Gone to the Birds...

There are herons in the pond,

Kildeer crying in the air;

Hummingbirds at the feeding station

And songbirds everywhere...

And I say to myself, "What a beautiful, most wonderful world."

I have been watching spring work her magic... a leaf here, a bud there... oh!  and over there the tulips and daffodils are in full bloom bringing their colors to a cold and austere-looking land.  I was wondering for a while whether they would make it out of the cold, cold ground but they were just little things one day and the next day, it seemed, they were up and showing their beauty and the promise that another spring had arrived on the high desert.  We who were weary of the wait just needed to have a bit more patience.  

We--my husband and I--are weeding the lavender and trimming back some of the varieties.  Weeds, like time, wait for no man (or woman for that matter).  While outside, on my hands and knees, the trill of a meadowlark caught my ear.  I sat back on my knees and listened to the sounds of the morning:  the quail were in my neighbor's yard across the way and the ravens gave their cacophonous sounds as they flew over the next door neighbor's pasture.  High up in the heavens were two hawks, facing one another flying with their wings outstretched, their talons together crying their high pitched battle cry as they flew almost upside down. As I walked to the house, I saw a kildeer by the pond.  Coming closer than I should, it scurried forward and gave its high-pitched call and scurried some more.  A couple weeks ago, three kildeer were flying over the lavender calling to one another and, perhaps, summoning the remaining two (for a total of five kildeer) who we had last year.  I believe they are making another nest in the lavender but I haven't found it yet.  I suppose that a nest of baby kildeer is good enough reason to leave a patch of weeds in the lavender.

The other morning, I had a blue heron in the pond, standing so still that I would have missed him if he had not turned his head when I opened the door.  I ran for the camera and  tried to take a photograph but scared it away.   In the willow tree near by the pond, songbirds--mostly sparrows--sang their sweet, sweet melody.  They come down to the creek, along with the robins, to take a drink and a bath.  I spend many quality minutes watching them as they frolic in the water.  A friend of mine told me hummingbirds stayed all winter in her neck of the woods and she leaves a feeder out all year, bringing it in only at night when it freezes.  I decided to try that this year.  Usually, I put the hummingbird feeders out on April 15--tax day.  There's just something satisfying in putting those feeders up on that day:  my way of turning the page from a past necessity to a present liberty for another year.  I was wonderfully rewarded a few days ago at seeing a scraggly little hummingbird come to the feeder and stay for the longest time.  I wondered how far he must have flown to look so rough and I was glad the food was ready for him.  He has not been back, to my knowledge, but I think of him every now and then and wonder where he is now.

A glimpse of a bluebird flying over the dry lot caught my eye a couple days ago.  They are such pretty little birds.   And, today, a friend heard a meadowlark off in the distance, singing its pretty refrain as we were getting into the car.  "What is that" she asked.  I answered.  We listened, my friend and I.  And in the distance, the pretty little bird identifiable by its yellow breast and "V" breastplate sang as it welcomed spring.

Spring has indeed worked her magic: in the budding of the trees, in the kaleidoscope of color and bounty of flowers and in the beautiful songs of the birds.  And I say to myself, "What a beautiful, most wonderful world."

Shows and Expos in April

Still Waters Lavender is happy to announce they will be attending the following shows:

On Saturday, April 11, we will be a vendor at the Cascade Women's Expo, located in the Riverhouse Convention Center, Bend, Oregon.  Doors open to the public at 10a and close at 4p.  This one day FREE event will be the largest gathering of women in Bend and will offer services and products of interest that match the needs of women as well as their budget.  So grab your girlfriend, your mom, your daughter and come have some fun with us!  Visit the Cascade Women's Exp website at http://www.facebook.com/cascadewomensexpo.


On Saturday, April 18, Still Waters Lavender is happy to be repeating its appearance at the Central Oregon Master Gardeners Spring Seminar at the Deschutes County Fair and Expo Center in Redmond, Oregon.  The seminar hours are from 8a-4:30p; the Garden Market opens from 9:30a-4:30p.  This is a great time to meet locals with helpful seminars as well as gardening items, especially good healthy plants.  As an organization, the Central Oregon Master Gardeners Association promotes and supports local crafts and businesses.  Visit the Central Oregon Master Gardeners Association website for more information (http://www.gocomga.com/)

Gene and I are excited to meet new friends as well as see old friends.

