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The weather lately has been really nutters. I've had some unexpected days off with the mountain closing down almost every day because of 90 MPH wind gusts that have been snapping trees in half and pushing old ladies over.
So one day, with nothing else to do, I counted all my moolah. No matter that it's all in one dollar bills; I'm totally loaded:
Then we took Moma on a scrufflebout out to Tumalo Falls. We love watching the other cross country skiiers, because without fail they (or should I say we) are all nerds. Lots of spandex and wrap around shades. I like to sport jazzy gators, and Taylor prefers sporty fleece soccer pants. Moma dons her ridiculously long tail hair and crazy eyes:
For Christmas, Taylor got me a really great, old, school-district-reject piano. It's beautiful and out of tune, and we love it. Porcelin Elephant loves it too, but Porcelin Pig thinks it's way too loud:
I'm reading a really great book called the 'Book of Beasts,' an English translation of a Latin bestiary from the 12th century. It's an encyclopedia of all the animals they knew about (and some they made up), and the physical and moral qualities of each one. Women, whores especially, seemed to occupy a lot of the author's thoughts- "Wolves are known for their rapacity, and for this reason we call prostitutes wolves, because they devastate the possessions of their lovers."
This is one of my favorite creatures, the Bonnacon. When it's being chased by hunters, it emits a fart three acres wide that sets trees afire and makes every living creature collapse:
When going into the woods to cut a Christmas tree, you have to be ready to do some real heavy duty lifting, and if you are at all out of shape or not ready for the action, those trees will dominate you. They don't care. They'll do it with no remorse at all. I've seen it happen. Taylor and I knew what we were up against, so we boldly strode into the Dark Forest with our guns a-blazin' and we showed those dagnabbiter trees just who was boss:
It has been exactly One Month since the last post, a month in which Taylor's health has almost healed, we drove Alaska to Oregon, rented a home in Bend for the winter, and celebrated aforementioned new-home-acquirement with a Thanksgiving bashola.
The drive home included 2,000 miles of packed snow and ice with pretty blizzards along the way. We also saw five snowy owls one day, and a wolf chasing an injured deer along the highway the next. We saw another bloodied up car fresh from a bad wreck, and thought about how many dead people truckers must see. But the best part, by far, was the night we spent in the exclusive (to crazies) Shannon Motel, deep in northern British Columbia, where our neighbor-for-the-night stood outside in the courtyard screaming like a dying gorilla that he loved his girlfriend and couldn't understand why she didn't love him (I thought I knew why...). Two hours later, his mom came and picked him up. The walls at the Shannon Motel were very thin.
Taylor has been proving that he can bring home the bacon, or in this case, chuckers. He and our Old Friend Sam went on a grand chucker huntaroo, and we feasted on their little breasts and legs the next night.
Taylor has also been getting back into shape by doing push-ups with Moma. They should make a workout tape called "Using Your Puppy as a Home Gym."
One day at work on the mountain last winter, after I finished making a man's latte, I handed it to him and wished him good luck out on the slopes. This was a most unlucky thing for me to say, because he turned to me, and in a Dear Wayward Daughter voice proceeded to explain to me for ONE WHOLE HOUR about how there is no such thing as luck because God exists. Now, I am a (fairly) devout Christian, but I do believe in the existence of Lady Luck; she's like one of God's sidekicks (along with Mother Nature, Father Christmas, and Uncle Sam).
I jest. I am a jester. But why not believe in luck and God? Where is the disconnect? For me, superstition is another way to worship, and therefore knocking on wood three times is prayer. I jest.
All this is to say, our luck has been decidedly bad lately. Taylor got poisoned pretty severely by carbon monoxide at the remote lodge we were caretaking, which resulted in two emergency evacuations from the lodge (one in a helicopter, no less), and us having to Regretfully Resign from the posts of caretakers (he's still sick, and might be for a long while).
Now, you might be wondering, what does it take to get to ride in a helicopter in the middle of the night? I'll tell you! You have to almost die! And while this story is more like a saga and far to long to explain, the long and the short of it is we are heading back to our dear state of Oregon for the winter.
Taylor and I are People Who Plan, and this was obviously not in our plans. We are depressed, but not defeated. And in the spirit of feeling like winners, not losers, we are determined to Make Light of the situation- so enjoy:
When we came in to the emergency room by helicopter, we convinced the paramedics and the pilots to let us bring Moma along for the ride, and then she hung out in the ER with us for hours while Taylor got worked over by the doctors. She slept, and spied on the nurses:
Because we thought Taylor was having a heart attack (for reals here, no jesting at all), he got to sport this fancy heart monitor for a whole day. He gets to do all the fun things:
So, while we are disappointed, we are not dead, which was a real possibility out there. That was good luck and Godly intervention combined, and we are thankful.
We are surrounded here by steep hills and mountains, which makes getting firewood more challenging. Felling a tree on flat ground is hard enough, but doing it on a fifty degree slope can make a calm man (like Taylor) pretty worked up. He chainsaws the tree so it falls downhill, and cuts it into chunks that I then throw down to the bottom to our waiting boat. I really enjoy this part. Here's Taylor demonstrating (on a slightly flatter slope) a good log toss. Excellent form, Taylor:
Moma discovered porcupines today. She also discovered that you can't bite them, and she ended up with at lest 60 quills inside her mouth and around her nose. Getting quills out of a dog's mouth is akin to sticking your hand in a meat grinder because the fight she put up was tremendous. We got most of them out during a four hour tousle, but there was still ten quills lodged deep inside her mouth.
That is why, in this picture, you will see her inside a sack (to immobilize her legs) and tied down to the table with the lone rope (and later an extension cord). Tying her down was not enough; I had to lay on her, on the table, while Taylor held her head down and her jaw open with a looped belt.
And before you judge us for animal cruelty, saying 'Well, she looks pretty calm and helpless in this picture,' please remember that she is only calm here because for a whole hour before I took this shot she was screaming and thrashing. That much effort would make a monster look like a lamb.
This was one of the most hellish afternoons we can remember having in ages. But, at the same time, seeing her in an REI sleeping bag sack tied to our kitchen table with an extension cord was pretty funny:
She is a-ok now, sleeping like a baby. We are exhausted as well, but happy that our little puppy is healthy again.
Certain things we have in abundance out here, like bears, beavers, and shrews. Other things we have a shortage of, like candy bars, hot tubs, and restaurants. But this is OK with us.
Our indoor voles and shrews is having a population renaissance of sorts, and we are the stodgy old people trying to squash their happiness. Well, not literally squash, more like crush, because we use traps. Just in case we run out of food we are freezing them so we can make little rodent kabobs:
There are at least three huge beaver lodges in this lake, and as someone who has only ever seen beaver dams, never a regal and majestic lodge, I am as impressed as a person can be:
As this lodge is a bear viewing lodge, there are many a bear around. This bear strolls through camp about twice a day, rolls in the mud, and bolts at the first hint of a human. So we stand inside and paparazzi the heck out of it:
Also, we had our first couple of days of snow, Moma discovered the tastiness of a good dead salmon, and Taylor and I are on a Scrabble playing marathon.
Later, when we got home, Taylor and I realized that the full moon was upon us, and not only that, but the brightest full moon of the year (source cited: NPR). We got our cross country skis and drove up into the mountains for a late night jaunt. It was much brighter out than these flashless pictures shows:
Later, when we got home, Taylor and I realized that the full moon was upon us, and not only that, but the brightest full moon of the year (source cited: NPR). We got our cross country skis and drove up into the mountains for a late night jaunt. It was much brighter out than these flashless pictures shows:
