#221 Two stories and Two Sets of Photos

Bald eagle with dinner in claw, WA state.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! This post contains two stories that are sort of related and two groups of photos (the birds and the bees/bugs) that are related to each other, but not related to the stories. I hope both the stories and the photos are enjoyable in their own way. It’s going to be that kind of year—all mixed up. but we still find joy where we can.

Goshawk in forest, Perth, Scotland.

Goshawk in flight.

Voices in the Wall 

It was a lovely afternoon for watching the Lamlash Bay lap on the shore of Isle Arran, Scotland. After a great round of golf at Shiskine GC, we had stopped at Arran Cheese and picked up a couple of rounds and some crisps (what we’d call crackers) for snacking. Back in our room at Lilybank B&B we had cut into one of the cheese rounds, broken out some crisps, poured two generous drams of Lochranza single malt scotch, and were sitting back enjoying the view of the bay and the Holy Isle. We were the only guests so far in the B&B, but yet we could hear voices. The closer we listened, the more the voices seemed to be coming from the wall of our room. Was it the whisky? Was our room haunted? The voices were indistinct, yet they were recognizable as voices. I walked over to the wall for a closer listen.

Gannet

A very patriotic gull.

 

I couldn’t tell what they were saying or where exactly the voices were coming from, but they seemed to be repeating the same refrain. I went to the door and listened outside the room. No, they seemed to be just in the wall of our room. As I moved along the wall to try to pinpoint the voices, the sound moved from the wall to my backpack which leaned against the wall. 

It took me only a moment to find my mini voice recorder, the one I use for verbal notes as we play a golf course. Somehow it had turned on and was playing back the same sentence describing a hole from the previous day’s golf. Mystery solved, but it might have been a better story had it been a talking mouse in the wall or the spirit of a former guest who really didn’t want to leave the place. 

Pheasant near St Fillins, Scotland.

Red grouse in Glen Quaich, Scotland.

Duck, Lower Slaughter, Cotswolds, England

Meadowlark, Taos, NM

Scottish Robin

The Noise at Home

First, some background. A couple of months ago in the middle of the night one of our smoke detectors started beeping one chirp about every 15 seconds. We checked all the rooms in our unit (two bedroom with a den) to make sure there was not a real emergency. When we were satisfied that we were safe, we realized we were still being annoyed by the constant chirp telling us the battery in the detector was running out. With no ladder or willingness to climb up one if we had it, we called maintenance. Even though it was 1:30 in the morning a worker came to the house and changed all the batteries in all our alarms. Ah, senior living.

Now to the real story. A couple of weeks ago, again in the middle of the night, about 2:30, I was awakened by a very piercing but soft noise—a whistle or alarm sound. I had been sleeping in my living room recliner— something I often do when my Parkinson’s tremors are acting up. I looked around to see if I could see a source for the now irritating noise. I couldn’t. So, I got up and looked at every electric item we had in the room (tv, radio, DISH module, alarms, clocks, stove, fridge, microwave, etc.). Nothing was making the noise. By turning my head I tried to triangulate the location. Nothing was definitive. I checked every other room and outside, but I was sure the sound was emanating from the kitchen-diningroom-livingroom area. I still couldn’t identify a source for what now sounded like constant electric screaming. 

Canmore, Alberta, Canada

Yellow Swallowtail

"Let me out!" Huntingtower Castle, near Perth, Scotland

I finally woke Anne, who had slept through the noise and my noise because, of course, she doesn’t wear her hearing aids at night. Together we went through the whole process again and came up blank. We were just to call for help when she said, “Wait a second.” She moved a couple of books on a shelf, “Look at this.” She was pointing to a small, very old Sharper Image travel clock. It was indeed the culprit. I turned the clock over to see battery acid leaking out of the battery compartment. It was so corroded that the alarm must have been shorted out. Plying the batteries out shut off our noise invasion. Not as interesting a tale as voices in the wall, but certainly closer to home.

Assassin Bug (?)

In Scotland this would be called a ginger wooly bear.

This walking stick hitched a ride on my golf club bag.

If you want to view some really fine wildlife photos, check out the sites that feature two of our great friends from Canada. See Kathryn Delany's website -- www.colorsplashes.com -- and find Nick Delany's work by going to www.psa-photo.org and searching for Nick Delany.

NEXT: We've had the birds and the bees; next is, of course, the Beasts. 

#220 HAPPY HOLIDAYS with Stories and Photos

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR. Let’s hope that the gifts and trips that the new year brings will all be good. That brings me to the topic of this post: Best Christmas Gifts and Trips and other Gifts supported by some holiday/winter photos.

The Best Christmas Gift I Ever Gave 

Without a doubt the best gift I ever gave to anyone was the Christmas gift I gave to Anne one of the first years living in Canby (1985 or 86-ish, and then repeated). Not being able to spend a lot of money on a gift, I was forced to come up with something special. What I came up with was The Twelve Dates of Christmas. Probably not original to me, but I was winging it.

