Stone Soup for a Rainy Day

Today was not a good "solar day".  Meaning it was cloudy, so not much solar radiation reached the panel. Sprinkles of rain came and went, the typical brief showers that occur out here.  This is a desert, but it does still rain.  Often the rain passes quickly and all traces of moisture vanish within the hour.  Today there were periodic brief showers, starting in the late morning.  All day the sky was overcast, a flat gray light covering the landscape and making it seem like the hour was later than it really was.

Raindrops dashing against KD's back window.

I felt like staying in bed, but I'd slept a long, hard sleep and I had somehow promised to make black eyed peas for a four o'clock supper for some of our group.  I had intended to make them on the first day of the year so we could eat them for luck like you are supposed to, but I got that dang virus and just wasn't in any kind of shape to cook then.  Last night at the fire I mentioned I was thinking about cooking them up before I left, asking around to see who would eat them if I did them vegetarian style.  We have a couple of vegetarians in our group and one of them is allergic to onions, so I was trying to figure out how I could make black eyed peas palatable with no ham hock and no onion.  Part of that problem got solved when Seann, who gets sick unto death if he eats onions, told me he hated black eyed peas.  I figured at least that meant I could use onions.

I was thinking out loud about how I would make them, regretting throwing out that last quarter of a fresh onion I'd had and wondering what I could use instead of ham for flavoring.  Aaron piped up that he had an onion I could use and some meatless imitation bacon bits.  Chili Bob said he would fry up some of the big sack of red potatoes he had to add to the meal, and before I knew it I was committed to cooking those peas.  Everybody seemed excited about it and somebody said "Stone Soup!"

So I had to get up and get going, because around here four o'clock comes a lot sooner than you think.  I made coffee, put the bed away and tidied things up a bit.  Had some cereal, swept the floor, and switched the pump back onto the tank.  Biela and Luo took the 55 gallon water drum with them when they left, and I'd been drawing water off a couple of 7-gallon jugs.  Those didn't have enough left for a shower, so it was time to start drawing off the trailer tank again.

I took a conservative shower.  Without that 55 gallons out there I need to be a little more careful of water use.  I don't want to have a lot of water left when I leave, but I want it to stretch over the next few days.  I can still get more, but I don't want to be making multiple water runs in my few remaining days out here.

I needed to pick up a few things for this evening's dinner as well as get rid of garbage and make one final water run, so I checked to see if anyone needed a ride to town or needed anything brought back, then mounted up.  I managed to make efficient use of time, grabbing a couple more 7-gallon water carriers, which I've been meaning to buy, and another 10-foot freshwater hose so I didn't have to detach my other one from the auxiliary water intake.  Fresh ice for chilled drinks and a few other necessities, and I was heading back to the Two Rivers rest area to water up for perhaps the final time.  Pelicans were wheeling overhead in great flocks, residents of the nearby wildlife refuge.  They are huge birds.  The sight of pelicans soaring on their enormous wings inspired Tere Rios to write The Fifteenth Pelican, the book that was the basis for The Flying Nun TV show.  I watched them while the jugs slowly filled and they did make me think of the cornets of the Daughters of Charity.

I stopped for ice at the Market Square grocery store in Calipatria, then hurried home to start those black eyed peas cooking.  The day was dreary but a hole must have opened up in the clouds over a section of the Chocolate Mountains, because suddenly what looked like a wide plateau was hanging there in the brilliant sunlight.  It looked like a mysterious, hidden land made momentarily visible, an Asgard or Shangri La shining in the golden light, framed between frowning peaks on either side that jutted up like shadowed teeth.  I watched it all the way to Slab City, seeing a fiery road, gleaming fields and a forbidden, immortal city.  It stayed visible all the way through Niland and down Beal Road until I turned away down the canal road.  By the time I had Goose tucked in close to the trailer it had disappeared back into the dim mutter of vague tumbled shapes, dark and indistinct again in the gloomy afternoon light.

It started to rain in earnest as I got out of the truck, and then the air was filled with that marvelous sweet and spicy fragrance of a rainstorm in the desert.  The drops were fat and warm as they struck me and I realized I didn't mind them at all.  Rain is such a blessing in the desert, all the surrounding creation seems to turn up its face gladly to the sky to receive it.

It's been a while since I've made black eyed peas.  The conventional method is to simmer them slowly over many hours, but I am too impatient for that.  Besides, I have a pressure cooker.

 Unsoaked black eyed peas cook in about 6 to 7 minutes under high pressure, though it's best if you can let the pressure fall naturally after the timer goes off.  That allows the peas to continue to cook in the residual heat and spares them the shock of an abrupt pressure change that happens when you suddenly release the vent, which could cause them to burst their skins and turn to mush.  There are opinions on both sides about whether it is necessary to presoak them before cooking.  My pressure cooker goddess, Lorna Sass, reassures us that the peas are so small they don't really need to be soaked.  Aside from soaking them overnight, there are ways to speed soak beans using the pressure cooker.  This just seems like more work to me, so I haphazardly rinsed the bag of dried peas and pawed them over to remove any obvious debris, then threw them in the pot with 8 cups of water.  I diced up about half a large yellow onion, several ribs of celery including some of the tender leaves, and chopped up about a dozen baby carrots.  I usually buy peeled baby-cut carrots when I'm camping for convenience sake, but you could obviously use regular carrots and just peel and slice them any way you want.  I also added 2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil.  The oil is important to keep the beans from foaming up and going crazy in there, possibly blocking the steam vent and causing bad things to happen.  I've read a lot of dire warnings about beans and peas in the pressure cooker.  Apparently there is the risk that a bean skin can catapult up there and block the steam vent, causing an explosion to rival the Tunguska Event.  But I've never had that happen.  Add some oil to prevent foaming, don't overfill your cooker and everything will be fine.  Besides, that's what safety release valves are for.

I shook in some dried onion flakes just for good measure, and a generous handful of Aaron's imitation bacon bits.  My original idea had been to get some liquid smoke and add that to make up for the lack of ham or salt pork, but I thought this might work as well.

I added a little salt and pepper (best to save the final seasoning adjustment until the end so you don't accidentally overdo) and was valiantly resisting the urge to sneak in my favorite chicken bouillon cube for a flavor boost since that would violate Aaron's strict vegetarian requirement.  Just then Aaron himself showed up to see how things were going.  He came bearing a little jar of Marmite.  He suggested I try adding about a teaspoon for flavor.  I have to confess I was a little dubious about Marmite.  I've certainly heard about it.  Usually the person mentioning it has to suppress a shudder when describing it, a thick, salty yeast-based concoction beloved by British cooks and useful for vegetarian dishes in place of the usual meat stock concentrates.

I sniffed it and it didn't smell bad.  Seemed like it might be just the thing to calm down my chicken stock withdrawal jitters, so I promised to add some during the finishing stages.

I remembered I had a cornbread mix in the cupboard, so while I was waiting for the pot to come up to pressure I mixed it up and poured it into my trusty cast-iron skillet, well buttered, then put it into the hot oven. 

When the timer went off after six minutes I turned off the heat on the peas and let the pressure fall.  It takes a long time for that big 10-quart pot to drop pressure though, and eventually I couldn't stand it and had to move the valve over to the release position.  All Abooooooarrd!  Steam blew out in a long whoosh, and then it was time to see how things turned out.  If you've never used a pressure cooker before, one important safety tip is to open it facing away from you.  Just tilt the lid up like a shield between you and all that billowing steam coming up out of the pot.

The peas did great.  They were fully cooked and the broth looked rich and brown.  I added a teaspoon of Aaron's Marmite, adjusted the salt and pepper, and threw in a bit more imitation baco-bits for fun.  It tasted surprisingly authentic.  The cornbread came out of the oven and then people were at my door, dancing around and offering to help me carry things over to Chili Bob's Bounder.  It wasn't cold exactly, but rain kept threatening and it just seemed like a good idea to eat in the cozy, dry Bounder.

Chili Bob's fried up red potatoes and onions were AWESOME!  I would have been content to just fall face down in the bowl, but I figured I should probably at least eat some of the black eyed peas.  We ate til we were ready to burst, then Chili Bob broke out beer and ice cream.

I wish I had taken a picture of the pot of black eyed peas or the skillet of cornbread, but I didn't think of it until it was too late.  I made it clear I didn't really want to take home any leftovers so Chili and Aaron divided them up.  They'll be even better tomorrow.  Maybe I didn't think that whole no-leftovers things through too well.  On the other hand, Aaron looked so happy bearing away his big container that it was worth it.

Chili Bob agreed with me those black eyed peas came out good, but they might have been a tiny bit better with real ham.

Oh, and we polished off the corn bread too.

Leftovers

KD doesn't have a microwave.  She did, sort of, when I got her.  There was a cheap little microwave oven in her when I bought her, and I hauled it all the way home with a bunch of other crap I had no intention of keeping in the trailer.  Microwaves take power to run, and there's no power out here unless you bring it. Someday I might, might, want to have a generator, but for the time being I don't have much use for one.

I've borrowed Biela's 85-watt solar panel and her Xantrex charge controller again so that KD's two 6-volt deep cycle batteries, wired in series, can be charged up each day by the sun.  Sun is something we have a lot of out here and solar panels are a necessity in Slab City.  I don't even want to speculate on what kind of solar farm it would take to run a microwave oven.  I guess theoretically you could do it, but as a practical matter, if you want to 'wave your dinner you need a genny.  I can get along just fine with the stove top and KD's little oven.

I also brought my 10 quart pressure cooker, which is way bigger than needed here but my smaller ones are packed away and hard to get to, so I just brought the one I had handy.  A pressure cooker is a great thing to have out here.  In some cases it is faster than a microwave and it uses a minimum of fuel and cooks things beautifully, once you get the hang of it.   You can reheat things with the superheated steam, but sometimes it's simpler to just do what we all did in the old days:  heat leftovers up in in the oven.

Before Biela and Luo left, I did a flurry of cooking.  We started out with a monstrous lasagne that took us days to finish.

 I made some kind of concoction that I'm going to call Shepherd's Pie.

 I made my famous Mountain Kimmie's Can't Fail Chicken N' Dumplings (in the pressure cooker of course), and I made meatloaf.  The meatloaf was a KD first.  A totally old-fashioned, American Mom thing to make.  I had to mix up the ingredients the old fashioned way, by getting my hands right in there and mushing them around in the bowl.  I couldn't take a picture of that because my hands were, you know, meaty.  But here it is ready to go in the oven.

Just like at home!  It doesn't look substantially different once cooked, but I had to do a shot of it just to mark the occasion.

Yum!

Of course this meant we had leftovers, and despite my best efforts to foist, uh, gift, some of the many leftovers off on neighbors, the result is a fridge jammed to the gills.  In true Mountain Kimmie fashion.

With Biela and Luo gone, there's no danger of me starving.  And yes, that's a new fridge!  Well, a used fridge, but new to KD.  It came out of some derelict RV.  Something very bad had happened in it.  It was provided with a brand new cooling unit, but the evil mildew explosion inside made me shudder.  The guys told me they'd clean it up for me, but they cleaned like you'd expect guys to clean.  Meaning it was still pretty disgusting when I got here.  I spent a few hours scrubbing that bad boy before firing it up, and it is much better now.  It still needs attention around the frame where some rust happened, and when I get home I'm taking the door off so I can attack the gasket with bleach.  At least the crummy icebox from last year is gone.  There has been a great deal of progress with KD, and a working fridge is a big part of that.  I still can't get over the sense of wonder and awe I feel that the thing gets cold without a smidgen of electricity.  It runs on propane.  It can also run on household current if I ever go where there is a place to plug in, or even on 12-volt, although that's not recommended due to the high power demand that makes 12-volt operation impractical in most cases.  They never even hooked up the 12-volt part at the shop and that's fine by me.  I'll mostly be running it on propane.  And like I said, IT'S LIKE SOME KIND OF MIRACLE!

I had leftover meatloaf last night.  I thought I'd warm up some leftover chicken n' dumplings tonight.  Put it in a little pot and straight into a 350 degree oven for a few minutes.  I'm smelling it now.  I think it's time for dinner.

Now that it's just me, I'm using paper plates and trying to keep the dishes to a minimum.  Kenny would be proud.

A New Year

Yes, 2014 is well over, and good riddance I say.  It wasn't the worst card in a generally shitty hand, but it wasn't the best either. Some good things happened. Some bad things happened.  A friend passed away, I lost a family member after a long final illness, I lost something, or someone, very dear to me.  On the other hand my niece Ruby was born, and I was filled with the wonder of having a new person so closely related to me after I had given up on that expectation.  Someone with my eyes and maybe my pointed chin, and my brother's goofy, sardonic grin, and her sisters' and mother's unmistakeable stamp as well.  So that I look at her and think, Ruby is the bridge.  She is the one related to all of us and thus she ties us together.  She is a little miracle, or more probably a big miracle.  I can't wait to get to know her.

But I also want to get to know my two other nieces.  It wasn't Ruby who made me an aunt and gave me an anchor in the world again at a time when I was filled with a sense of loss and irrelevancy.  It was her sisters Bela and Myka.  They are so beautiful it takes my breath away.  They are like goddesses, and they are apparently very interested to meet me which naturally endears them to me.

Perhaps it is only a wish to find the comfort of meaning after a long stretch of difficulties, but I believe that the end of 2014 signals the end of a 7 year cycle for me.  Things started to slide south in 2007 so my hope is they'll get better following 2014.  Seven has always felt like a lucky number to me.  The idea of the 7 year cycle, (the 7 fat years and the 7 lean years) has been around a long time, so it's not just my idea.  I'm ready for a brighter year.

I am sitting in Slab City as I type this.  I have been here since the 22nd of December and I have not made a single blog post, despite all my best intentions and promises to loved ones.  I've had ideas and plans for posts, and throughout the last few months have even put together drafts which I never got around to polishing up and posting.  The plan was I'd turn over a new leaf once I got here, what with the rich fodder of writing topics this place provides.  But a weird lethargy seized me and I just haven't been able to bring myself to get the laptop out.  I arrived still battling the tail end of a nasty virus and on New Year's Eve came down with yet another, so my energy level hasn't been what I'd hoped it would be.  And time seems to drift out here, a dreamy, sleepy flow of hours, sunshine and bird song and sunrise and sunset and the sound of trains and generators and calls to supper and nightly campfires, all blending into an unbroken, dreamlike flow.

KD at sunset, Christmas Eve, 2014.  Slab City, CA. 

I am so behind on chronicling everything that I couldn't figure out where to start, and then I remembered someone once giving me the advice to start right where I was.  And so here I am.

Biela and Luo left yesterday because Biela has to be back to work on Monday or the world will end.  I have another week of vacation, so I had the choice of cutting it short and driving back with them or being brave and going home by myself.  Since I came down here by myself last year and since I survived the Big Adventure, I reckon I can manage to make my own way home.  But it is lonely without them and without our de facto camp hosts Rich and Mary, who also left early this year to do a house sitting gig for some traveling friends.

We have fewer people in general this year in our little corner of Area 10.  Some are gone and never coming back.  I learned of one person's permanent exit from the world by his own hand since I was here last year, and others have moved on, camping elsewhere in Slab City or traveling in other parts of the country.  A pall rests over this place, a funky desert settlement unofficial by every measure, illegal and hipshot and crusty and crazy, yet a refuge of sorts for the brokenhearted and the lost.  There are all kinds of people out here, some of them pretty functional with incomes of some kind and decent rigs to live in, and money for gas and propane and food and access to medical care.  And there are the totally broken angels, the ground down alcoholics and addicts, the lifelong fuck ups and petty thieves and drug dealers and career criminals.  I've had moments of insight about who shows up here, and sometimes I think there isn't all that much difference between any of us, no matter how much we tell ourselves that we aren't like those losers.  Talk to people out here and given enough time their secret pain leaks out.  The cheerfulest and the kindest and even the wealthiest eventually let it slip, the horror and loss that lurks back there somewhere in the years before they got here.  The thing that haunts them, gives them that thousand yard stare when they think nobody is looking.  I have often thought, we are all broken here.  We are all brokenhearted and seeking solace in the desert, hoping for healing as though we were TB sufferers in the days when they could do nothing for you but send you to a drier climate.  We have come out here to find the light and the air and the clean, open spaces, the spare landscape with its spiny bushes and thin-leaved trees, its pure sunrises and its piping birds and clever snake and coyote.

But the pall which rests on us all is the spectre of change.  The inescapable agent that constantly tears down and renews, like the very earth remaking itself through eons of volcanic action.  Our biggest vulnerability out here is water.  More water than we could use flows right by us through the Coachella Canal, clear and cold from Colorado, destined to supply cities in Southern California.  Naturally it is illegal to take water from the canal (not saying that doesn't happen), and it has not yet been treated for consumption as it runs by us.

So most get water in Niland at the Chamber of Commerce, or did.  That tap has been turned off for reasons which are not entirely clear, though many say it is part of a plan to get rid of the Slabbers.  The other main source is the Two Rivers Rest Area on Highway 111, just a couple miles past Calipatria.  That water is good, cool and tasty and free-flowing from two taps.  There is also an RV dump station there, garbage cans and the usual picnic and bathroom facilities.  After years of threats there is now a plan in place to close that rest stop in the fall of this year.  The informational sign said it was to save taxpayers the cost of operating a "seldom used" facility.  Which is a crock.  Wealthy recreationalists with giant toy haulers on their way to and from the Glamis Dunes use that site regularly.  As do truckers and everyday travelers and RVers who stay at the Slabs and elsewhere in the area.  It is one of the few things that I feel good about my tax money being spent on.

If that vital source of water is shut down it will become extremely difficult to stay out here.  Water can be purchased at considerable expense from other sources, but that will be out of reach for many Slabbers and those of us who could pay will refuse to do so when there are other places we could explore, places that offer free boondocking and free or low-cost water.  Slab City is dear to us.  Like other desert towns, temporary or otherwise, this place has a way of getting under your skin, and so the idea that this is the last year we will visit this place is depressing.  But when we have only a few weeks a year to spend on our vacations we won't be spending them in a place that has become impossible to stay comfortably in.

There are other issues boiling up out here besides the water.  A small group of hardcore year-round Slabbers has been stoking the rumor that they are going to buy this land from the state of California.  There are myriad problems with that plan even if it is an actual plan with any hope of going through.  And since there's been a marked lack of transparency about the whole scheme, many are left suspicious and pissed off, unwilling to buy into what seems like a hopeless cause at best, or a sneaky plan to get power and control at worst.  Maybe it all comes down to the same thing, a struggle for power between those who want to dictate what happens in this wild and broken place and those who just want to live free.  To quote a line from Powwow Highway, "It's the same 'ol thing.  Always some asshole tryin to tell you what to do."  Is it a lust for power or a desperate desire to hold onto a way of life that sparks these things?  Who knows.  Is it a desire to tie off an artery that seems to be hemorhaging money that has caused local government to turn off municipal water supplies and threaten private parties who give or deliver water to Slabbers?  Because there is a cost to having this place here.  The fire department, police and ambulance services that regularly have to truck out here to deal with the latest disaster do cost money.  But if Slab City costs the county money, it brings money in as well.  Our small group spends thousands every year and there are several thousand people out here during peak season.  In a scruffy, half-closed town like Niland, every penny counts.

