Heading north for some bird watching I spied porch full of potential Art-o-mats sitting on the porch of dilapidated building in the tiny town of Bennington,ID. One has to wonder where they all came from and why they are there! What a great reminder that it is time to send in my latest submission.
And a second travel treat, spying the nest of a Red Tail Hawk, in very viewable spot!
I wrote about kintsugi once before, and how I thought kintsugi is sometimes used in a manner a wee bit off from my interpretation of the traditional Japanese intention, and well, I think this may be another good example LOL. Kintsugi toilet... Found in a local, non Japanese, restaurant... It sure made me laugh though. Does this toilet tank really seem more beautiful for having once been broken? I kinda think not, how about you?
Literally.
I never realized that saying was one that was so steeped in literal origins, but, apparently it is. Back in the spring while adventuring across the west desert we found what we thought was an odd case of bullet holes inside the Simpson Springs outhouse. Odd enough to me that I turned it into a creative writing contest, asking my friends to post their imagined scenarios of explanations for our odd find. And then last weekend... We were out exploring again. This time we headed east and stumbled upon the ghost town of Piedmont, Wyoming, an old railroad town based around charcoal kilns that supplied Salt Lake City and the Union Pacific Railroad trains. As ghost towns go, Piedmont was pretty cool. The kilns are preserved as historic landmark, and there are several old decaying buildings still in existance. Enought that you could wonder what the place was like back in the day. There was one small building made of rusted corregated steel, which I assumed was a shed unil walking around to the open side and discovering it was actually a four hole outhouse. Now there's a first... I've seen many two holers in my life, and often pondered "Why?" as in "Why would you want to go to the potty in pairs?", but a four holer really makes you wonder what three people in the world you like enough to want to defecate with. If that was not thought provoking enough, the building ws riddled with holes... bullet holes, which on close inspection we realized were not from it being a distant target, but from shots fired from inside the outhouse. Putting on our forensic science thinking caps and examining the curvature of the metal 'Exit Wound" we realized that the bullets were shot from inside the outhouse, most likely from the proximity of the four holers.
Now once again I have to ask the question, who shoots bullets from inside an outhouse???? What is the scenario this time? Four fellows, after a few beers and a can of beans,taking a dump, one of the guys lets her rip... flatulence that is. Another of the three fellows can't stand the smell and decides to ventilate the room using his handy side arm? Gives new meaning the the expression "Shooting the shit!" doesn't it? And here are some photos of the rest of the ghost town and historic charcoal kilns of Piedmont, WY...
What a wonderful animal observation moment we had while returning home from yesterdays adventure. We had headed up to the Uinta mountains to check out the wildflowers and take a little hike, and while the wildflowers were beautiful, a mountain rainstorm and reluctant old dog derailed our hiking plan. So we decided to head out the Mirror Lake highway through the Wyoming route and after a bit of exploring the vast and beautiful expansive range lands in the middle of nowhere Utah/Wyoming we looped back to Utah through Chalk Creek Canyon. It was that 'deer time" time of the evening and the light was so pretty so when we spied our first two deer grazing in a farmers field we pulled over to take a look.
As we stopped the car I noticed movement next to the road. "Babies! There were babies" Two fawns were hanging out next to the road unable cross the fence to join mom. As I hung my head out of the car window to snap a few pictures the fawns were clearly nervous about the big green monster (Subaru) who had stopped right near them. They paced along the fence, bobbing their heads, looking for an opening for escape. I could not hear them but I'm sure there was a panicked mule deer language call for help, because mom, who was about a hundred yards away headed back up the hill to help.
"Momma! I'm scared! How do I get under this fence?"
"This way! Follow me! Maybe if we go this way we can find a way!"
As we watched, mom effortlessly (it was almost as if she levitated) leaped over the fence and crossed the road. She paused on the hillside for a moment to wait for her kids. They skittishly crossed the pavement but rather than just running away as we thought they would, the fawns excitedly started suckling! How cool! Were they seeking comfort and security because they were scared or were just hungry since they had been left along the side of the road while mom had dinner in the pasture? Mom kept a wary eye on us as they nursed. Of course I wanted a picture but was sitting on the wrong side of the car so I handed Shin my camera so he he could snap a few shots from the drivers side.