Loggers and a Toy Ukulele

Isn't it strange what trigger will bring lovely and poignant memories to the mind!

Last summer my son and friends of his, a family of four, visited us.  The family consisted of a father and mother and two little boys--ages 9 and 4--that were as cute as cute could be (but that story is for another time).  The mom is a professional musician and she was teaching her two little boys how to play the ukulele.  ... and that is the trigger for this memory.

I grew up in a logging community before the environmentalists, media and legislators destroyed logging.  I grew up with a dad who was worried about enough timber being left for his children but a dad who also worked in the woods.  The men and women I knew whose livelihood depended upon taking from the land also knew the value of giving back to the land.  I resented (and still do) deeply the corporate  media's distorted image of the people who lived in logging communities, the sanctimonious   environmentalists "I don't live on the land, I live in the city and I know how to take care of the land better than you" and the spineless legislators who legislated a way of life almost out of existence.  I still remember the "tree huggers" who were shipped out to the Pacific Northwest from back east, almost all of them young ruffians with no responsibilities, being paid by special interest groups, coming to the logging areas and being as destructive as they could:  tying themselves to trees; pounding spikes, wire and nails into trees so that shrapnel would be produced when the tree was cut down; and blocking the logging roads.  I remember one young logger asking one of the tree huggers, "What do you do for a living?  I log and you're keeping me from my job.  I need to feed my family."   The media's camera captured the tree hugger standing there with a surprised look on his face, not expecting someone his own age challenging him with a direct, honest question.  There was no answer from the tree hugger and the camera panned the crowd so that the picture-perfect newscaster could misrepresent the images on the five o'clock evening's news.

My heart was always with the loggers.  I admired them.  They had a hard job, a dangerous job, but it was their way of life and they left homes every morning with lunch pails in hand and cork boots on their feet, not knowing if a "widow maker" or a vine maple might be their undoing.  They played and worked and breathed the out-of-doors:  they saw deer and elk, bear and cougar; sights and sounds most people only dream about.  They watched the wily raven hop through a cab window, open a lunch pail, grab a sandwich, fly to a nearby tree and have a delicious lunch while the owner of that lunch pail  thought someone was playing a joke (a really bad joke).  They saw balls of fire whushing past their feet  and bolts of lightening striking through the sky and the rolling of thunder that shook the ground under their feet.  They also saw their friends die and having to ride out with the body after the day's work was done because an ambulance couldn't get to the logging site.

In the winter the loggers couldn't go into the woods because the roads were impassable and, in the summer, they worked "hoot owl", getting up at an ungodly hour to beat the heat.  Even then, the woods could be closed due to fire danger.  It is such a time as this that this particular memory of times past comes to my mind.

Two loggers made their way up to my parents' home one summer day after the woods had been closed due to the heat.  Both had the hickory shirts, the suspenders, cut-off pants, cork boots.  They got out of their rig and came to the door.  Both were greeted by mom as she put on the pot of coffee and brought out something good to eat.  The loggers smelled good as they came through the door:  bringing the smell of Douglas Fir and the out-of-doors in with them as they talked about the woods being shut down.  Dad came in and got the cups and spoons:  sugar was on the table and the cream was brought out of the refrigerator.  They sat around the table and talked and laughed.  I was in the front room, listening and watching, hearing laughter and growing concern in their voices--good, strong, friendly voices--talking over the events of the day, their families and worried about logging due to the  potential changes coming to their way of life.  One of the loggers turned around, grinned at me and then spotted a child's ukulele sticking out of the toy box.  He went over, picked it up, went back to his chair and started to play:  magic!  Four little strings, a neck, the body of a child's toy and the logger played jigs to dance to and sad songs to cry over.  I don't know how long he played but  time took its finger and etched into my mind this memory I had forgotten until our son mentioned his friends' children were playing the ukulele.