Defunct old building, Niland, CA.

In the poorest county in the state, every bit of money is needed.  I just don't see the logic in doing things that will not only drive off the wealthy snowbirds who bring their money here every year, but will also piss off the rich folks bringing their big toy haulers out here, the hunters and RVers and off-road recreationalists.

But time will tell.  There is a tremendous inertia to this place, which has been around in one form or another for decades, just sort of here with no official legal status.  For years it's flown more or less under the radar, but for good reasons or bad, noise has been made, the hornets's nest has been stirred up, and whenever that happens unfriendly eyes start to focus on what is better left quiet.

Nothing stays the same.  We thought last year might be our final year out here, now we are wondering if it's this year.  You can't control these things.  We've signed petitions and written letters about the rest stop, and the local press has been out photographing the convoys of expensive rigs lining up to use the dump station, thus putting paid to the bogus "seldom used" claim on the CalTrans sign about the closure.  And speaking of that sign, it's gone.  We don't know if someone pulled it down in a fit or rage or CalTrans took it down to quiet a rising tide of anger about the the situation.  But it's gone, as if it never was there.

Meanwhile, life goes on.  The wind moans at KD's corners, a neighbor's generator buzzes sleepily in the hazy afternoon sun.  A couple is having a screaming fight at the Internet Cafe on the next block, a sort of serial fight that seems to break out about once a day, ending in gut-wrenching, agonized sobbing by the female party, so that even though you know there's nothing you can do to help her you still want to drop everything and rush over and put your arms around her and comfort her.  But you don't, because by now you know better.  Every person out here carries the seeds of their own destruction and their own salvation.  We cannot by force of will reach into their lives and fix what is broken.  Which is not to say that we shouldn't be kind, that we shouldn't help one another like good campers do in our interdependent little group which needs each other to survive out here.  But there's a certain sense that develops that tells you when that gutshot sobbing can't be helped by a kind word.  When the screaming fight must just run its course.

It's just another day in Slab City.

You either love it or you hate it.  And sooner or later you'll probably do both.

 

A Day In Clovis

Went to Clovis on Sunday.

I've been looking for a bench style cedar chest for the foot of my bed, and I found a perfect one at a great price on Craigslist.  There was just one thing. . . .it was in Clovis, more than 150 miles away.  But then I decided that wasn't so far for a professional driver, and Clovis looked like a cute town.  So when the seller said she'd hang on to it for me until I could make it out this weekend, I figured why not?

It was a beautiful day, the Pacheco pass clothed in autumn brown and gold, the irrigated fields still green where pickers working in a long row were furiously trimming produce and pitching it into transport wagons.  The air was filled with the scent of garlic.  I don't care much for garlic, but for some reason it always smells awesomely good driving through Gilroy, like jars of dill pickles freshly opened, or something savory and wonderful simmering on the stove. Somewhere past Casa de Fruta I saw a small herd of Belted Galloway cattle, an old Scottish breed developed to thrive in poor pasture.  Compared to the hard conditions of the Scottish uplands where they originated, they were in lush pasture shaded by old oaks, eye catching by the side of the road in their striking black coats and white cummerbunds.  When I came out of the Pacheco Pass onto the floor of the San Joaquin Valley just past the San Luis Reservoir, I looked for the Tule Elk I saw grazing there last year on my way to Slab City.  But they were off doing elk business somewhere else.

I stayed on State Route 152 through Los Banos, and arrowed across the valley to 99, then to 180 and the rural outskirts of Clovis, where the parcels have been subdivided into ranchettes with nice homes built on them.  I found the address with no trouble, and loaded up the cedar chest with help from the sellers.  Nice people.  They told me the old downtown of Clovis was a great place to go antiquing and had lots of charm and fun stores, but cautioned me that many stores might be closed for Sunday.  I got quick directions and set off in search of lunch.

Old Town Clovis is charming, light and cheery and filled with tons of antique stores, boutiques and gift shops.  The first thing that caught my eye was A Book Barn.

The outside is deceptively bland, but inside it is a book lover's paradise, with a warm, cozy vibe that lets you know you are in the right place.

This is everything a used bookstore should be!  Two levels, nonfiction on the upper mezzanine and fiction below.  Wonderfully well organized so it is easy to find what you are looking for, yet with just enough bookish clutter and warm wood glass-front cases to give you the sense that around a corner or tucked into a nook you are bound to find an unexpected treasure.

Mass market paperbacks are shelved alphabetically by author, as are hardback and trade fiction.  And they know what they have!  No blank looks or vague waving of the hand when you ask for help finding something.  When I asked for Diana Gabaldon titles, for instance, they knew right away that there weren't any to be had at the moment (thanks to the wildly popular Outlander series being made even more popular by the television show), though they double checked to make sure.

They have a nice children's section, romance, science fiction, fantasy, and an impressive collection of young adult fiction.  Also classics, poetry, and probably a number of others I don't recall.

There was a wonderful collection of antiquarian children's books.

This case had children's miniatures and special vintage items.

I was in raptures to find shelves of western americana fiction, including collectible hardback editions of the ubiquitous Zane Grey, and I even found a B.M. Bower novel and a couple of Will James titles (both of which I collect, though I had copies of all the titles they had).  These books are not being sold at bargain prices, but they are fairly priced for antiquarian books and it's worth it to be able to find such a great collection of neat old vintage fiction.  I couldn't resist The Gaspards of Pine Croft by Ralph Connor, both because it seemed like an inviting story and because of the wonderful pictorial cover.  I have a weakness for the old pictorial hardboard covers on vintage books.

I never made it upstairs, which is sort of a shame since I don't know when I'll get back to Clovis.  But while I was wandering around on the bottom floor I passed an alcove of romance books where two ladies were comfortably tucked away, sitting on the floor to read and browse.  One of them said, with that happy little note of contentment that book lovers have when surrounded by their favorite books, "I could just stay here forever and live here.  They have all my books!"

 You'll find loads of rare and collectible vintage and antiquarian stock along with plenty of everyday fare.  Fascinating ephemera rubbing shoulders with bargains priced to sell, some of them very cleverly packaged, like this shelf near the front desk.

