That’s Fino on the left, Raj on the right. They’re all that remains of the small herd that’s resided at Tierreich Farm in Durham, NC–a.k.a., the place where I was born & raised–for the last 60+ years.
In fact, “they” aren’t even “they” any more. Since I took that photo last month, Fino passed away, at 28. That’s a good age for a horse. Amazingly, surviving Brown Boy Raj is still kickin’ at AGE 37.
Who would’ve guessed such a nondescript, scrawny little guy could endure into what are usually known as Donkey’s Years?
Especially since Stevie, World’s Cutest Ass, passed away last fall–at 37!
My point is, you DON’T expect superlatives from scrawny little horses. Nor from Durham, North Carolina. It’s a humble kind of place. This was especially noticeable after flying there directly from our sojourn amidst the bright blue waterfalls of La Huasteca, in Mexico.
The Mate and I go back to visit our old lives (the place where we met in 1977 and fell in love a couple of years later) every March. To see my Amazing Mom…
almost 90!
…my equally Amazing Dad…
…seen here doing his 3 laps with his walker & The Mate. Dad’s almost 95.
NC-style BBQ, hushpuppies, slaw, greens, okra…you get the picture!
Oh, and since the semi-finals (which Carolina made it to before falling to That Team That Shall Not Be Named Duke) were on Pi Day…
Happy 3/14, and Go Heels!
But I realize I haven’t explained about the Grey Girls. Here they are, resting up with Dad after his walk.
That’s Bela on the left, Senta on the right. Norwegian Elkhounds, with a German-American.
During our 9 days in NC, The Mate and I helped romp the Grey Girls, patted the Brown Boys, cheered for the Heels, and hung out with my folks, eating (humble) pie.
Including this: what you get when you use purple potatoes for a Shepherd’s Pie!
Note: those potholders, above, came from La Huasteca. Using them in my mom’s kitchen felt surreal, like…”Where we really just there?”
Aquí
Granted, the NC woods are not THAT, especially before spring takes hold. But they hold a special, humble grip on my heart.
and on my…nostrils?
I’m undyingly grateful for our viaje Mexicano. But even more so to be able to come “home,” year after year, to this.
Somebody say spring?
Extra note: you may have noticed many of these photos are weirdly small. WordPress suddenly started doing this, and none of the articles I’ve read to fix it have helped. If you understand WordPress and think you can help me keep my photos large, please email me at gretchen.wing@gmail.com.
As I described last entry, we survived 40 degrees Celcius–that’s 102 for us!–in Jalpan by hiding out in its clear blue oases. But there weren’t enough of these within a reasonable drive (on unreasonable roads).
So we decided to spend out last 2 days (1 night) where we started, in Tamasopo.
Aquí
We had a couple of adventures getting back there–one on purpose, one not. The purposeful one was a visit to a tree Hijo Dos had found mention of online: a 1,000 year-old cypress, in a small town right off the main highway.
1,000 year old tree? Sí, por favor.
We were not disappointed.
If this thing looks big, please know the picture doesn’t come close to showing how MASSIVE this ancient goddess is. And since cypresses are deciduous, we got to enjoy the sight of this building-sized tree sporting tiny, fresh baby leaves. Circle of life!
El Arbol Milennario’s secret, I think, is this spring, right at its base. This part was fenced off (luckily), but I was able to sit in the clear water just downstream.
Adventure #2 was Google’s fault. Well, maybe it was ours…for taking the route as Google directed, even though the road appeared not to have a name. It started nice and paved, but when it abruptly turned to rutted dirt, it was too late to turn around.
At a maximum of 15 mph, I had plenty of opportunity to take cactus photos out the window.
Luckily we got through 45 minutes of potholes without damage to the car, and after regaining pavement, we were back in Tamasopo in no time, and back in that incredible river.
Miss you already
Early next morning, Hijo Dos y yo paid one last visit to the Puente de Diós we’d first met the week before. But there was a guide nearby, so no illegal swimming this time…plus it was a little chilly anyway.
