Rainy Memorial Day Picnic

Joan and Marcella at Gold Basin on a sunny day last year

Here in our corner of Northwest Washington, it was a memorable Memorial Day weekend for a lot of people. It started when a freakish accident sent part of Mt. Vernon’s I-5 bridge tumbling into the Skagit River. Three people rode their vehicles with it into the swift, frigid current, but were rescued without serious injury. Hundreds watched astounded from the river banks while the rest of us gaped at our TV sets.

We heard that two of the people in the river had been on their way to Verlot for a camping holiday. Many people suddenly changed their plans for the weekend rather than face a long, complicated, jammed-up detour around the collapse.

In our little town further south, the only threats to my holiday hopes were that hubby and partner-in-fun Hank was off on a solo trip. And the skies threatened rain. Oh, well. I could take flowers to the Granite Falls cemetery, rain or shine.

Long-time friend Marcella, who’s living at Verlot where we both grew up, is turning 84. I’d called to suggest an impromptu picnic celebration to follow my cemetery visit. Marcella’s still game for anything and quickly agreed.

I assembled flower bouquets from our garden to decorate the graves, and another bouquet to give with a thank-you card to veteran Amelia, who is Marcella’s granddaughter. Amelia is a beautiful young woman whose life has been on hold since she returned from the war suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. Marcella helped raise her and still looks after her. I packed our lunch and put in a plastic tablecloth and plastic to sit on, just in case.

By the time I reached Granite Falls, drizzle kept the wipers busy. Drizzle continued on the drive up into the mountains. No problem...we could eat our lunch in the house. But as I bumped up their long driveway, I saw Marcella and Amelia waiting on the porch. They hurried to the truck, ready to picnic. Maybe we could find a shelter in one of the parks further up the road.

We circled thru Gold Basin park. My friend pointed out where a row of houses once stood in the early 1900s. Her mother had grown up there because her grandfather worked in a nearby lumber mill. She remembered walking there as a child and her mom pointing out the site of her old home. Marcella discovered an ancient caulked logging boot half buried in the moss and wanted to take it home to plant flowers in. Her mom said, “Leave it there. Your grandfather wore that boot.”

The trees dripped. Most camping spaces were empty. Anyone brave enough to go camping in the rain had already headed home. We chose a peaceful spot walled in by evergreens and vine maples, spread an oilcloth on a wet picnic table and pieces of plastic on the benches, and sat down to enjoy egg salad sandwiches, potato chips, and fruit. We had such a good time visiting we didn’t notice the paper bag holding store-bought cookies turning soggy. Fortunately, it had a waterproof lining, so we finished up with still-crispy cookies and coffee. I looked at the three of us sitting there, two elderly ladies and a young one, laughing and ignoring raindrops plopping on our heads, and thought, “One is never too old to try something new!”

Memorial Day...a time to make new memories, as well as to honor old ones.

Camera Moment

Springtime in Alaska! It was 1973 and my children were young. Their grandparents were making their first visit to the far north, the Chena River ran clear and cold, and the mosquitoes wouldn’t be bad for a few more weeks.

Mom took this blurry slide photo which I just recently rediscovered. My father is about to share his fishing expertise with his excited grandson, whose idea of fishing was to make no more than one cast in any one spot. Lenora was far more interested in the blooming fireweed than in trying her luck. I’m behind her with fishnet and camera bag. I can’t believe I was ever that slender.

It’s a moment frozen in time, a lovely memory forgotten until that old box of slides was resurrected.

Thanks, Mom. I hope some day my own snapshooting will bring back special memories for my family as yours did for me.

Breaking Through the Fog

    We sat with our coffee near the big front window as the morning’s fog began to dissipate. The farmlands below came into view. Then the thick bank hiding Port Susan retreated over Camano Island. Soon the snowy Olympic peaks rose startlingly white out of the thinning mist. In a few minutes, the entire island with its backdrop of shining mountains had emerged out of seeming nothingness.

     Of course, the peaks had been there all the time. But if we hadn’t known that, we might have reacted with the same surprised delight as did my 95-year-old mother when she sat at the elder-care-center window, watching the mountains appear and disappear among the clouds. “They rise and then they set,” she’d puzzle. Knowing she wouldn’t remember, we tried to explain what was happening. But every time the clouds lifted to reveal the mountains, she was surprised and delighted all over again.

    Isn’t a lot of life like that? Certain basic truths never change, like God’s love for us. Like his desire for us to be all that we’re created to be.

    The fog that obscures our vision is made up of half-truths we’ve been taught:

        ~You are the master of your fate, the captain of your soul.
        ~You’re # 1.
        ~You deserve the best.