The proceeds from the sale of these coquettishly packaged volumes go to support the Central Valley Young Writers Contest.  You can just see the plain brown bags on the lower shelf that I presume have multiple books in them with the genre printed on the bag.  See the single book labelled "Love in horse country?"  I couldn't walk away.  Anything with love, horse, and country in the description has got my attention.  I figure I've gotten my dollar's worth just from the tingle of anticipation at what I'll find when I unwrap it.  Will it be trashy, mildly diverting, a complete waste of time or an unexpected treasure?  I'll let you know.

A Book Barn upper level non-fiction section

Owners Dan and Peggy Dunklee are real book lovers, real purveyors of books.  They have a lot going on at the Book Barn, book clubs, special events, charity programs and more.  There were lots of people coming and going and it was easy to see that beyond just being a cool bookstore, this place is an important part of the community.  If you are a book lover who lives in the Fresno/Clovis area, count yourself fortunate to have a first rate example of a vanishing breed:  the truly great used bookstore.  If you are a collector looking for something special, they may be able to help you find what you are looking for.  And if you are a book lover passing through Clovis with time for only one stop, make it A Book Barn.  Find them at 640 Clovis Avenue, Clovis, CA, or on the web at www.clovisbookbarn.com.  They get a well-deserved Five Trees On The Mountain!



I asked several people about local thrift stores, but I kept being pointed to downtown Clovis' great collection of antique stores.  I like antiques, but don't really need to collect any more than I already have, and these days I prefer thrifting.  All the nearby thrift stores seemed to be closed on Sunday though, so after Book Barn I went looking for lunch.  A likely looking Cafe had just closed, but the ladies sitting outside in the perfect October afternoon directed me to a family owned Mexican restaurant called Salsa.  I tried to find it, but got derailed when one of the streets nearby was closed off for a Halloween trick-or-treat event for the kids.  I parked Goose and went walking, but I couldn't find Salsa and somehow wound up wandering into another place called Bobby Salazar's Restaurant and Cantina.

It turned out to be a bit more Cantina than Restaurant, a rather dark bar with a wall of TV's showing all the games and a number of booths on the opposite wall.  But the bartender was welcoming and I was hungry, so I ordered the chimichanga.  Service was fast, friendly, and efficient, and with almost preternatural speed, my a la carte carnitas chimichanga appeared with generous sour cream and guacamole on the side. Except that it wasn't quite right.  It was hot, loaded with meat and cheese (and little else), but resting on a slick of grease.  I realize that fried burritos (which is what chimichangas are) are not a low fat item, but there is a difference between a good chimi--light, crisp, golden brown-- and what was on my plate.  I could have taken a picture of it, but I wasn't inspired to record what looked like nothing so much as an enormous Hot Pocket.  It was flatter than you'd expect and had odd indentations along it's length, regular pressed-in lines that looked suspiciously factory made.  And it was not crisp like it had come out of a fryer, but sort of heavy and soggy as if it had been popped from the freezer into the microwave (which would explain how it had magically appeared in front of me minutes after I ordered).  I am probably making it sound worse than it was and could certainly be wrong about the cooking method.  It was flavorful, hot, and cheesy, but really, it was not a true chimi, not any kind of authentic Mexican cooking and certainly not worthy of the nine dollar entree price.  I ate half and boxed the remainder, but it wasn't improved by the ride home.  Fresh sour cream, good guacamole and great service earn this joint Two Trees, but I walked out of there thinkin' I should have gone to Salsa.

I puttered around, going into a couple of antique stores.  They were fine, full of the usual varied merchandise and sporting friendly, knowledgeable proprietors.  In one shop the owner told me the story of a stuffed teddy bear that was for sale.  He had rescued it from a family who were going to throw it away.  It was a very old bear with mohair fur and the traditional straw excelsior stuffing, but in bad shape.  The man took him to a local doll hospital and had him patched up, then posed him for a Christmas themed cover photo of an antique magazine.  He showed me the magazine and the bear did look very happy, riding a trike under Santa's smiling eye.  I wondered about who had once loved that bear and what had become of them and if they had known he was about to be thrown in the trash, and then I thought how sad it must have been for the bear.  I started to feel a terribly sentimental children's book narrative forming up in my head about this poor bear's adventures (not an original idea, I admit), so I hastily thanked the man for rescuing the bear and hurried out of the shop before the chapter where the bear comes home with Mountain Kimmie to live with all her other stuffed animals could unfold.

A lot of places that looked like they would be fun to check out were closed, either closed for Sunday or on short Sunday hours.

But then I found Bear Creek Gifts and Cabin Decor.

I only had about 15 minutes to shop before they closed, which was maddening because of course I'm all about the rustic!  Three rooms full of western, country, rustic and cabin gifts and decor.

They had an enormous log bed, and a whole room of rustic furniture.

Lamps, clocks, rugs, throw pillows, and tons of other housewares for the cabin or country home.  Also small, quality gifts suitable for housewarming, stocking stuffers or just because, and some fun stuff for kids.  They were having a sale on small throw rugs for $19 and I almost bought one for KD, but decided she didn't need yet another throw rug.  I had a hard time resisting the cotton afghan throws though, especially the one with a travel trailer and the legend that "Home is where you hook up!" or the one with the woodsy cabin scene.

This kitty made me think of Demeter of The Wild, a mountain lion of my acquaintance.

Fortunately these folks have a website, so if you don't live near Clovis you can still shop for the rustic!  I found them very helpful and accommodating, happy to arrange shipping or answer questions about any product.  You can take a virtual tour of the store on their website, and if you can't find what you are looking for, owners Larry and Pat Grossi will be glad to help you if you give them a call.

I bought a little pine tree hook for KD, and a small gift for a niece.  They had a great collection of wall hooks in many designs, most of which you can find on the website.  Maybe it was a blessing that I didn't have much time to shop, because I could have done some serious damage to the bank account in that place.

Find Bear Creek Gifts and Cabin Decor at 400 Clovis Avenue, Clovis, CA, or at www.bearcreekgifts.com.  Or give them a call at (877) 644-1579.  Mountain Kimmie gives them Five Trees! (I sort of have to).