After a moment mom seemed to say "Hey kids, that's enough, we need to get out of here" and lifted her hind leg to swat her baby off of her teat. After dislodging the fawns she again leaped over the fence, and head up the hill, while her poor babies scurried around once again trying to find a way through the fence.
It was quite interesting to watch, and to anthropomorphize about maternal care in the world of deer.
I guess the ways of mother nature are a little different for deer than humans. Maybe nature is cruel, or perhaps its just a little tough love that leads to survival of the fittest.
For us biologist types getting to observing their behavior was a real treat. Another nice perk of life on road less traveled.
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Sera: Okay, so I'm not sure you're ready for the real story of the bullet holes, but I'm gonna tell you. It starts, where any good story does: chili. Yup, it was the May Fair Annual Chili Cook-off competition, and people from all around the states were dragging their Dutch ovens (the ones filled with actual, chili, rather than the ones their kids would be doing later in their beds and giggling as their little brothers suffocated in the hellacious overwhelming methane attack; that's a whole other kettle of fish), sure that they would all have the blue ribbon first place winner. See, the May Fair Annual Chili Cook-off (MFACCO to the participants and spectators and judges alike), was The competition to kick off the summer. The chili was the going to be graded and evaluated on 6 different criteria: Heat (oooh yeah, spiccccceeeeaaay!) Flavour (are you bringing the heat but no taste?! CERSEI SHAME!!) Scent (does it make you salivate or scowl?) Ingredients used (be creative, wow the judges!) Presentation (did you serve it in a clean boot this year?) And finally, the After Burn (do they need to stick their head in a trough?) The rules of the final round were simple: No more than 10 ingredients, each chosen by another competitor, and all 10must be utilised in some way. Three hours to perfect their new chili for the judges, and they were led, blindfolded, to their workstations. On the countdown of 3-2-1-go! They were off, groaning and growling at their fellow competitors, as they raced around to try to make due with the chocolate syrup or egg shells or orange flavoured protein powder. They boiled. Reduced. They ground and pulverised. They blended and tasted. And tasted. And tasted. "10...9...8..." The head judge yelled. He was a burly man, strikingly magnificent in his formidable stature, as a deep baritone voice echoed through the workstations and bandstands alike without needing aid of a microphone or bullhorn. The judges took bites, some repulsed, others mere timid links, trying desperately to hope that what the competition had created was not repugnant, but rather palatable. The bowls, two nearly full still, one with a portion eaten from, and the last bowl for each was cleaned. One judge, forgetting their couth in the frenzy of the moment, kicked her bowl clean, unabashedly smiling to the crowd as they roared with laughter at her youthful antics. There was no need to deliberate for the blue ribbon holder this year. The crowd cheered as Pippers LaBells came confidently striding onto the platform beside the announcement podium, receiving her first (of many) blue ribbons for her ingenious use of butter, chocolate syrup, rosemary, red kidney beans, ghost peppers, pimento pieces, capers, peppered steak, raspberry jam, and sweet mixed pickles. And then a noise, sounding like a scream rented the air, just as Pippers was waving for a publicity shot. Someone had stolen the huge pot of chili she made!!! Everyone tried to race after the chili thief, but he jumped in his truck and raced away, yelling "Yippee! More chili for me!" Sadly, the after-after burn didn't kick in until the thief fair-goer was well sufficiently away from the fairgrounds, had found a rest area to stop in hours before, and ate his fill of the chili; nearly quarter of the huge pot. About four hours into his escape, he had his first stomach lurch. Oh. Boy. He pulled over, and checked his map. If he floored it, he might just make the rest area 20miles up ahead. Pulled in, and it was closed. Boy, howdy did yell at the clouds for that bit of unfortunate luck. Back on the road, his stomach was betraying him something fierce, and he openly regretted stealing the mini vat of chili, let alone eating so much of it. He saw a construction site just off the highway, near a turn off. It had what could have been the most glorious thing he'd ever seen before:a porta potty. But his grandpappy had always said snakes and gators were waiting in the hole, so always take your gun with you. He parked next to the door, barely able to stumble out of his truck, trying to undo his pants fast enough. Oh sweet blessed relief. That porta potty was unlocked. But he could hear scratching. Maybe it was his brain, delirious and needing to just get the basic need taken care of. Even still, he heeded the voice of is grandpappy and has