I started planning and preparing the surprise early in the fall because my plan was to have everything ready to give on Thanksgiving Day. On that day I presented Anne with a calendar with 12 days highlighted by a planned activity. I had scheduled concerts, meals, and activities that extended from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas vacation. Included in the events were special dinners out, such as a dinner at Amadeus in Milwaukie using our 2-for-1 dine out card (the Canby speech team sold the books as a money raiser). Concerts began with The Trail Band the day after Thanksgiving and included Tall Jazz at the Old Church in Portland. Other activities included The Revels Play in Portland and local Holiday Festivals  and Bazaars. 

Anne was totally surprised and I even impressed myself with the ingenuity of the project. We both enjoyed the whole idea and the individual events. This was a gift that kept on giving—we had Twelve Dates of Christmas in our Holiday Traditions for several years, until we became too busy with other activities. I’m sure I will never find a better Christmas gift to give.        

Winter Golf

John Day River

The Best Christmas Gift I Ever Got

The best Christmas present I ever received was received on Christmas Day 1953 in Sacramento when I was eight. At Nona’s house on that Christmas my parents gave me a new Schwinn 28” black bicycle. I didn’t have a bike and my best friend, Michael, had already got one on Christmas Eve. Mike lived across the street from my grandparents, so it was appropriate that I got mine at Nona’s. There were only two problems: I had never ridden a bike on my own and I was too short to get on the bike even though we’d adjusted the pedals. I solved both problems that day. First, I got extra lift by standing on the sidewalk while the bike was in the gutter which was lower. The second problem was solved by falling several times and getting right back on the tough bike. Never in the history of bikedom was a two-wheeler more loved and abused.

Best Christmas Vacation Trip I Ever Had

The best Christmas vacation trip I ever took was also our first trip as a married couple. When we married it was in a rush since I had been drafted even though I was teaching in ghetto community. If my deferment didn’t come through I wanted to be married and for Anne to get benefits. We had a church wedding with a few friends as guests, but no parents. Anne had already met my parents, but I was only a picture in the South Salem yearbook to Anne’s family. The deferment came through and Christmas vacation would be my first meeting of my new family. 

Anne and I left LA early in the morning heading to Sacramento (my folks) and then on to Salem. That’s when the adventure started. Half way up the Grapevine the snow started piling up. Before we reached the top we turned around and headed for Santa Barbara and the longer, warmer route. I called Sacramento and told them our change of route and asked Dad to get us chains for our new Opel GTI—we’d need them to get over the Siskiyou mountains  between California and Oregon. It took us an extra four hours to get to my folks, but we now had chains for the next leg.

The next day was to be a twelve hour trip to Salem…was to be! Because of the giant snow storm, it took us 17 hours of driving time and on the way we found that we didn’t know how use the car heater or front window defroster—who in LA even knew what a defroster was. I had to stop every few miles and scrape the ice off the windscreen while we wore all the warm clothes we owned.  We saw a dead person underneath a car that had slid off the jack while chaining up. Thankfully, the body was covered. We paid people to help get chained up properly. I learned how to drive with chains on. We were one of the last cars allowed through before the police closed the Interstate at Weed.

We stopped in Grants Pass for a break and I met Anne’s family friends Pete and Janette Walt—Anne’s mom was jokingly miffed that Janette met me before she did. We pulled into Anne’s house late in the night and were met in the yard by Bev, one of Anne’s sisters, with a hug and a beer for me. Mom and Dad Holweger met us at the door with the warmest welcome imaginable.

We stayed in Salem for a week where I became an accepted member of the family. We also learned that all I had to do was open a special vent to get the Opel’s heater to work—open one vent and we could have been warm and defrosted the whole trip. A new family, a grand holiday, and an adventure as well.

The Best Surprise Gift I Ever Got

Being a freshman at Montclair HS was exciting. I got introduced to real photography in a year long class which led to a life-long love affair with cameras. I  also got my first experiences with public speaking when I was encouraged to present a guided slide show of astronomy to several science classes which led to another life-long love and my career. But the year was also a traumatic one. Mom and Dad were having problems which led to Dad leaving us for a while. To get the family back together we (Mom, my seven year old sister, and I) had to move from SoCal to Salem, Oregon. I didn’t want to move, but there were no other options.  My straight A grades dropped and my teachers noticed. They did some checking and talking to me and found out what was going on. They continually checked on me and encouraged me. As the end of the school year and the move to Oregon approached, a special meeting of the science club was called and my general science teacher, E. P. Gosswiller, and Science Dept. Head, Orval Peterson, awarded me a special science prize. The prize was a first year astronomy text from CalTech inscribed with the following: “Presented to Robert Jones in appreciation for your enthusiastic interest in science and for also having presented the most outstanding science project in the Montclair High School during the 1959 - 1960 school year. Your Science Teachers” and it was signed by both Mr, Gosswiller and Mr. Peterson. 