In February of this year, I was leafing through the Redmond Parks and Recreation's community activities and came across classes they were offering.  Lo and behold!  There on one of the pages was "Beginning Ukulele".  I  emailed a friend and asked if she would like to take the class with me.  Her response, at first, was "No."  Well, truthfully, she said more but none of it was printable here.  (and, no, I'm not crazy and yes, I am serious.)  About two weeks later, the week before classes were to start, she sends another email.  "What the heck."  So, on Thursday evening, we went to our first class and we each chose a ukulele to play.   I might add we giggled a lot as if we were children doing what we oughtn't.   The instructor sold ukuleles and his were a little more than we were prepared to pay.  I texted my son that night and asked him if he would ask his friend what a beginning ukulele should cost and what I should be looking for.  He texted me back with the answers to my questions and one extra response that delighted my heart and brought a smile to my face:  "Awesome!  Awesome!  Awesome!  Awesome!"  That next Saturday I went to every secondhand store, Good Will store, pawn shop in town looking for a ukulele.  I didn't find one but one of the ladies at one of the pawn shops told me of a music store in Bend that "just might" have what I was looking for.  That next Wednesday, Gene and I had to go to Bend and it made perfect sense to me that we should stop at the music shop.  They just happened to have a little red soprano ukulele--it was meant to be because it was red and it was just the right size and for sale at just the perfect price--so I bought it.  Since then, nothing has been done at the house--no soapmaking, no hardanger, no weeding (I might add no housework)--nada, nothing. The tips of my fingers on my left hand hurt like blue blazes,  there are string marks on the tips of my fingers as well as blisters (or callouses) and my fingernails are cut down to the quick but I cannot seem to put my little red ukulele down.

The first song we learned was "Octopus's Garden".  Gene went by me the other morning and said he'd sure be glad when next Thursday's class was so that I learned something else to play--anything else.  He said some other things, too, but I couldn't hear him as he shuffled off to his cave.  The second song we learned was "Be Happy".  There are scores of songs on the Internet and I've copied off quite a few of them.  I think anyone needing therapy should try the ukulele.  Not only is it creative, it exercises the brain and the fingers but, most importantly, it just makes a person happy to hear a ukulele.

I have this vision:  this summer, when the sun is starting to set and the night air is still, I'll go sit in my chair out in the lavender field .  I'll take my little red ukulele, have a tall, cool lavender lemonade on the stand next to my music strumming "Be Happy".  I will watch the sun go down and memories of past places and people--good, hardworking, fun loving people--that I have known and loved will visit me.  From a long ago forgotten memory of loggers and a toy ukulele to the sun going down and a bright red ukulele, I will remember... and be most grateful that they honored me with their presence.

Shhhhhhhhh... I Think Spring Is Just About Here

What the Robin Told

I believe this to be a Rose of Sharon

     The wind
     told the grasses,
       And the grasses 
       told the trees. 

         The trees
         told the bushes,
           And the bushes
           told the bees.
             The bees
             told the robin,
                And the robin
                sang out clear: 

Wake up! 

Wake up! 

Spring is here!  

(Unknown)

Hummingbirds love the flower of the honeysuckle.

Irises...and just about five feet from this is a little hen who escaped her confinement
and is now setting on a nest.
She sees me but I don't see her...
but I shall gather her egg this evening. 

Flax...A bouquet of beautiful blue flower petals last but one day
only to be reborn the next morning

Oriental Poppy.  Beautiful flame-red color with purple lavender

One lonely little tulip.  The chickens--free ranged--dug up all the crocus
and many of my tulips.
Sometimes weighing which I want--eggs or my flowers--is a hard, hard decision to make.

Daffodils are blooming in the Willamette Valley.
This is a promise that Spring is on its way to the high desert.

And peeking out of the Earth is this peony.

