LIFE AMONG THE 2 X 4s Kate’s Journal

Sam 1969

What is a farmhouse without a barn? It seemed we had been building or planting something ever since we moved in, but nothing so ambitious or large as an honest-to-goodness barn, whose purpose did not include the housing of 4-legged animals.

In the midst of chaos, dear and curious friends began arriving to check up on us. A car or RV would sometimes arrive unannounced except by the honk of a horn in the driveway. Since the lack of space had been apparent from the start, a necessary part of the new barn was a sleeping loft, which when finished slept six grown people. The main part of the barn became a multipurpose environment, where we entertained, I worked and taught sculpture classes, and where our daughter chose to be married.

For city people who had no building experience, it was a genuine accomplishment. On a visit to Grants Pass to see my parents, we found a Civil War cast iron pot-bellied stove in an antique store on which we put money to hold it. Knowing we might like it, but unaware of our transaction, a friend tried to buy it for us. He and my mother had a few words regarding his “trying to take it away from us” before the truth came out. After the dust settled it looked great in the new barn and gave nice heat both there and in my Fremont studio later. With an antique copper tea kettle steaming on top it gave an instant cup of tea whenever needed.

Some readers may remember the belching goat who injected fear into a silent midnight.
Who knew that this cute creature could sound like a rude belching man?

People suddenly appeared on our doorstep, old friends and family from the South, and soon new friends from Alaska, some like the Buchwalds became extended family. Emmett and Georgia Oliver eventually moved to their home on the Hood Canal, and through them the Johnson family with their five wonderful children.

My Mother-in-law drove several times to see us and wonder if our brains were still functioning. In those days Washington had blue laws against buying alcoholic beverages on Sunday. Since we often had people visiting, the lack of liquid refreshment was sometimes a problem, so MIL would bring us jugs of wine in the trunk of her car. She was stopped for speeding once, and fortunately the Law did not open her trunk. We may worry about teenagers but not about those in their late 70’s.

Hood Canal from the Oliver’s deck.

The Hood Canal became almost a second home for us and gave us countless oyster, shrimp and clam feasts with the Olivers and the Johnsons. The Northwest is famously noted for its abundant seafood. We went often also to Campbell River in British Columbia to fish and explore.

I was told that instead of a fish on my line, I had hooked onto the bottom. (Some bottom.} We pulled over and had a barbecue on the shore of Quadra Island on the Georgia Straits.

We had another memorable occasion in the Georgia Straits when fishing in a small boat with a friend whose small boat was surrounded by curious killer whales. They circled and surfaced, giving us an intimate look while we watched one of Nature’s close encounters.

Between visitors and exploring, I began sculpting some of the people I saw. The native people, both in appearance and culture, were much different from the Southwest people, and I placed a few small pieces in a Seattle gallery. It was my first experience in selling my work, so when they actually sold, it was a pleasant surprise.

ALASKA, THE WILD COUNTRY

Every fisherman or hunter has a few bear stories to tell around the campfire meant to raise the hairs on the back of your neck before bedtime. Some stories are humorous, some scary. The bear is usually the winner. One story told of a large old grizzly who snatched an unsuspecting salmon out of the water with one swipe of a large paw spiked with five inch claws. Not feeling especially hungry, he tossed the fish into the air, caught it and tossed it again and again until there was not much left of the poor salmon, and then calmly walked away leaving the shattered fish for the birds. It is well known that bears also like berries, and spend a great deal of time nibbling wild blueberries and other tasty berries. Blueberry bushes are small the further north you go in Alaska, and an impatient bear frequently simply rips the entire bush out of the ground to hurry the process.

Once at Lake Shasta in California, we watched some people on a houseboat toss some meat to a waiting bear on the shore. As they were floating away, the bear, seeing his food source depart, plunged into the lake and began to swim after the boat, which was by that time filled with frightened and screaming tourists. Since he could not catch the boat, the bear finally went back up onto the shore and began tearing all the bushes up in his frustration.

We had been following the Kobuk river for most of the morning, alone in a vast Alaska wilderness of scraggly spruce and quaking aspen, beside water the clearest and purest I had ever seen. As the riffles rushed over rocks half submerged, the water caught the sunlight and deflected it back into our eyes

In the deep green pools sockeye salmon, red in their spawning coloration, sluggishly dragged their tired bodies over the gravel at the bottom. Above them, small grayling flickered nervously in and out. Other than the beauty of our surroundings, our fishing excursion had yielded nothing save a few grayling which we returned to the water.

Though I heard no sound, and saw nothing out of the ordinary, I had a disturbing feeling that we were no longer alone. The forest was silent; there was no longer the sound of birds chattering in the trees. In the slight breeze the late summer aspen leaves had turned yellow and were beginning to drop into the river. It gave the impression of expectancy; as if the forest was on alert, waiting for something to happen. We felt a sudden chill in the air and decided to retrace our steps back to our base camp.

