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It's Foxglove Time

John Day Fossil Beds

Having grown exceedingly weary of driving north and south on I-5 between Seattle and Eugene/Springfield,OR, Elaine and I decided to visit Central Oregon last week on our way south.

The detour was worth every minute. We especially took time to visit the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument--2 of the 3 Units. The Clarno Unit and the Painted Hills Unit. A photo of a view approaching Painted Hills is in the Blog Title now.

I will write more about the trip in my next blog--hopefully in a couple of days. I highly recommend that you take the time to visit this "secret" part of the Northwest. It's beautiful, reminiscent of the old Republic Pictures Western Movies, restful, uncrowded, and fresh.

Detour

It was before freeways. The roads between our starting point and our grandparents’ farm were 2-lane blacktop at best and unpaved single-lane country roads at worst. If Dad drove us in the summer, part of the way was closed for a “bridge out” because of spring floods. If we went at Christmas, a road was blocked by snow or a washout or mud. We never drove to the farm on the most direct route but came to “DETOUR” signs directing us to go around this block or that section or along this river to the next bridge.
“Oh, Boy!” my brothers chortled, “Another adventure!”
We kids sitting in the back seat knew then that the trip would extend an hour or two—because a detour meant we would get lost—especially after dark. Dad invariably missed a critical sign. Many times he must retrace his route miles back to the original “detour” sign and start over. He insisted the whole family stay awake and to please keep their eyes peeled for the tiny, dirty, orange signs on fence posts along the way, and to sing out if we saw one.
Always when we got to Grandpa and Grandma’s farmhouse they came out carrying lanterns; anxious to hear about the detour that had caused the delay this time. There was a hot meal for us to eat just minutes away when we got there. Always we kids fell asleep in strange beds upstairs listening to the comfortable grown-up voices down in the kitchen, telling stories and catching up on events since our last visit.

A Crow Named Sheryl (or Russell)

Here's a picture of a bold crow who started hanging around on the deck in the past week. Since she's that bold, I have made a couple of attempts to get her to come take a peanut from my hand, but haven't had any luck so far--she expects to have her peanuts tossed onto the carport roof. Once the peanuts are there she collects the first one, walks over to the second one and sets the first down right beside the second. Then she picks both of them up so they are stacked in her beak then flies off to eat them.

NOW I'M SEVENTY

♥I will:
♥Smile at flowers.
♥Drive 60 miles an hour on the freeway and watch my miles per gallon increase 15% and
always obey the speed limit, no matter how many dirty looks I get.
♥Have the best looking lawn on the block.
♥Button my shirts at the neck if I want.
♥Wear a watch cap around the house if my head is cold.

♥Call my friends “Old Timer.”
♥Laugh loudly at my own jokes.
♥Speak to strangers just to see what happens.
♥Wander around hardware stores looking at stuff for hours.
♥Shave only on occasion.
♥Read as much of the paper as I want.

♥Tell outrageous lies about myself to my granddaughters.