To Hell and Back...Travelling the Santiam Pass

On February 7, 2015 Gene persuaded me to go to the Oregon Lavender Association meeting in Mulino, Oregon.  "No!  I don't travel well," I stated, rather emphatically...several times.  I am most happy in my home sewing or doing needlework or outside playing in the garden or lavender, anything but getting on the highway with the IEDs (Identifiable Empty-Headed Dingdongs).  I don't like facing oncoming traffic which is hurtling towards me at 90 miles an hour texting to their BFF about whatever they think is more important than keeping their eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel.   But, Gene dangled these proverbial carrots of "There's going to be a tea.  They are going to cook with lavender.  There's going to be a potluck"  "A tea? Cooking with lavender?  A potluck?  At a meeting?"  Dang!  That changed things.  I have been to an Oregon Lavender Association meeting where they had a potluck.  The most amazing extraordinary flavorings--some for sweet dishes, some for savory dishes--from this magical herb in the qualified culinary hands of  the Oregon Lavender Assocation's members.

So, early Saturday morning, I put my life into my husband's hands and got into the car to make the trek over the mountain to the valley.  I open and close the gate going out our driveway.  Going on the backroads from our home to Redmond was o.k.  We arrived in Redmond in one piece:  I think to myself, "This is going well so far.  I've been in the car about ten minutes, am not a raving maniac and am still in one piece."  We turned right to head to Sisters.  It's a beautiful twenty-five minute drive, the rain is coming down, making the windshield wipers pick up a nice beat, the heat on the back relaxing the muscles and I start to get into the rhythm of the swipe of the wipers, the warmth of the heater, the nearness of Gene and I in the comfort of our car.  So far, no IED to speak of.  Sisters is a quaint picture postcard town well known for its internationally-attended quilt show.  We drive through this leisurely stroll-friendly town, which is hard, because it's been a long time since I've mosied down those streets and popped into one of those bewitching shops.  Our only saving grace (for Gene) is that it is 9 a.m. and not many of the shops are open.  We pass the ranger station and head the car west only to be confronted by this idiot moron who can barely look over his steering wheel which, by the way, he's clutching as if it was the quidditch from a Harry Potter movie and about to fly away.  We followed the pickup and watched as vehicles started to pile up behind us.  A green Suburban passed us, almost hitting our front driver's side, and hugs the back bumper of the lead driver's pickup.  My stomach starts to churn.  This is not good!  Then, before another expletive can leave my lips, a red Escape tries the same stunt of lurching out into the oncoming lane, shooting passed us while the Suburban erratically swings out and passes the lead pickup and behind us, cars and pickups start to back up.  All the way over the mountain, through Detroit we watch this children's game of in-and-out-the-window being played with three-ton pickups and cars. The highway has many places for people to pull off and we keep hoping and praying for the lead pickup  to pull off  the road and let the rest of us pass in safety. For more miles than I care to talk about, Gene and I watched the impatience of drivers putting themselves and their precious cargo in harms way as they popped into the other lane of traffic, swerving back to not hit an oncoming car, taking chances by hurling themselves into the oncoming lane, zipping pass one car at a time until they were behind the lead pickup and then zooming past him as if they had just escaped from hell.

There was a rest area coming up and Gene needed me out of the car; I needed me out of the car.  Gene quietly surveyed the road through the car window, vigilant eyes sweeping the road as he slowed down and made a left-hand turn into the rest area while the pickup with his captive entourage continued west. Some kindly nonprofit had a motor home set up at the rest area and coffee awaited the weary traveller.  I was not weary so didn't think coffee was the thing for me.  My heart was  racing, my stomach was churning and my mind was in scrambles as I opened the car door and my feet hit the ground.  Gene and I headed towards the opening grassy area lined with trees.  I calmed down as Gene and I walked in the grass, smelled the freshly-rain-washed trees, talked about the upcoming meeting, watched families as they took a "time out", enjoying the freedom that walking on solid ground brings after being confined in a car.  After a while, Gene said we better go if we didn't want to be late for the meeting and we got back into the car and started searching for Exit 13 to Silverton.