Miss you too
Next morning, on our way back to the city of San Luis Potosí (as opposed to the state of the same name…it’s not that confusing; just thing New York, New York), we stopped at one more aquatic wonderland still on our list: El Trampolín. I’m still baffled why it’s called this, but…
…honestly, who cares? This photo is now my computer’s wallpaper.
A lazy part of the same blue river that starts at the Puente de Dios, El Trampolín has the added feature of being PUBLIC. No entrance fee, no guides, no nothing…just hop on in and float!
And look up at the Spanish moss while doing so.
The only disadvantage to the public part of this gorgeous oasis was…garbage. Not a ton, but enough to be noticeable. And disappointing. Sometimes people suck.
Back in the city of San Luis (or the outskirts; after all our beautiful blue-green experiences, we weren’t in the mood for touring a hot city), we took ourselves out to dinner at a place close by our airport hotel. Hijo Dos picked it out. “It’s famous for grilled meat,” he said.
If you’re thinking, “Wait–is The Mate eating a cheeseburger??” you are not wrong. What a gringo! (But he said it was one of the best cheeseburgers he ever had. The he helped me and Hijo Dos eat the big meatpile)
Next day we were up EARLY, flying back to Dallas. (My seatmates were two lovely women going on their own, Northern adventure; I had the pleasure of apologizing to them for my current wretched government.) In Dallas we said Adios to Hijo Dos, who flew back to Seattle, while we flew on to…
…guess where?
Here’s a hint.
But before this travel blog switches gears, can I just say this about the part of Mexico we saw? The people were LOVELY. The food was DELICIOUS. We felt SAFE. And we still feel humbled to have spent such happy time in a region that no one in the U.S. seems to have heard of.So…thank you, Aussie bloggers, for steering us there!
Next week: back down on the farm with the fam. Thanks for traveling with me!
I’ll be honest: I’d never heard of a Pueblo Mágico. Apparently it’s a special designation conferred in Mexico by the government–though state or federal, we never learned.
All I can say is: Aquismón fits the bill of Magical Town.
You could quibble with the colorlessness of their sign…but the rest of the place made up for that.
Word of warning. You know those really talky blog posts I sometimes do? This one isn’t that. I have pics to share!
Like this one, showing how picturesquely steep the village streets are.
Our first day there, all I really did was walk around and revel in the beauties of the place.
If my neighbor HERE painted their house like this, I’d hate it. But here? Fits right in.Ditto. And you gotta love that hillside behind.
Not only the houses, but the yards themselves spoke of people who loved color and design.
Yes, that is a “bush” made of deep blue glass bottles! (Ukrainians would love this backyard.)
Oh, and the gardens???
Nothin’ much…just your average 4-colored bouganvillea vines…
Carved out of the base of the jungly cliffs of the region, the village still hosted what looked like some magnificent old growth.
Hola, Guapo Viejo.
We stayed one night in one teensy little hotel, directly above an alley bustling with vendors…
…and two more in another small place, even more modest, with a very sweet courtyard. Pretty sure we were the only guests in both.
Again with the color!
The tree shading El Esposo in this picture was bursting with blossoms. Hijo Dos assured me that, yes–that’s a mango tree, meaning that these…
…are actually the TEENSIEST baby mangoes ever!
You could tell that the citizens of Aquismon had a lot of pride in their village. I saw zero trash, and this sign on a public wall explained why:
“If you have culture and pride, don’t litter”
We made two excursions from Aquismon. The first involved getting up before daybreak, and driving up, up, up a twisty road into the mountains behind town…in order to walk down, down, down 600 steps to a giant hole in the ground.
This.
Not just any hole, though. This is El Sotano de Los Golondrinas, literally, Cellar of the Swallows.
Photo courtesy of Hijo Dos, who got himself roped up to peer into the depths from the edge. Eek.
Gazillion birds spend the night there, and at daybreak, come swirling out again. If you’re lucky. Sometimes, if it’s cloudy, they decide to sleep in, and you’re left just staring at their giant hole. Which is, admittedly, pretty cool: 1600 feet deep (512 m); the deepest cave shaft in the world, and the second-largest cave in Mexico.