I got back to Goose, parked on Fifth Street in front of the Rodeo Coffee Shop (sadly, closed for the afternoon--I so wish I could have had lunch there).   I found her hanging out with some new friends.  That was a missed photo opportunity, now that I think about it.  Kids in costume were lined up on the sidewalk with their parents, getting ready to get into blocked off Pollasky Avenue for the trick-or-treating festival.  They were draped all over the good and faithful Goose, who always tries to make herself useful.  I wish now that I'd taken that picture.  One kid had a great costume.  He was entirely encased in a tight fitting, stretchy black garment, even his head.  He looked like a featureless doll perched on Goose's back bumper.  When I asked if I was seeing the invisible man hanging out with my truck he leaped up and darted away, vanishing with startling speed.  It was quite unnerving and very effective.  I complimented his mom on the great costume.   There were so many kids milling around that I was having fits trying to keep them all in view until I recruited a couple of adults to watch carefully as I backed up and then pulled away so I wouldn't run over anyone.

I was headed for the Pilot Travel Center in Madera, and it was a long, weary slog on surface streets with a million lights to get back to 99, and then the Garmin was confused by the fact that the Pilot was on "18 1/2 Road".  I wound up in front of an empty field on 18 Road.  There was no way to enter 1/2 into the address field as far as I could tell, but it found the address when I searched for the name.  Google Maps on the smartphone would also have quickly found it, a good example of why it can be helpful to have more than one GPS system onboard. Goose got a quart of oil and a tank of gas and I got a free coffee with my Pilot card. 

While I gave Goose her oil and threw out the trash and fixed a cold drink for the drive home, I saw an older man sitting in his truck with a camper a few spaces away.  He had a big white cowboy hat and he looked like an old, retired trucker.  He reminded me so much of Ken, and suddenly there was an overwhelming sense of Kenny's presence.  This happens sometimes, especially when I'm on the road or getting gas at truck stops.  I'll feel him near . . . .

I set the GPS for home and we got on the road, headed north on 99 to catch 152 back toward Pacheco Pass.  The sun was low, shining right in my eyes for awhile.  But then it dropped below the Diablo Range that was drawing closer as we rolled west, until the last tiny twinkling gleam winked out behind a peak and the sky was filled with golden and amber light, the blue above deepening with every passing minute.  Through Los Banos as night began to draw near, past the milk processing facility, milk trucks unloading their tanks as I went by, and then out of town and climbing gently into the hills and the Pacheco Pass, the San Luis reservoir glimmering on my left.

Got home about 8:30 and left the cedar chest in the back of the truck for the night, too tired to deal with wrestling it inside.  I'll put up a picture of it later when I get a chance.

It was another successful run for the MKT&TC.  Cargo delivered.

Vintage fiction from A Book Barn, Clovis CA

Sinclair Dino

Yet another Sacramento run having to do with KD.  Stopped for a bio-break on the way and saw a Sinclair station with an awesome dinosaur.  He was strapped to his rock for some reason, maybe he's been wandering.  Cool to see the Sinclair dino.  Much more common further east.  One of the fuRn things about my trip last summer.  I even saw the Sinclair dino in the clouds onc, somewhere on the road in Texas.

Books at the Yolo County SPCA Thrift

The bookstore just a couple doors down is part of the thrift store, but they've chosen to keep it separate, which is good news for serious book lovers.  It is very much a bookstore, but there was also a parlor organ, a more than decent acoustic guitar and a flute for sale alongside the books.  Probably these higher value items are easier to protect away from the rough and tumble of the main store.  A closet sized space is labelled the "Toy Room" and has a small but nice collection of dolls and toys, very modestly priced.  And at the counter there is a smattering of jewelry, probably the nicer pieces that get donated, with the run of the mill stuff at the main store.

Mostly what they have in this room is books, and this little space is everything a small used bookstore should be.  It is clean, neat, well organized, peaceful and beautifully air conditioned (the main thrift store was just a tad warm, though with many strategically placed fans to keep the air circulating).  There's a comfy couch area that invites you to sit down and take a load off while you decide if a book is right for you.

It's not large, but there are a lot of books there.  This picture doesn't show a fraction of them.

Nonfiction is organized into sensible categories, neatly labelled.  Fiction has been sorted into categories like fantasy, scifi, chick lit, and literature.  It didn't appear that fiction was shelved alphabetically by author, which makes it a little harder if you are looking for a specific title or author.  But the store is small enough that it is not a huge hardship to scan the shelves of the section likely to contain what you are looking for.

I focused on paperback fiction and found a lot of high quality, recent releases.  These were all trade paperbacks, many of which you could find today in a retail bookstore for full price (assuming you still have a bookstore in your town).  All paperbacks were priced at $1, and today there was a 20% off sale, so they were really only eighty cents apiece.  That, my friend, is a bargain you cannot ignore if you are a voracious reader.  Hardbacks were only $2, and I saw many first editions of very readable, recent releases.  I bought three trade paperbacks, a flawless copy of Robert Goolrick's Heading Out to Wonderful (which has been on my to-read list but I've been too cheap to buy it new for $14.95), and Penguin Pocketbook editions of Jan Karon's A Light in the Window (book 2 of the Mitford series for a friend), and Mary McGarry Morris' Songs In Ordinary Time. 

Older and vintage books (of all categories) are housed together. 

There was also a section for vinyl records, a rack of greeting cards ($1 each), and a respectable helping of DVD movies, music CDs and even VHS movies.  I thought the sign had said DVDs were $1, but my 3 DVDs wound up costing $8, so maybe I misread the sign.  But no matter, that's still well under $3 per DVD and after they are enjoyed they can be redonated or traded at a used bookstore that buys media to make the final cost even lower.

For local readers on a budget this store is a wonderful resource, and it could be for you too if you are passing through and have the time to check them out.  Reading can be an expensive hobby, but it doesn't have to be and the Yolo County SPCA Thrift bookshop is one reason for that.  I should add that the beautiful and delightful lady manning the register (who had just a hint of a melodious African accent that I could have listened to all day) was very sweet, and walked outside with me to point out where her favorite pizza place was located when I asked her for recommendations on local restaurants (it was Original Steve's Pizza, which I wound up not visiting because I got too busy driving around Davis to look at the scenery and then decided I had to have a chimichanga;  but I'll hit them up next time).

For all these reasons, this little book shop gets Four Trees!

SPCA Thrift in Davis

I've been meaning to stop in Davis on my way back from one of my trips to Sacramento, where KD is resting comfortably in the capable hands of RV Dr. George's shop.  There is a great deal of news on that front, and I'll get to that presently.

