wood strip

For many years boat builders have made canoes out of small cedar strips glued together.
This is a tonneau cover I am making for my Dodge pickup. I'll include a finish picture soon.
The strips are about 1/4" thick and 3/4 inch wide. The final tonneau is 6 by 8 1/4 feet and weighs about 50 pounds, not much heavier than the aluminum and canvas one this one replaces.
The cedar is salvaged from the church remodel we did a couple of years ago.
I added strips of maple and walnut for color.
For the last two or three weeks this has been my consuming passion!
Lots of work.

broccoli seedlings

This picture was taken today! I don't usually start a lot of broccoli.
Broccoli in the store is pretty good too, and in the winter we eat a lot of it.
I enjoy the times of the year when we can almost live on produe from our garden.
Right now it is too early to set them out in the garden.
Soon!

seed starting

March is seed starting time.

Usually I set up my seed starting rack in the small studio. This year I have a work table in that space, so I brought the rack inside.

Such luxury. Water a few steps away. Warm temps in the room all the time. And those seeds like that.

Confucius is supposed to have said, after all I was not there to hear him, that the best fertilizer was the foot prints of the owner. With the rack here in the downstairs bedroom I look at those plants dozen times a day. I give them a squirt of water when the surface looks dry. I can put the whole flat in the bathtub to water.

And, when we are gone, Juan my neighbor, can easily keep them watered.

Once we were gone for a few days. We had a fish at that time and Juan was to feed the fish, Miriam left instructions and the fish food by the fish bowl. She did not say how much to feed the fish and by the time we got home the water was red (red shrimp I think it said).

We were lucky I guess the fish made it fine and Juan became a campion fish feeder.

No, it is not my car. (I think it actually a Chevy Pickup).
I don't even know who owns it.
I took the picture at a car show.
But today I wanted color and it is hard to beat this for color.

mr. fender

Much of the west is desert.

And this valley is no exception. Our “rain” comes in canals and ditches beginning with snow in the high mountains.

The project was began about 1900 by a company from New York (we have the New York Canal as a reminder). But it was too big and the company went bust. It took the federal government to get the water to where it could be used.

And all alon those ditches and canals there were weeds and grass. Every blade of grass in a waterway slows it down a tiny bit. Make that a LOT of grass and the water does not run well at all.

In those days the ditch company had a crew of men who had sythes who would go down the ditch bank and cut away that grass. They sure knew how to sharpen those tools.

But there were other places where they could not get the crew to, but needed to have the weeds and grass mowed. And that is where Mr. Fender came in. He was an old man (I was 6 or 8, anyone over 20 was old, I am clueless now) who lived alone in a little house not far from ourhouse.

Mom would send fresh bread and jam to him occasionally. I was the courier. What Mr. Fender had that is unique was work horses. His were not those really huge Percherons, the were smaller, and very good at what they did.

He had a mowing machine that he rode on and the horses pulled. The cycle bar was powered by the wheels, so If you were stopped, there was no cutting. He must ot have had too big a territory to mow, since he was in our neighborhood quite often.

Mom sent over to his house late one summer day. More than likely she sent over a loaf of fresh made bread. He was home and had a big skillet of potatoes on his little wood stove, cooking. His house was small, really small, maybe 10 by 20, though it might have been a tad larger. No bathroom, and possibly no plumbing at all.

He took the bread, replied a bit gruffly, and went out side to look after his horses. I was amazed that he would leave the potatoes cookin while he was gone, but he did.

I was not enamored with horses, but I would watch as he maneurvered and mowed. We were not close friends, I am not sure he knew I existed, but I was so amazed at what he did and could do with those horses.

It seems that he got married eventually and setled into a horseless culture. New small tractors were coming out, changing ariculture.

Mom said he did a good job plowing her garden. Time was not on his side.

I still don’t like horses much, but I miss that time.

Ok, it only grows like this in my dreams. But just you wait Henry Higgins, Just you wait.

our farm

Our place might be called an urban homestead.

We have about an acre on the edge of a small town in what used to be rural Idaho. We grow much of our own food, a fair amount of our own firewood, as well as fruit and berries.

The garden part is still in the county, with rules based more on the agricultural use. The house is in the town, with all that involves.

When some one says glowing things about Idaho, when I am somewhere else, I usually respond that it was a lot more fun place to live before it was discovered. We use to say that when you see the national news, Idaho (no one knew where it was, really) was behind the head of the weather person. Then California moved in.

My town was 8 or 9000 when I was growing up. Now it is over 30,000. The next town over was smaller than my town and now they boast 90,000. The next town over still was a couple thousand not too long ago and is close to 50,000 now. No one thought of any of this ahead of time, except in glowing head in the sky terms.

All of that grown has caused a host of problems. There is improved “shopping” but how many of those out of town owned big box stores will still be around when the dust settles? We used to have a few “outdoor” stores in the valley and now we have dozens, all of them huge, all of them out of state owned. One went bust last week and others are sure to follow. I sure am not doing my american duty to support all of these boxes.

We even have an Olive Garden Restaurant a few miles from here now. We are steady customers. We go in once each year.

But we have growth.

So my little farmstead is a bit unusual. We could have a few chickens and a dairy goat or two, we have enough room and zoning would not be a problem. If we were not gone so much visiting daughters and camping, we might.

But it is spring, almost. I have the plant stand setup in the downstairs bedroom, with seeds in the pots on the heater pad and seedlings under the fluorescent lighting.

We still have potatoes and cabbage. The freezer has berries and peaches and walnuts. Canning jars hold apricots, pears, applesauce and a LOT of grape juice.

I am thankful for it all. But it is a LOT of work and I am lazy.

if those stones could talk

As I go through a cemetery, not often, but occasionally, I am full of questions about the people. What did they do, how well did they do it, were they good to their children, did they have a good life?
My great great grandfather is buried right behind where I am standing for this picture. He and his family left Iowa in the early 1860's with horses and a wagon. It took two years for them to make it to their destination in Washington State.
There is a whole row of our family there beside Grandpa Oscar.

mr. weir

After we had been married about ten years, soon after our last daughter was born (we were 29), Mom and Dad moved “temporarily” from Idaho to Massachusetts.

Dad’s brother Mel was a promoter. He was a dreamer. I don’t remember any hint of anything illegal or unethical, but he pushed some edges. He survived because Aunt Virginia was a very capable school teacher who was always employed.

Once Mel had called and asked Dad to go somewhere to build some houses for him. The idea was exciting to me as a kid. So I asked if we were going to go. “Shucks, knowing Mel, it could be that he wants me to build dog houses.” But for some reason he took the Massachusetts hook and they moved.

Mel had invented or developed a set of portable ladders that could extend to 10 or 12 feet and yet could be hauled in the trunk of a car. The idea was that it was a perfect product for rental stores, to be used by people who only had a car but also had the need of a ladder. So the company was born.

Dad was to be production manager, and mom was offered or became the bookkeeper. The company did not do too well. Mel was a dreamer, but he was not so good at organizing and running a company. Mel left, Dad was in charge. Mom got a job at a private school as accountant and so on.

But Brother Ben, who was in high school, moved with them, went to college there and met Judy. Mom and dad had moved back to Idaho by the time Ben graduated from College there. After graduation he and Judy got married.

So, MIriam and I were I Washington State. Our sister Joyce was in graduate school in MIchigan for the summer. Mom and dad were in Idaho, and we all went to Massachusetts. My father’s (remember that is my biological father) youngest brother lived in the wedding town, so we saw him, and even stayed in his house.

Miriam and I were running a photography studio, so we were the photographers.

And now about Mr. Weir!

I was up in the room with the bride taking some pictures of her and her attendants when I looked out the window. We were in a 2nd story room. There he was Mr. Weir.

When we got married a dozen years before, Mr. Weir had been at the wedding and carefully told us the exact moment we were pronounced man and wife. But that was in Idaho and were were a long way away. But there was no mistake it was him.

Mr. Weir was a quiet widow who attend the same church as my family. He was retired. I have no memory of much about him, but it seems like he had been an accountant. His retirement thing was to attend weddings.

When Miriam and I got married he was there. When Cousin John got married in British Columbia, Mr. Weir was there, and here we were 3000 miles from home and there was Mr. Weir.