            Or, conversely:

        ~What makes you think you’re important?
        ~If you don’t fight for your rights, no one else will.
        ~You’re a bad person.

    What helps us cut through the fog and see the truth? Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father but by me.” Jesus knew how much the heavenly Father loves us. Because of that love, Jesus was sent to die for us on the cross. His sacrifice opened the way for us to come to the Father.

    No longer must we pretend we’re in charge. The Creator of the universe fights for us. When we see our place in God’s scheme of things, we know we are important. He has gifted us to fill a place that no one else can fill. We’re not good in ourselves, but Jesus died to make us good in God’s sight. The Bible, God’s word, teaches us all truth and clears away the fog of the world’s lies.

    There’s no better way to live.
   

Amtrak, a Favorite Mode of Locomotion

Dining on the Amtrak Starlight

   Dad’s sister, Alma, and Mom’s sister, Ella, were good friends all their lives. After each had been widowed, they made train trips together out west to visit us in Washington. As the train screeched to a stop and conductors helped passengers alight from the coaches, we eagerly watched for our beloved aunts.

    Now Hank and I are the ones traveling by rail. One daughter lives in San Diego, another in Tucson, so we travel up and down the Pacific coast on Amtrak’s Coast Starlight. 
We used to drive our own car. That had its advantages, but as traffic became heavier and heavier in the Puget Sound corridor, that part of the drive became less and less appealing.

    Once aboard the train, you don’t have to be concerned about traffic jams or what other drivers may do...you can sit back and enjoy scenery you completely miss from the freeway. And you don’t have to keep your eyes on the road! If scenery is not your thing, you can read, play electronic games, work, e-mail, even surf the Internet if the train’s WIFI is working. You can meet people from all over the world, traveling for many different reasons. You’ll be pampered by friendly, hard-working staff who will do all they can to insure that your trip is pleasant.

    Since it’s a two-days-and-a-night trip to southern California, we always go by sleeper car. That way we have our own private compartment, although we are welcome to ride in the comfortable lounge car as well. At night, the conductor makes up the beds and we travel while we snooze. Meals are included with the cost of our sleeper tickets; a choice of menu items served in a nicely appointed dining car. It’s community seating, so you’re sure to meet new people at each meal.

    At most stops, people get on and off. Many of them are traveling short distances so they pay the cheaper coach fares. The main disadvantage for those of us taking a longer trip is the lack of exercise. Although we do walk to the lounge and dining cars and move about just to stretch, we always welcome the longer stops where we can get off and walk up and down the platform until the conductors call “All aboard!”

    One of the mixed blessings of train travel are the frequent loudspeaker announcements: announcements of upcoming stops, repeat listings of procedures after each new group boards the train, announcements of menus and times for upcoming meals, announcements about special events such as wine tasting parties or movies, announcements of regulations concerning drinking and smoking...disembodied voices making sure that everyone knows everything. The up side is that confusion is avoided and unpleasant situations are forestalled.

    This spring’s trip was our third on the Coast Starlight, but it was the first time we’d seen out-of-control behavior dealt with. When we stopped in one town, we noticed two fire engines and an ambulance waiting at the platform. Emergency technicians pushed a gurney past our window. An employee from the depot retrieved someone’s luggage from the train, then a couple of policemen arrived. Soon they returned with a handcuffed woman between them. The EMTs followed with the empty gurney and we proceeded down the track. One of our dinner companions later told us the woman had been drunk and causing a disturbance. The next day a person was taken off the train for refusing to move away from the open door while smoking on the platform and then being abusive to the conductor.

   But mostly our train travel has been comfortable, relaxed, and enjoyable. And the views have to be some of the best in the whole United States.

    Aunts Alma and Ella would be surprised to see how pleasant today’s train travel can be. They’d be pleased to know that despite the changing culture, there is zero tolerance for misbehavior on the train.
    

Tacoma Narrows Bridge

Nearing Oregon: I-5 and the Columbia River

 

An exercise break while passengers load

Crossing California's coast range to the Pacific

Playing in the Pacific Ocean

California vineyard

California Coastline

Tulip Festival Garage Sale

  What can you do when it’s Tulip Festival time in Mt. Vernon, but it’s too wet to get up close and personal with the tulips or daffodils?

    Well, you can visit the indoor displays at Tulip Town or RoozenGarde. You can go to one of the numerous art shows or the downtown street fair. You can feast at the Kiwanis Salmon Barbecue, daily at Hillside Park. Or if it’s the right weekend, you can attend the World’s Largest Garage Sale at the Mt. Vernon Fairgrounds. The fairground buildings are filled with vendors selling everything from antiques to zoology textbooks.