I've been in the habit of stopping for a late lunch on the drive back, and this time I decided I was going to find somewhere to eat in Davis and explore a little.   Davis is a pretty town with lots of big, shady trees and comfortable, charming old houses.  It's a "walking town," the sort of place where you want to park the car and stroll along the downtown streets, looking for interesting shops and restaurants.  It has an easy-going, relaxed vibe, like what you often find in a university town, which of course it is.  It was a warm day but thankfully it wasn't brutally hot.  It smelled like there might be a grass fire nearby and a faint haze hung under the trees giving everything just a slightly soft focus effect.  But it wasn't unpleasant and only seemed to underscore the mood of a relaxed, happy summer day.  I had checked local listings for bookstores and thrift stores, and I found both under the same roof!

The Yolo County SPCA Thrift Store seemed to be the one getting the most attention, and proceeds go to help animals in need which gives it an extra star in my book.  I found it on 3rd street, with ample street parking right out front and even managed to snag a spot with shade.

They don't have a ton of square footage, but they they do have 3 modestly sized rooms of retail space pretty well filled with interesting treasures and a larger warehouse space where they receive and sort donations.  There was an impressive hodgepodge of kitchenware.  I found some nice transferware plates and a few partial sets of dishes that, while not complete, might augment your collection if you were lucky enough to have the same or similar pattern.  I almost bought a blue transferware plate that would play nicely with my blue and white Currier and Ives set by Churchill, but I managed to resist the urge.

You could easily outfit a kitchen from this store.  Some solid finds here, like that orange cast iron and enamel casserole.  Everything very reasonably priced.

Of course there are also assorted housewares, nicknacks and clothing.  They do make an attempt to sort clothing at least by general size (i.e., small, medium, large), which is appreciated.  They have a rack marked "vintage," but I saw quite a few cute and quirky items scattered throughout the regular clothing racks that looked "vintagey".

There was some interesting framed art outside the store where furniture, bikes, and other extra inventory gets set out from the warehouse during the day since inside space is limited.  I am now sort of regretting not buying this framed picture, which was labelled on the back "Princess Ileana," undoubtedly the Romanian princess of whom I knew nothing until Googling the name.  It was just a reproduction of a painting, but it had an inexplicable charm and would be perfect with a certain kind of decor.

I thought the most interesting items were the furniture, like this lovely old rocking chair.

Or these end tables and little bookcase, all great candidates for a chalk paint makeover.  The bookcase was eight dollars.

These are only a sampling.  I saw lots of possibilities for easy, inexpensive painted furniture makeovers here, and also a few things that were perfect as they were.

The store wasn't uncomfortably crowded but it was busy and appears to be thriving.  I noticed a number of things I had eyed speculatively disappeared moments later, so there is a lot of turnover and you have to grab it if you want it.  But at the same time the staff was busy putting new furniture out while I was there, and they said they get lots of donations and new stuff arrives all the time.  This is good, you want a thrift store where the inventory keeps moving so you can be assured of finding new treasures on each visit. 

If you find yourself in Davis and you enjoy thrifting, the Yolo County SPCA Thrift Store is worth a stop.  Find them at 920 3rd Street.  3 solid Trees!  And especially because there is also an associated bookstore, in the the same building, but a couple doors down in another suite.  SPCA Thrift Bookstore next.

Chimichanga Win at Tres Hermanas in Davis

It was good!  Very fresh, full of cheese, and with just a piquant taste of something different in the sauce to set it apart from the usual ho-hum take on a classic chimi.  Lovely breeze through the outdoor dining patio where I elected to take a table.

 

Find Tres Hermanas at 805 2nd Street in Davis, CA.  Third generation family-owned Mexican restaurant.  Parking nearby next to the railroad tracks across the street.  They have a nice dining room and bar inside, a dim and cool refuge in the heat of a blazing Davis summer day.  The outside patio is also wonderful, shaded by big umbrellas and looking out onto pretty surroundings, including the SP Depot across the street (now the Amtrak station).

Good food, friendly, attentive staff, and pleasant views earn them 4 Trees!  I recommend.

Tres Hermanas in Davis, CA

On the way home from visiting KD (who is in several pieces at the moment), and drove all over Davis searching for a chimichanga.  Found one at Tres Hermanas, across from the old Southern Pacific station (as usual, I find trains).

My entree comes with a salad, and I decided to try the creamy cilantro dressing.  Wow, I may have found my new favorite dressing.  I'm told it is a house specialty, a recipe that includes olive oil and other secret ingredients.  Creamy but amazingly light, tangy but not aggressively so.  Perfect for a summer afternoon.  Beautiful salad.

The Road Goes Ever On

It was one year ago today that the record-breaking El Reno tornado struck in Oklahoma, taking the lives of 8 people, including Tim and Paul Samaras and Carl Young.  Earlier this evening I watched the live stream of a memorial service chasers and friends conducted at the site where Tim's body was found, still belted into the crushed remains of the car (Paul and Carl were both ejected and were found some distance away).  Amazing Grace was sung.  A moment of silence was followed by a siren sounding a hi-low tone.  Three orange weather balloons were released.  In the distance other sirens could be heard, sounding in tribute rather than warning.  It was a very moving thing to watch and listen to.

Grass has grown back to heal the dreadful scar left by the monster.  Fluffy white clouds built in a blue Oklahoma sky and when peoples' voices quieted, the air was filled with bird song.  In Wyoming, Montana and South Dakota severe thunderstorms developed and there was even a tornado warning.  But all was peaceful in El Reno.

I imagine today must be a hard day for the families.  In particular, I think of Kathy Samaras, who in one awful moment lost both her husband and son.  Grief is such an odd, crooked road.  It starts out like a muddy bog, pulling the shoes from your feet, slowing the wheels of your progress to a painful crawl.  When things become ever so slightly less terrible, you hardly notice because things are still terrible enough.  And then there is the first time you laugh, and you are stunned into momentary silence at the shock of the sound you've just made, a sound you never expected to make again.  Then tears are likely to follow, for laughter and tears are not as far apart as you might think.  There are little moments of peace from time to time, resting places where you find a little space apart from the struggle.  And there may even be an unexpected island of refuge where you think, at last I am free of this burden I've been carrying.  But it is only a way station, and you find yourself back on that road, more often than not trudging along on ground you thought you had already covered. 

It is like that, grief.  Capricious and tricky, and lingering as the days and weeks and months pass by. It is a very long journey made entirely on foot, walked one slow step at a time.

I hope Kathy has found at least some moments of peace, some resting places where the pain leaves her alone for awhile.  I hope she will find her way to an island of unexpected relief and solace.

