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.
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.
Salmon Brook Farms 