I called the bride to the window and pointed him out to her. “That man lives in my town in Idaho. He has been on the bus for days to get here. When he comes through the receiving line he will tell you the moment you were declared to be married. Make a fuss over him, just for me.”

Judy was a very gracious woman and, while I was not there to witness her words, she did exactly as I asked. Bless you Judy.

Today when I got to thinking of the interesting people in my life, Mr. Weir popped into my mind. He was not really a family friend. The only time he really shines in my memory is at weddings, but as I look back I admire. I am told, but do not remember, that he played the saw, you know a carpenters saw, made music out of that saw!

It was not what he did so much, but that he was so dedicated to his chosen task. My memory is that he died not too long after Ben’s wedding, but Mr. Weir, smiling, chubby, balding, little man that he was will always be in my memory.

Good memory, that is.

happy birthday Bro Ben

Today, St Patrick day, is my brother Ben’s birthday.
(There was a woman named Arline who had two sons: David and Ben. David had a daughter he named Arline and SHE had two sons: David and Ben -- true).
I left home when Ben was 7. We like each other and keep in touch, but right now we live thousands of miles apart. Ben’s two daughters still live in the mountain west. That brings him west a time or two a year.
It is always good to see him.He is a good guy.
This picture was taken at our parents house while we were living in Texas 21 years ago.
Ahh, the gal is our sister who lives in our parents house, down the street from Miriam and I.
We enjoy eachother’s company but it does not happen as often as we wish.
Happy birthday bro.

Dallas

The only city I ever "hung around" in was Dallas, Texas (there is a Dallas Oregon as well).
This was taken a few years ago. My guess is that not too much has changed except for the logos on the buildings.
But among those tall very modern buildings, are two churches. Not remotely modern, but making their presence known by their distinctive looks.

dream

I had a visit with Robin Williams last night.

During the presidential campaign John McCain and I also visited.

OK, it was a dream, both of them.

Still, Robin and I visited like old friends, talking about kids and health and such. I have been a fan of his incredible skills since Mork and Mindy a hundred years ago.

I told John that he was not running a very good campaign, and he nodded in agreement. “John, I admire you, but you are not going to win this one." he nodded again. "And, even I am not going to vote for you. But you have served your country in extraordinary ways. I am proud of you, and so should you.”

He nodded in both agreement and resignation.

The big book says that in the old days old men will dream dreams. And there is a serious component there, but since I am pretty sure God has a tremendous sense of humor, I hope it is not irreverent to agree, to chuckle and say that some of those dreams might not make any sense though!

The Smothers Brothers always got to me. I followed their career, bought their LP's and admired. About a dozen years ago my youngest was staff artist at Pebble Beach. There was a Pro-Am event, and Linda was out among the players, probably on business of some sort.

She actually saw Tommy Smothers. “My dad has been a huge fan of yours forever.” They looked for something for him to sign and all he could find was the program of the day’s events. So it says: “To Dave, Tommy Smothers.”

Shucks he even included a YOYO with his name on it. I still have the yo-yo and the program.

practice

Whenever I cook it is an experiment.

If I put water in a pan it is really experimental. It might burn.

So today I decided I wanted to make some egg noodles. I know it is a nutty idea because you can buy them so cheap, but I knew all of that and wanted to any way.

Looked at 3 or 4 recipes on Cooks.com and sorta made the average of those recipes. That may sound a lot less experimental than it was.

I wanted to use whole wheat, which is another big experiment. If there are recipes out there I did not find one (and come to think about it, I don’t think I looked for one).

So I measured and stirred and kneaded and rolled and cranked the “Made In Italy” pasta maker. What I got was interesting. Some recipes say to dry the noodles some say it is not necessary, so took the later word and put them in the boiling water for the prescribed 20 minutes.

The noodles came out unlike any since the Gauls sacked Rome. Of course I should admit that that is over my head, but I won’t.

Maybe it is as much art as science and maybe I need to read more and try it again. I play a cornet (trumpet), have since I was 10. After Church, Eric and I stayed till after the sanctuary was pretty well empty. Then Lora the organist (not daughter Lora this time) and us jumped in.

The first time through I got probably 5 or 6 percent of the notes, but by the third I was getting 60 or 62 percent of them.

So like music, like cooking.

Practice more, David.