The El Reno tornado was made much more real for me because I happened to drive through part of its damage path while on my trip to bring KD home last June.  When I looked at this graphic, which shows the path of the tornado including the portion where it tracked east directly down I40, I felt a chill.  I could then put together the damage I'd seen as I drove west with the actual progress and life cycle of the tornado.   Where the damage path tapers and ends is probably about where I saw that first tree, broken off and dangling midway up its trunk.  The widening of the path as you follow it backwards corresponds to the increasing numbers of twisted trees, the horribly mangled billboard I will never forget, the chewed up buildings and the appalling sight of a culvert full of trees that looked like they'd been attacked by a giant dull-bladed lawnmower, or a wood chipper from hell.  Most of all I shiver at the realization that I was driving west back along the very path of death and destruction that had occurred less than 3 weeks before.

The El Reno event has been meticulously analyzed.  A great many pictures and a lot of video footage was shot of it.  There have been a lot of discussions about it, dissecting the storm as well as the behavior and choices of the chasers who were tracking it, and the controversy over the NWS decision to rate it at an EF3 rather than the more accurate EF5 that was documented by radar observed wind speeds.  Quite a number of chasers were caught by this tornado, many of them experienced professionals in the field.  Some were injured severely, a number barely escaped with their lives. Rather than heap blame for real or perceived errors in judgement, I prefer to cheer the successful escape of those that survived and celebrate the lives lived fully until the last moment for those who did not.

Among the best videos I've seen of this event are this one by Pecos Hank, storm chaser, snake wrangler, wildlife expert, musician and my new heart throb.  Hank is a real renaissance man.  He's been described as part storm chaser, part Crocodile Hunter.  His storm photography is breathtaking, and his videos are beautifully shot and edited, so that they become not just entertaining clips of tornadoes, but lyrical, meditative tone poems on the skies and vast canvas of the great plains.  This piece, part sobering documentary, part art, is probably my favorite of all the available footage on the El Reno event.  He recognizes right away that this is a rare monster.  "People are gonna' die today," he says grimly, in an unfortunately accurate prediction.

As a bonus, check out this music video by Hank's band, the Southern Backtones, performing "Forever" at the Foodarama.  It manages to be at once surreal, hilarious, despairing and ultimately triumphantly euphoric.  There are a lot of other goodies on Hank's beautifully crafted website.  I give it five trees.

And then there is this, the full chase of the El Reno tornado by Australian chaser and storm spotter Daniel Shaw.  Daniel regularly streams his chases live (you can find his site with live streaming link here) during his weeks spent in the U.S. during tornado season.  The rest of the time he is in Australia, looking for Aussie twisters and any other weather events he can find.

This piece is particularly compelling because it captures not only some of the best footage of the often elusive tornado circulation itself, but also the stress, tension, and terror of the event.  Daniel is not just a chaser out looking for great shots, he is a trained spotter and licensed ham radio operator who performs a valuable service as part of the Spotter Network.  Watching him dodge the beast while calling in reports and listening to the spotter radio chatter is a lot like watching a horror movie where you can see the monster that is stalking the unsuspecting victim.  As a viewer equipped with knowledge of this tornado's particularly unpredictable behavior coupled with its epic size and violent wind speeds, you find yourself wanting to yell at Daniel to get out of there, as if it were a masked Michael Myers closing in on Jamie Lee Curtis.

Normally a charming, voluble, enthusiastic solo chaser who constantly chatters at his viewers and seems to Never. Stop. Talking, during this event he telegraphs quite clearly the stress of being on the front lines of tracking a deadly twister.  The money quote for me was when the Baron Mobile Threat application he uses gives out its audible warning of "You are approaching a twisting storm.  Please exercise caution," and Daniel answers it with a muttered "No shit."

And finally, perhaps the most terrifying of them all is Dan Robinson's literal brush with death as he finds himself unknowingly caught in the outer circulation of the tornado and only realizes what is happening when it is too late.  Dan is believed to be the last person to have seen Tim, Paul and Carl alive.  He was only seconds and a few hundred yards ahead of them when they were killed.  He was very lucky to have survived, and still deals with the traumatic emotional aftermath.  Dan provided detailed information which helped piece together much of what happened on that awful day.  Ultimately this information may serve to help others avoid getting trapped the same way, and is part of the larger body of data and experience that is slowly building our ability to understand these events and thereby save lives.

To quote Daniel Shaw after he observed a moment of silence for Tim, Paul and Carl while driving across the plains on his live streamed chase today, "May their dear souls rest in peace."

Joplin Says Thank You

It's true that I was only in Joplin, Missouri for just under 24 hours while on my trip last summer.  And it's true that I only talked to a few people while I was there.  And it's true that I only spent a little bit of money while I was there as my tiny, tiny contribution to Joplin's recovery.

But it's also true that those few hours and few people made a big impact on me, and underlined some very important lessons about courage in the face of trauma and devastating loss.

And that's probably why this video, just released on May 1st, makes me totally lose it.



(Thanks to tornadoraiders.com for tweeting the link).

Catching the Big One

What a day.  Chased Big Boy UP 4014 from Victorville to Barstow to Yermo.  Looking at the great one parked at Yermo as I type this.

More when I'm not so verklempt!

Harris Ranch Redux

It's hot in Coalinga.  Or at least warm, and hot in the sun.  Stopped for ice and gas, and my peeps decided to head out in search of cheaper gas and pick me up on the return loop.  Harris Ranch is a nice stopping point but does not have the best prices.

Imagining my Best Day

I have a mental picture of me in the cab of UP 4014 (fully restored), highballing down the track in Nebraska in pursuit of a perfect wedge tornado.  I am hanging out of the cab with my video camera going, and I also happen to be in the arms of Thor.  As played by Chris Hemsworth.  The caption on this picture is Mountain Kimmie's Best Day Ever.  The steam crew is back in the lounge car (we will party with them later), and all my favorite chasers are screaming along beside on the highway next to the track.

Ok.  It's stupid.  But it amuses me.

I am off to go see Big Boy as she (or he, there has been some debate about Big Boy's proper gender), heads back home to Cheyenne after 52 years sleeping in the southern California sun.

And out in the mid west, near towns that have grown dear to me, thunder storms are getting underway.   I peer at the radar map to see if tiny Arthur, little Elm Creek, and North Platte are under threat. The field is full of chasers.  It is going to be a big weather weekend in the part of our country that gets big weather.  Some will not be there who would have been if tragedy had not struck almost a year ago near El Reno.  They are missed.