The rain abated, the traffic was normal and we turned north towards our destination when we found the correct exit.  I had forgotten how beautiful is the drive to Silverton.  Lots of wineries, berries, small hamlets and farms tucked hither and yon.   We arrived at the beautiful lavender farm hosting the meeting and entered a home filled with friendly faces and cheerful words.  The meeting started with an introduction of the different lavender farms attending the meeting: a healthy mixture of old and new faces.  Then we ate...and ate... and ate... a few nibbles of this, a few nibbles of that... from lavender meatballs and lavender quiche to shortbread cookies and white chocolate lavender fudge.  I suggested we start a cookbook because there were so many good things prepared for us to eat and to enjoy.   With full tummies, a warm, friendly home full of like-minded people, the normal meeting started full of good stuff, led by good people who work fulltime, own working farms and still manage to volunteer their time, experience and knowledge to put together good, educational, informative meetings.  Gene and I were so glad we came (and to think I almost didn't go!)

The tea sampling was a popping eye-opener.  Drinking lavender buds, drinking lavender buds with other herbs, drinking lavender leaves,to drink tea with lemon or honey, how to serve your customers at a high tea, talking about what to serve at high teas, testimonials... I could either hold a pen in my hand to write all this knowledge down or I could sample:  I choose the sampling.  Then, we went to the kitchen and watched lavender being roasted and sampled the different roasted lavender varieties.  We sampled  the different sauces, jellies, jams, salts, seasonings on a myriad of crackers, cookies and cakes.  What a meeting!

Then, it was time to go.  It was starting to get dark and fog was rolling in.  Gene and I had about a two and one-half hour trip back over the hill (Santiam Pass) and I could feel my back starting to tense up and my heart starting to flutter as my mind began to race.  It was not raining, it was beautiful and green and the air smelled good as we said our goodbyes and left.  We retraced our pathway through historic Silverton and the hills of the beautiful, fertile Willamette Valley.  It was peaceful as we entered onto Highway 20 heading home.  Our journey home was uneventful and relaxing; Gene and I talking and sharing all the wonderful knowledge that good people shared with us at the meeting.  While we didn't have the rain and the windshield wipers to contend with going home (and one inconsiderate driver), we did have oncoming lights of travellers coming from where we wanted to go.   I started to get into the rhythm welcoming the beckoning oncoming lights, the warmth of the heater, the nearness of Gene and I in the comfort of our car.   We headed east, passed the rest area with their lights on and the motor home still welcoming wayfarers to warm coffee, providing a "time out" from their travels.  Onward we travel, road conditions good, pavement bare and dry, traffic light, passed Marion Forks Restaurant, over the hill, down the other side passed Suttle Lake.  We see the lights of home:  Redmond, the center of Oregon.  I let out a deep sigh as we pull into our driveway and open and close the gate.  Home!

The next morning over coffee, I asked Gene, " Give me one reason why you were glad you went to yesterday's meeting."  He answered, "The people and their willingness to share their knowledge."  I concurred.  "What about you?" he asked. "What did you like about the meeting?"  "White chocolate lavender fudge", I replied.  We laughed.  Gene shakes his head back and forth.  And to think I almost let one idiot moron ruin a chance for me to have that heavenly lavender white chocolate fudge!  Silly me!  I need to learn to travel well!


http://www.oregonlavender.org/index.php

Most Precious, Most Perfect, Most Pretty Molly: Winter 2015

Breakfast over.  Warming by the hearth on a cold, wintry day while going over the day's chore list.

Constitutional after morning breakfast.  

After Constitutional, nap time.

After nap time comes another day to get chores done.

Hmmm...deer, eight in number, five does, three last year fawns.   Check off chore list.

Checking the lavender...looks good...needs weeded...bad!  Check off chore list:  

 Moving a downed tree from November storms.  Check off chore list.

Day is done.  Waiting for mom to fix dinner.

The Life and Times of a Lavender Farm Dog: Toby in the Long Winter of 2015

Toby Jack Schmidt

Those  rascally varmintss

...footy prints,,

....on my desert again!  

Soaking up the heat...

Left behind!

(Deep sigh!)  This is what "alone" looks like

Waiting for dad's and my day to begin...

Ever vigilant

Lookout Stand!

What a farm dog does best:   farming with his dad.