When inquiring about the weather in Alaska, a native might shrug his shoulders and say “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.” The trail alongside the river was damp from a recent shower, and in the wet weeds and dirt, we began to see the tracks of an unwelcome follower, obviously hoping we could supply him or her with a salmon dinner. Though we walked a mile or two there was no sign of our companion, and before long the tracks disappeared into the woods.

“This was his country, clearly enough. To be there was to be incorporated, in however small a measure, into its substance–his country, and if you wanted to visit it you had better knock.

His association with other animals is a mixture of enterprising action, almost magnanimous acceptance, and just plain willingness to ignore. There is great strength and pride combined with a strong mixture of inquisitive curiosity in the make-up of grizzley character. This curiosity is what makes trouble when men penetrate into country where they are not known to the bear. The grizzley can be brave and sometimes downright brash. He can be secretive and very retiring. He can be extremely cunning and also powerfully aggressive. Whatever he does, his actions match his surroundings and the circumstance of the moment. No wonder that meeting him on his mountain is a momentous event, imprinted on one’s mind for life.”

“excerpt” from “Coming Into the Country” by John McPhee

THESE BOOTS NOT MADE FOR WALKING

“Dressed In Her Best” oil painting by KSR

On a cold rainy day some years ago, we sat with our daughter in a charming small Mexican restaurant in Malibu, Ca. Malibu is notable for Pepperdine University and the Colony, which is a collection of homes on the expensive sand of the Pacific Ocean where many luminous or formerly luminous movie stars dwell. Sorry, but those who are star-struck or who merely wish to dip a quick toe in the ocean are prohibited.
They say that one of Johnny Carson’s prospective wives walked in front of his house a number of times until she was noticed. You see what persistence can bring?

On the particular day we were dining, my eyes were attracted to a pair of boots on a man who had just entered the restaurant. I did not look further than his legs which were bare. He was wearing a short raincoat over a pair of shorts even though it was raining. They were great boots and I remember that I had seen them on someone on TV awhile back. I guess I was staring at the boots, wondering how I could find a pair, when my daughter told me to stop staring; it was Larry Hagman!

It was the end of football season, and the USC-UCLA game was on the large TV in the back of the restaurant, so Dr. Advice went over to watch it. Our daughter assumed that he was on his way to talk to Larry Hagman and was horrified. “Oh no, he’s NOT going to talk to him is he?” Let it be known that though my husband is an energetic conversationalist, he would never be so crass as to purposely engage a local movie star in anything more than a nod of the head.

However, Mr. Hagman had chosen to watch the football game at the same time, and the two men had a grand conversation, mostly about their mutual love of fishing. His wife was also an artist and had painted fish scenes all over the plastic raincoat he had purchased at L.L.Bean. When he found that I was an artist, he came and insisted that we join him and his family and discuss my furnishing my husband with the same raincoat.

I found out that his very attractive boots were UGG boots which I had not heard of 15 years ago. The men traded good fishing spots, Dr. Advice sent him ajar of our fine smoked salmon, and we returned to our daughter and our lunch. Who said you shouldn’t speak to local celebrities?

ANOTHER WHALE TALE

Another wonderful “urban legend” is flying around the internet, and this one is really a peach.  It shows what a great tool photoshop can be.

I even photoshopped a friend’s husband completely out of the picture as she knelt to speak in Polish with Pope John Paul II.  After all, she is Polish, and Catholic to boot.  She keeps it in her office to impress clients.

Then on our 50th wedding anniversary, when I saw that no picture had been taken of us together, I got rid of the two other people we were standing with and now for the family history book, we are together with a completely different background.

We have done a lot of fishing, boating and some kayaking, and have spent a lot of time as well in Alaska, so this photo was pretty exciting.

You will see that the whale is taking a whale-sized bite out of the kayak with the man in it.  The trouble is, it never happened.  It’s the work of photographer Tim Shobe, who photographed the whale and the kayaker separately, and then tried to feed the  humpback whale with the paddler.  Good job.  Wish I had thought of it, as we have fished many times in those same waters, and have seen  lots of those fabulous denizens of the deep.  I never tire of watching for them, and the thrill of seeing them breach always reminds me of how insignificant man really is.

Sam fishing in Sitka, watercolor KSR

 

BARBEQUED RATTLESNAKE?

One of my grandsons is a wildlife biologist.  They say you can tell what sort of job a person is suited for when they are children.  Well, we should have known about this one when he drove off for college with fishing and hunting gear loaded into his small grey truck.  They didn’t have an ocean in the state where he aimed so there was no need for a surfboard.  But life is good anyway.

He hunted often in the hills near his home, so there should have been no surprise when his parents arrived home one afternoon to find the skin of a six foot rattler drying in the bright Southern California sunshine and firmly attached to their fence.  Since this was not part of the normal garden decor, they naturally sought the new designer.  He was found in the person of their ten year old son who was happily starting a fire in the barbeque pit preparing a rattlesnake picnic for friends.  He and a young friend had come upon this squirming monster under a discarded sheet of corrugated metal on the side of the hill, and being of curious nature and “just happening” to have brought along a homemade snare, they had captured their unwilling  prey.  After an agreeable time on the grill, they both agreed that it tasted like chicken.