My teachers will never know what a difference they made in my life and what life savers they really were. My hope is that all of you will find or have found the Mr. Gosswillers and Mr. Petersons of your lives when you need them.

NEXT: We’ll both be surprised. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR

#219 Holiday Season Greetings

Hoping you all find something to be thankful for.

Our Old House in Canby

A Couple of Thanksgiving Stories

Thanksgiving Holiday is always a thoughtful time and this year. because of our leaving our house of 38 years, is even more thoughtful for us. For this post I decided to present a couple of Thanksgiving stories and some fall photography.

The Birks of Aberfeldy, Scotland

The Fairy Pools Trail, Isle of Skye

Anniversary to Remember

Married in 1968 the weekend before Thanksgiving, our anniversaries have always been near the holiday. Our 25th wedding anniversary, celebrated in 1993, was an important one and on the day of Thanksgiving. Plans were being made for big celebrations, but those plans got interrupted by Anne’s chance to go to Hawaii for the whole week of Thanksgiving to attend a teacher leadership conference (which included golf opportunities). I couldn’t go, of course, and Anne was reluctant to accept the offer until I convinced her we’d still have our celebrations, just later. On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving I was at school when I received a giant bouquet of flowers in the middle of a class. Lovely as it was, it quickly became the talk of the school—Mr. Bob got flowers. When Anne called on Thanksgiving, I told her I loved her, but she had embarrassed me at school. Then I asked her about what she was having for Turkey Day Dinner. She told me about the fancy dinner they had had. She then asked what I was having. I said, “Fried Spam.” I tell that story of my 25th Anniversary/Thanksgiving Spam dinner every chance I get.

Ballatter GC, Highlands

St Fillans GC, Our Club

Sma'Glen, Highlands

Near Loch Tay, Highlands

This second story is an award winning essay about Thanksgiving memories from a newspaper contest in 1978.

A Freshman Alone at Thanksgiving

“Closed,” “Sorry.” The signs reflected off glistening streets. Neon colors splashed from the wet sidewalks. Arcadia, California, was a lonely place for a stranger on this Thanksgiving Day 1963.

All day I had been involved in a college speech and debate tournament at Humbolt State University. Amidst camaraderie and competition I hadn’t given much thought to being away from home on Thanksgiving. But the coming darkness draped around my shoulders the shroud of the loneliness of a freshman away from home.

When you’re eighteen and a freshman in college everything new is an adventure.

A speech tournament at Thanksgiving only meant a chance to see a new place and meet new people. Reality, though, has a way of catching up, even with a freshman. So, here I was wandering dim streets, alone, in a strange town, seeking the only inexpensive restaurant open on Thanksgiving within walking distance of our motel.

The garish fluorescent lighting of the cafeteria blinded me as I sought to adjust from the dark night. Servers filled trays with the contempt of those forced to work when they wanted to be at home with their families. “Thanksgiving Special—A Complete Traditional Turkey Dinner (with all the trimmings—$1.89, drink extra,” said the sign taped to the glass overlooking trays of limp lettuce salad. At the end of the line my tray had on it two thin slices of pressed turkey (mostly dark meat), a scoop of dressing, a scoop of whipped potatoes almost as runny as the speckled gravy on it, a small paper cup of cranberry sauce. I paid extra for a glass of milk and a cup of coffee.

My hunger overcame my growing depression. I found myself enjoying the food in spite of the surroundings. As my plate-to-mouth motions became automatic my mind strayed out the rain streaked windows. My thoughts wandered into the darkness and all the way home. The family would be gathered at either an aunt’s house or our place. Dinner of plump hot turkey which I might have gotten to carve, fluffy dressing bulging with spicy sausage, both mashed potatoes with rich gravy and yams with brown sugar, and all the extras that make tradition live would have been cleared away hours ago. Uncle Lee and Dad would be arguing about who would deal the card game. Aunt Loretta, Mom, my sister Dee and the cousins would be cutting pies, whipping the cream, and sneaking bites of meat off Henrietta Hen’s carcass. Someone might have pulled out a Christmas album which propriety dictates can’t be played until after Thanksgiving Day—or at least until after the dinner is over. A car honking outside the cafeteria interrupted my communion. I finished my coffee and left so hurriedly that I left a tip even though there hadn’t been a waitress.

Back on the damp street I tried to recapture those visions of family and warmth. The moment was gone. I’d had my Thanksgiving, but would have to wait a few days to share it with those who mattered.  

Autumn at Ankeny Winery near Salem

Fall leaves with Christmas tree farm in the background.

Maes Howe Megalithic Tomb, Orkney Islands

Fattening the sheep, Orkney Islands

And autumn will soon turn into winter.