Fellow tourists waiting to photograph the birds. Not a very comfy seat, that limestone.
We were semi-lucky: enough birds swirled out for us to be able to ooh and ahh and call it a swirl (though not exactly sky-blackening).
And now…back up those 600 steps!
Next day’s excursion was a little further afield: Cascada Tamul, the highest waterfall in the region. We learned we could either hike to it–with instructions that sounded a bit iffy for folks like us with rental cars and bad knees–or rent a spot in a lancha and paddle up toward it.
We chose the lancha, with a half-dozen fellow tourists, from Mexico City.
The trip wasn’t far, maybe 30 minutes of paddling, but it started spectacular and stayed that way.
We all got out and walked around as our boat captain hauled the boat over the only rapids on this stretch.
When we got to the actual falls themselves, so many other boats were there, full of people taking photos, it was actually an anticlimax.
A very pretty one–don’t get me wrong. And imagine what it looks like at high water season!
Truly, though, I was more captivated by the journey than the destination. Especially the fluted limestone…
…which I couldn’t stop taking photos of. Even though I was supposed to be paddling.
Such shapes! Such colors! OK, you get the idea.
But probably THE COOLEST part of the excursion was the Cueva de Agua (Water Cave) we stopped at on the way back downstream. Our captain pulled the boat over to let us all troop up some rough steps, then even more steps, up the bank…
This isn’t the river. Where’s all this water coming from??
…to this. Exactly as advertised: it’s a cave full of water sprung straight up from the earth. And warm.
Just don’t think about any of those giant stalactites dropping on your head.
I wish, oh how I wish, we could’ve seen it without anyone else there, as we did the Puente de Dios at Tamasopo. But being part of a group, we didn’t have a choice. Luckily folks were nice, and gave each other plenty of space in there.
Afterwards, waiting for everyone to have their swim, we enjoyed sitting in the cascading creek from that magical cave.
I am LITERALLY sitting in this waterfall pool to take this photo of Hijo 2.
This photo of that creek pouring into the river captures the whole experience better than I can describe.
But, lest you can’t quite believe what that photo is showing, here’s the same waterfall, looking up from the river.
(with El Esposo’s hat in the lower corner)
And one more:
(I did warn you about the pics)
Back in Aquismon, I walked around some more, soaking up that cute little town. I even found a few ugly things, like these drying intestines at a carniceria (butcher’s):
…but for intestines, they’re still pretty cool-looking.
But the sunset from our hotel balcony was right on brand.
Buenas noches…
Next up: Jalpan (another Magic Town) and La Sierra Gorda. Thanks for traveling with me!
Let’s take a break from waterfalls for just a sec.
That’s what El Esposo, Hijo Dos, y yo did on our fourth day in La Huasteca Potosina. Because sometimes you just need to stare a jaguar in the face.
Or a tamandua: an anteater–with the coat of a skunk, the charm of a sloth, and the agility of a monkey
After reading about Selva Teenek Ecopark in the blog I consulted for our itinerary, Sallysees.com, I immediately booked us a night there. Turns out Sally knows her way around wildlife rehab facilities endowed with gracious hospitality, as well as she knows waterfalls.
The whole place was built in traditional-looking Huastec (or Teenek) style
As soon as we arrived, our host (and co-owner) Eduardo met us in a structure like this to go over expectations–stuff like no wandering off trail; nighttime feeding of the carnivores happens at 8:30 pm; oh, and coffee or tea for breakfast? We learned we were the only tourists staying there at the moment (ooh, a private tour!), but that there was a large contingent of conservation biologists on site for classes. Turns out Selva Teenek (pronounced Teneck, meaning Jungle of the Huastec people) is no cheesy “come pet a creature” place, but a beacon of true wildlife rehab and conservation.
They just happen to be very good at taking care of people there too.
Before the special nighttime tour, we were given one in daylight, featuring some VERY cute rescued margays.
Basically a teeeeeensy little leopard! (Fun fact: my aunt once kept a pet one. Don’t tell.)