    Son Rob started a sideline business this spring, with the help of his teenage daughter Annie and her brother Kevin. Have you ever wondered what happens to the contents of those ubiquitous storage units when renters default on their rent? What they’ve stored is forfeited to auction. Rob and other bidders are allowed to look through the door at what they can see. Then the entire contents of a unit goes to the highest bidder.

    Next comes the treasure hunt. It’s amazing what people store, and what they will buy! Rob and Kevin haul the truckloads of items home, where they sort them. Annie photographs saleable items and advertises them on Craigslist. Once a week they have a home garage sale for those responding to Craigslist ads. And during the yearly Tulip Festival they rent a space at the World’s Biggest Garage Sale for the rest.

    Here are some links to help you enjoy the Tulip Festival (and the Garage Sale):

    www.kiwanismv.net/salmon_barbeque.html

   www.tulipfestival.org/

  www.tulipfestival.org/calendar/event/532/
   

   

Waiting for customers

Customers

Donuts and coffee

Love the get-me-out-of-here expression

Bargains galore

Rob and Kevin

Annie and Lydia ready to go to work

Another vendor's offerings

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Happy Birthday, Popcorn and Peanut!

We'd been married almost three years when we spent a weekend with our Central Oregon niece and her husband. On their front porch Mama Cat had a family of seven lively kittens, some white, some with orange stripes, and a couple with black faces and stockings. All of them needed homes.

I've never been able to resist kittens, and I probably played with them too much, because while we were inside eating dinner, their mother carried them one by one off to a hiding place. However, she overlooked a little gray female with a black velvet face. That evening, the tiny cat followed me around the house and cuddled against my neck.

Next morning, I happened to look out the window in time to see Mama Cat slipping up the hillside behind the house. She disappeared beneath a brushpile. Ah ha! When she left to go hunting again, Tami reached underneath the brush and drew out five kittens. She returned them to the front porch nest. But where was kitten number six?

I worried about the missing baby all day. At dusk, we saw a fuzzy white mite balanced on a branch atop the brush pile, wailing at the top of his lungs. I'd already lost my heart to his playful gray sister. Both Hank and I fell in love with the independent little male as well. 


We went home, the two kittens riding in my lap. We hadn't gone far before we christened the bouncy white kitten with the orange ears and nose Popcorn. He soon outgrew his sister, making her name Peanut even more appropriate.

That was ten years ago this May. They were five weeks old when we brought them home, so we celebrate their birthday the second week in April. It's been ten years of entertainment and companionship. Thank you, Popcorn and Peanut! 

Peanut and Popcorn in their new home

Entomologists

Redecorating the house

Mischief in the bathroom (Popcorn behind door)

Evening ritual...listening to Hank read aloud

Reclaimed!

Here’s a little sign seen frequently along freeways, parks, and other public places in Tucson, Arizona.


While vacationing in Tucson last spring, we discovered the Sweetwater Wetlands, a hidden place whose amazing life and beauty depend upon water reclaimed from Tucson’s sewers. The wetlands became our favorite observation spot for wildlife. (See post,
http://rainsongpress.blogspot.com/2012/02/reusing-wastewater-at-sweetwater.html)
 

Sweetwater Wetlands

  This year, we found another place that depends upon this recycled water. It’s called Christopher Columbus Park, the centerpiece of which is a  man-made lake with an island and sandy beaches. It is stocked with fish for the local fishermen. The lake is home to several species of ducks and geese, cormorants that perch on the island to dry their wings, and many species of song birds.

Christopher Columbus Park

Some of the reclaimed water is pumped from the Sweetwater treatment facility into deep basins from which it filters down to recharge the water table.  Eventually, it is drawn up through wells and used to irrigate roadside landscaping and other public places. The purple signs show us where this water is used.

Reclamation Pond with Resting Ducks

Earlier generations told their children, “Waste not, want not.” Today we are again learning the value of reclaiming materials we used to discard. Our house’s sturdy deck planking is made from recycled milk cartons. In places, we drive on road surfaces containing ground-up tires. Garbage companies compost food and garden waste to make new soil.

But the most amazing reclamation project of all history got underway when Jesus came to seek and to save those lost in the garbage of sin. He paid a huge price...his own life...for all that refuse. When he burst out of the tomb on Easter morning, he held in his nail-scarred hands the gift of new life for all who believe in him. He’s still offering this gift to all us wrong-turn people who waste and ruin our lives.

  
He promises to reclaim us and our experiences, good and bad, and help us become who he intended us to be. That’s the Good News of Easter!


Reclaim: Verb
    Retrieve or recover (something previously lost, given, or paid); obtain the return of
    Redeem (someone) from a state of vice; reform.