear about in this age of iPods, Internet and TV.
For Nia, my Turkish friend and fellow cat lover. These flowers are part of a living memorial for her cat Surya who passed away earlier.
We received news of a small, curly-haired black dog named Mowglee, a dear companion to a friend (she does spell his name this way, not like R.K.’s Jungle Book character Mowgli), has passed away unexpectedly. He was 14, and suffered a seizure or stroke. Somewhere in the greater Universe, he is running, pain-free and unencumbered by the infirmities of advanced age. He will be missed by all who loved him.
Salmon Brook Farms 