The focus on the Teenek/Huastec people was as striking as the animals. This mural in the open-air dining area, for example, which cracked me up because…
…can you see it? My Mate’s legs almost look like they go with the girl on the wall! (who looks like she’s spray-painting my head)
But no lie–we were there for the animals, especially the two big cats on the nighttime feeding tour. The puma (who’d been raised as a pet till that idea went sideways) greeted her keeper by walking back and forth, tail high, purring like…well, like a big cat. I didn’t bother with a picture because, honestly, it was the purring part that was really striking.
But the jaguar? That girl was NOT tame. She appeared out of the darkness, into the keeper’s red light…and CROUCHED. I’d never felt like prey before, but those huge eyes glaring from a few feet away…they made me very grateful for that fence.
What’s really missing from this photo: the CRUNCHING sound as she chomps bones
We did, in fact, visit a nearby waterfall on our way in, Cascada Micos. I couldn’t take a very close-up photo because we had to SWIM to this one.
Believe me, those falls are farther away than they look! Hijo 2 & yo swam to that little island which, yes, somebody had actually decorated with a heart for Valentines Day (sigh)
I don’t know if anyone reading this will ever actually get to La Huasteca Potosina, a region toured mostly by folks from Mexico City. But if you do…definitely spend the night here! And tell Eduardo (and his jaguar) we said Hola.
Next post: More blue water…and caves! And caves full of blue water!
Sometime this winter The Mate allowed that he wouldn’t mind a little break from splitting firewood and running our wood stove. So, with our family obligations cleared, our thoughts turned to Mexico, where lately it seems a good half of our (retired) acquaintance has been sojourning in the cold months.
Can’t imagine why.
When it came to Mexico, we quickly found out our knowledge fell into two categories . 1. Things we don’t know about Mexico: almost everything 2. Things we do know about Mexico: any place where we are likely to meet lots of fellow Americans is a place we don’t want to visit right now.
With that in mind, I bought a Lonely Planet book and started checking out regions. That’s when La Huasteca Potosina and the Sierra Gorda caught my eye and held it. I started doing some reading, and stumbled onto the most helpful travel blog I’ve encountered, written by an intrepid pair of Australians. Sallysees.com helped me create my own itinerary, and I strongly recommend their blog for many areas of Mexico and some other places they’ve traveled.
Wherever THIS is? I want to go there.
Following Sally’s advice, I planned to rent a car in the city of San Luis Potosi and drive a big circle. My Spanish has been improving, and I was looking forward to testing it.
Or I thought I was. But when Hijo Dos (Son Two), who’s fully fluent, offered to accompany us, I think I was relieved as my Mate in saying ¡Sí, por favor! So we all flew together from Seattle.
Luckily we all like each other.
Our plane got in late so we spent the night in a hotel near the airport, but next day we drove about three hours through increasingly impressive desert…
How do you say Joshua Tree in Spanish?
…to La Huasteca, a region named for the Huastec people, a place of lush, jungly green oases with magical blue rivers and waterfalls. Our first stay was the small town of Tamasopo.
Apparently these cute town name signs are a big thing now, and not just in Mexico. Instagram Effect?
The Rio Tamasopo ran right past our first accomodations–such a relief after hours of desert driving!
Lemme in there!Ay, sí….
The cypress trees there are as impressive as the water; in fact, they shape the water’s flow with their roots.
Another huge plus of our cabaña was its proximity to what could well be the top attraction of the whole area (except that it has so many competitors): el Puente de Diós (Bridge of God).
This
It’s less a bridge than it is a roaring waterfall which comes to rest in a magical, dark blue cenote—ringed by drapery of ferns and more tiny waterfalls—from which the river somehow disappears through the cliff and comes out the other side.
Those fan-shaped “rocks” are actually stalactites formed by the mineral-laden water over millennia.Bridge, no. Of God–yes.
Tourists can float through this underwater cavern with lifejackets on…
…watched over by a lifeguard in the world’s coolest natural lifeguard tower! (Note rope to help floaters exit)
My family never opted for the boisterous-seeming life-jacket-cave-float option, preferring to hang out in the sunny water just downstream…
…and (Hijo Dos y yo) to sneak back in next morning before the guides and tourists arrived.
Being there alone with only the roar of the falls, steaming in the chill air, was magical.
He swam; I took pictures. (In my defense, it was a pretty chilly morning!
Another nearby attraction, just a couple of miles by car, were the Cascadas de Tamasopo. Having been warned by Sally’s blog that these falls had been curated into a kind of waterpark, we saved them for the day we left Tamasopo.
Note the jumping platform on the left. Salvavidas (life jackets) required for that.
Because we got there early we were still able to fully enjoy the natural beauty of the water without being too distracted by The surrounding eateries and lounge chairs.
This will definitely do!
Not exactly wilderness, but very well protected
Three days into our trip, we had yet to meet a single non-Mexican tourist. ¡¡¡Sí!!!
Vamos a volver (we’ll be back)
Next stop: the Selva Teenek Wildlife Rehabilitation Ecopark. Let’s see some critters!
My Quaker Meeting meets in the best space ever: a goat dairy.
…where, in the spring, after Meeting, you sometimes get to do this
A dairy is a farm, so of course Sunnyfield has barn cats. One of them, Basil, decided to join us this morning in our nice, warm yurt, for an hour of silence. (Or, for Basil: cuddles.)
Let me repeat: Basil is a barn cat. He’s supposed to be out in the barn catching mice, not sitting on nice, warm, indoor Quaker laps.
And Basil knows this. Oh, he knows! Just look how firmly he’s anchored to this lap–even with his tail!
Since when do cats have prehensile tails? (photo by Kirm Taylor)
For the first 10 minutes, as Basil’s contended purring dominated our silence, I found myself meditating on the power of comfort, the lure of bliss.
What, I asked myself, are my own versions of purring? Me slipping into a hot tub. Me lying down on the couch with a fat novel in an empty house. Me fitting an entire chunk of sushi into my mouth.Me on a mountain, contemplating more mountains.
prrrrrrrr….. (photo by Allison Snow)
But 10 minutes in, one of our group, who happens to also co-own that goat dairy, came in and spotted Basil. Quick as a wink, she deported him back to mousing duty, outdoors.
So I spent a good portion of the rest of that quiet hour thinking about it means to choose comfort over cold, hard service. I know myself well enough to know that I need BOTH. Around this time, I probably lean a bit more toward the purring-on-laps parts of my life.
But I also welcome the fresh air of personal, artistic, and political challenge when it comes. I’m not ASKING to be sent out to the barn, understand. But when someone sends me, I’ll get back out there with my tail high.
As Staycations go, this one would’ve had a hard time failing.
Not CGI
A few months ago we paid for two nights at a rental house at Lake Quinault, only to have our travel companions cancel due to illness.
The view from that house
The renter allowed us to change our dates, so we invited intrepid friends: Ben & Lynn from Asheville, whom we’ve known for decades. They said YES!
Walking in W. Seattle’s Lincoln Park while we waited for their flight, we discovered this altar to LOVE. Seemed a good omen–Brussels sprouts & all.
Since our friends were coming clear across the country, the least we could do was take them all the way around the Olympic Peninsula—a.k.a. part of our Big Backyard, across the Strait from our island.
Ben & Lynn–helping give some scale to the Lincoln Park madrona trees
Starting with the rainforests, at Quinault and the Hoh River, we all re-introduced ourselves to some big friends.
Well hello up there!
Ben & Gretchen agree, things are looking up.
In those wondrous, drippy forests, the enormous conifers–fir, spruce, cedar & hemlock–get most of the attention…
…whether alive or helping younger trees to be alive…
…but shoutout to the hardwoods, okay? The mosses seem to love the maples best.
Is that a hobbit hiding in there?
One of the nice thing about traveling with another couple is…
…couple photos! We tried not to take TOO much advantage.
Moving up the Olympic coastline from Quinault, one has an embarrassing pick of beaches. Beach Three’s our favorite, for its tidepools, but the tide was too high this time of year. So we got to focus on other wonders–like this natural water feature.
Isn’t that the coolest little pool? We needed a 4 year-old to play in it.
Rialto Beach might be the most in-your-face breathtaking, if ya like that kinda thing
I have another photo of Lynn doing pretty much the same thing!
It was hard to leave the serenity of Lake Quinault. The northern shore of the lake was 95% deserted–all those empty vacation homes, what’s up, people?
And the sunrise didn’t hurt either.
But after our two nights, it was on to the furthest northwestern point on the Lower 48: the Makah Reservation at Neah Bay.
Along the way we stopped in Forks for groceries [not pictured: amazing apple fritters] and a hike to Third Beach (not to be confused with Beach 3).
Third Beach is the jumping-off point for a magnificent hike, out toward a garden of seastacks, up & down some rope ladders.
We just stayed put and admired ’em from afar.
Somehow, we did just fine.
Never any shortage of seats on these driftlog-piled beaches!
Up at Neah Bay, more choices: Cape Flattery, the very tippy-tip of the Rez, involving a 1.5 mile round trip walk, or Shi Shi Beach…which would’ve required a 2-mile slog through mud just to get to the start of the pretty stuff.
Guess what we chose?
Cape Flattery is difficult to describe without gothic-novel purple prose: surf crashing upon crags, mist and spray and boiling, roiling, heaving, breathing seas…
…or you could just look at the pictures.
After we’d been there an hour, taking every conceivable photo, the sun came out. So what else could we do but start over?
Fine, if we must…
The best photos from Cape Flattery are videos, which capture all that roiling/boiling/heaving stuff I mentioned. But those are harder to embed into this blog, so I’ll just leave you with this one Lynn took:
Is it just me, or do you also see a whale in that rock? Right?
After our dalliance with the Cape and a lengthy visit to the Makah Museum (which was hosting a holiday craft fair), our crew was ready for a rest. But with the sun making such an unexpected appearance, I simply couldn’t resist one more beach visit, this one a simple drive & stroll on my own, to Tsoo-Yess Beach.
See what I mean about that sun? Tsoo-YESSSSS!
I couldn’t stop taking photos of the least little beachy items, which the sun rendered…let’s go ahead & use the term “glorious.”
“just” a piece of kelp, with foam on it
gargantuan log, turned into yet another water feature/sandbox (oh, where is that 4 year-old?)Sand arrows? Maybe kind of appropriate, on the Rez
Once more, it was hard leaving Neah Bay, especially with the sun out, and the thought of un-visited Shi Shi Beach. So we’ll have to come back one day…with better mudboots.
Meanwhile, it was on to a midday walk at Dungeness Spit, in Sequim (pronounced “Squim”):
It’s FIVE MILES long! No mud to slog through, but also not the most changeable scenery, eh? So we mostly stayed put.
Our final overnight stop was the ridiculously pretty town of Pt. Townsend.
also nice & quirky
The upper half of town, where the “proper” folks lived (as opposed to the rough & tumble crowd on the waterfront) is famous for its Victorians.
This was NOT our inn…at least not on this trip. I did stay here once with my HS Besties, years ago.
Oh, and did I mention the deer? I counted fifteen on a ten-minute walk through the leafy part of town.
These never budged as I walked past.
Our weather stayed amazingly clear, gifting us both a Mt. Rainier-silhoutted sunrise…
…over the ferry dock…
…and a Mt. Baker mid-morning, looking north from Ft. Worden State Park.
And if you moved the camera a little to the left, you’d be looking at Lopez Island!
Back in Seattle, we had one last hurrah of a meal w/ our adventure buddies, then left them at their airport hotel while we spent the night with Son Two. Our great fortune: he was dogsitting!
Even better than a 4 year-old!
Back home next day, after a week away, The Mate & I marveled at the deeply exotic beauty so close to our home. Then we looked around our little village and saw these community-crafted, recycled-bottle luminaries everywhere…and thought,
Y’know that “no place like home” thing?
I’ll say it again: (Cape) Flattery will get you. So will Tsoo-Yess, and Beach 3, and Third Beach. That whole peninsula is magical –and we didn’t even visit Lake Crescent, or the Elwha River, or the Sol Duc hot springs. We didn’t even drive up to see snowy Hurricane Ridge (road closed).
There’s just SO MUCH.
So if you go? Bring your camera. But try & bring a 4 year-old too.
No, scratch that. I’m writing this BECAUSE it’s Election Eve in America. And even though I went back to my home state of NC a couple of weeks ago largely for political reasons, I’m feeling the need tonight to celebrate a bunch of non-political stuff from my time there.
Herewith, in no particular order: WONDERFUL THINGS IN NORTH CAROLINA.
Red leaves in October. We do have fall color, here in Washington State: gold, yellow, and, uh, yellow-gold. Not red.
Maples!Dogwoods! OK, you get the idea. I miss red.
2. Rolled ice cream. What the heck is rolled ice cream? is what I asked when one of my fellow canvassers in Greenville started raving about it. So I had to find out.
First, they pour your choice of flavored syrup + mix-ins onto a super-cooled surface.Next they add cream…chop and stir……flatten and spread to the width of that circle, and then–voila!–use that spatula to scrape curls…of ice cream into rolls of yum, with toppings! Didn’t get the proprietors’ names, but I was so impressed with their delicious innovation. Look them up in Greenville, NC!
3. NC-style BBQ. This place in Greenville is such an institution, the road is named after it.
Turns out eastern NC “cue” is about as good as the Triangle’s…
…but those weird-shaped hushpuppies got NOTHING on Allen & Son’s in Pittsboro.
Stevie passed away last week, at the age of 37, in his rural North Carolina home. You may remember Stevie from various posts over the years:
Stevie, World’s Cutest Ass
I missed the chance to say goodbye, arriving at my folks’ farm a week too late. Son Two, who happened to be visiting his grandparents then, did get that chance.
Son 2 (and Son 1) go way back w/ Stevie; this is 11 years ago.
For the first time in decades, there were no furry ears to cuddle–usually my first stop after dropping my bags upstairs.
When my folks bought this land way back in 1959, my German father named their little farm Tierreich, which translates to Kingdom (or Realm) of the Animals. They proceeded to fill the place up with critters, and it’s remained that way for 65 years.
Horses. Goats. Barn cats. Chickens, geese, ducks, guinea fowl. A couple of bottle-fed deer (from the research herd at Duke). Somebody’s sheep who got left here. One tempermental llama, whom only my dad liked.
Not pictured: Salvador Dalai Llama. But here’s Hank the goat
Once or twice we raised an animal to eat–Chuck the steer, Sir Toby the pig–but my father hated killing and butchering so much that we abandoned that path.
LOTS OF CRITTERS. And that was just the barnyard. In the house you’d find: more cats. Canaries, budgies, finches. Guinea pigs, rabbits, gerbils, hamsters, tropical fish, a flying squirrel, and a hedgehog. And roaming between house & yard…two to four Norwegian Elkhounds.
…like Erda, in her youth. Joined by an occasional Standard Poodle.
They ran the place. If you look at the photo wall in my folks’ family room, you’ll see that most pictures include animals. They still run the place.
My family & other animals
But there are fewer of them every time I come home. Gone are Stevie’s various goat buddies…
Like Daisy–pretty, but pretty bossy!
…and soon, all too soon, Erda the Ancient Elkhound will be making her own departure.
Mad props: she made it to 15!
Among the larger animals on the farm, that will leave two smaller, younger elkhounds, and two elderly horses: Trefino, nearly 28…
Seen here with my Amazing Mom, waiting for a new set of shoes (probably his last)
…and the little Arab, Raj, who Mom thinks is even older than Stevie–maybe 38!
Madder props to Raj!
I’m not at all sure that either of these gentle old equines will be here by my next visit, next spring–an arresting thought.
On my walk in the autumnal woods today, I was musing about how that will feel, when I saw this double ruin: old broken springhouse on the left, old broken oak on the right:
How the mighty are fallen
Man-made or Nature-made, everything falls to ruin eventually. Where do beloved pets and farm animals fit in this spectrum? Of nature, yet shaped by humans, all–our dear Stevie, old Erda, old Fino and oldest Raj–are part oak, part springhouse.
And may they all rest in peace for the peace (and joy, and comfort, and rides, and laughs, and hair) they have given.
This was what our departure looked like, ferrying east from Lopez Island:
Red sun in the morning…
If that red sunrise was a bad omen, it was a day late. We’d actually tried to leave the day before, but a) missed the 6:15 ferry b/c we didn’t realize how many trucks depart the island on Thursdays, leaving few overheight spaces for our tall Vanna Grey, and b) they cancelled the 9:30.
So we awarded ourselves a “free day” at home and had one fewer day in BC. Best Choice.
We went straight to a park we’ve usually passed by on our way to the better-known Jasper National Park: Mt. Robson Provincial Park. Named for the tallest of the Canadian Rockies.
Fun fact: Mt. Robson’s glaciers are rare “live” glaciers, meaning they are growing rather than retreating. Go Mt. Rob! Go ice!
Despite our campsite’s thick shelter of trees, we still had a view of the mountain’s peak:
Rob, meet Vanna
There’s really only one MAIN hike in the park, so, saving it for our longer day, we spent our first afternoon checking out the falls of the Fraser River. Hard to believe something this bright becomes the familiar brown body of water passing by Vancouver.
Oh, this old thing? It’s just something I threw on.
The weather was dry and hot (for Canada, and for The Mate & me), but that didn’t stop the mushrooms.
OK, who ordered the mushroom bagel?
Too late in the season for most wildflowers–but I did manage to find a few ripe thimbleberries to add to my yogurt.
The hot new flavor!
Mt. Robson appeared to soaked up all the sun he could; can you blame him?
“I mean, it’s probably gonna rain tomorrow…”
Next day we headed up the trail, following the Robson River to its source, Kinney Lake.
Kenny at Kinney.
That incredible mountain seemed to follow us every step of the trail, even in what seemed like a pretty dense forest. I guess it’s just THAT tall (just shy of 13,000 ft…close to Mt. Rainier height!).
Up top, the trail skirts the lake in ridiculously postcardy vistas.
…or ridiculously Christmascardy?
It was hard to make ourselves turn around and go back down. But even more impressive to follow that wild river, imagining the calm from which it came.
After two full days at Mt. Rob, we headed back south on the Yellowhead Highway (5), stopping to check out the small part of enormous Wells Gray Prov. Park that’s accessible to a big van.
Can I just say, it’s worth seeing? These falls are barely 10 miles from the highway.
Wells Gray’s campground was on a rougher road that we wanted to drive Vanna on, so we opted for a private site down below, in the town of Clearwater.
I guess this will have to do.
Next, we left the boreal forest behind, heading back into BC’s dry region, in the rain shadow of the coastal mountains, west of Kamloops. Some of it bore signs of last year’s terrible wildfires.
I believe the word I’m looking for is “stark.”
Not only did we score a campsite at a rafting company that was preparing to close for the season, but the owner let us camp for free.
We had the place to ourselves…including our own personal canyon.
Yes, that’s the same Fraser River as in the waterfall shot, above. Getting a little darker…still blue enough.
Oh, and those trains? There are tracks on both sides, demonstrating the stubbornness of capitalists, as we learned from this sign:
Well, hey. It only took 100 years for us to learn to share.
Here’s where I should note that those trains did a mighty good job of keeping us company. All night. Both directions. Bad Choice.
But how can you not choose your own personal canyon, at sunset?
Beautiful Canyon
Our last day, it was back to the wet: both in terms of ecosystem, and weather. We went to Hope, close to the US border, just an hour or so east of Vancouver. There we discovered an old friend: the Kettle Valley River rail-trail.
Well hello, buddy!
Unfortunately for us, construction work prevented us from riding all the way over to the Othello Tunnels, which we’d visited on a past trip. But Vanna took us there.
This kind of engineering brings to mind words like “chutzpah”…or “hubris.” Or: “really?”
In under a week, we were back home. Too short a trip? Not at all. Vanna’s whole raisond’etre in our lives these days is to keep us reminded what’s in our big backyard.
Wing's World 