his gun at the ready for any critters who might wanna bite his bum or other bits. Safety off, he spun his body around, and barely touched his back side to the hard plastic seat when the volcano began to erupt, sweat pouring down his face in buckets. The smell was worse than anything his older brother could have ever done when he was little. Every time he thought he was done, a new run of hell would pour from him, and in his fear he might be soon losing an internal organ because he had never heard of anyone sitting this long, a forceful gas blast surprised him, and he pulled the trigger of his gun several times without realising what he was even doing. He survived, and when he was fully recovered, he sent Pippers LaBells an apology note, begging her forgiveness, and telling her he had definitely learned his lesson. Moral of the story: don't be shitty and steal. |
| Dawn: He could hear it. Sckritch-scratch. Tiny claws on the metal door. He fell backward in terror, the jolt causing his finger to pull the trigger in a wild shot by the handle. Way to high. It will be low. "Steady" he moans, and tries for the tenth time to get his eyes to focus through the adrenalline, and the drink. Sckritch-scratch, flikkity, sckritch, and the first needle thin nails ghost thru the door. He fires everything he has, and can't stop dry firing as the creature flows thru the solid metal. There is nowhere left to run. |
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Frank: It was a beautiful, sunny day as Buford, who was out hunting rabbits with his buddies, stepped into the restroom to relieve himself of the 12 pack he'd drunk so far. He stood there wobbling and staring into the water in the bowl and started giggling as he tried to write his name with the stream. He decided he'd finish off with a flair and he leaned a bit to get a swirl on his d and fell back, peeing on the toes of his boots and the surrounding floor. He waddled backwards to keep his pants, which were around his ankles, from getting soaked, leaned over to pull them up and smacked his forehead on the toilet bowl, sending him to the floor, and the puddle of piddle, in a daze. He sat there pondering his next move for a minute, stood and pulled up his wet pants, fastened them and reached for the door and gave it a pull. Nothing. It didn't budge. He yanked and yanked and it still didn't give an inch. He figured his buddies had to be holding it as a prank and yelled out for them to knock it off but got nothing in return but silence. He grabbed the handle again, yanking violently and it still stood steadfast. He started to panic, yelling for his buddies as he turned in circles in the tiny room. No response. He suddenly remembered that they had all headed out and he was the only one who had stayed behind to plink a few more bunnies. He desperately looked around while patting his hips in search of some sort of tool that might help him dismantle the door and there it was. His trusty 357. He'd had his baby since he saw Dirty Harry in the seventies and surely it would be the answer to all his woes. He pulled it from the holster, took a wobbly aim at the knob and pulled the trigger. The bullet missed the knob striking the door and began ricocheting around the small room until it struck Buford in the back of the head. As he fell forward, his head hit the handle, the door swung outward and he fell face first into the dirt outside. It was a beautiful sunny day... |
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Beth:
She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the cool aluminum door of the bathroom stall. Shuttering, she tried to still her sobs. Did he see her run into here? Was it safe? Covering her mouth she worked to stifle any sound. A itch on her arm had her brushing away at it impatiently. Feeling wetness she glanced down at her hand. Blood shimmered in the faint moonlight. The road rash that ripped down her left side was oozing blood steadily. It shouldn't have surprised her so much after crawling out of the broken windshield of her flipped Jetta. If she closed her eyes she could still see the headlights of the evil black pickup roaring up behind her on the desolate road. The crumble of the car as the pickup slammed into her side and flipping her off the road. His maniacal grin as she scrambled out of the wreckage and ran to the abandoned tourist trap bathroom. [i] How did he find me? [/i] A gunshot rang out in the night. "Jenna, you murdering bitch! There's no where to run now. It's Over." It's over. He said that years ago. How could this have happened. They were so young and so much in love. She could still remember his nervous excitement when he asked her out to prom. It was the same expression he wore when he asked her to marry him 2 years later. They were happy. Then she got pregnant. He was beyond ecstatic, and she was terrified. She told him she wasn't sure she was ready to be a mother and he brushed off her worries with indifference bordering on irritation. Hurt at his disregard for her feelings she withdrew from him slowly. Then when the second trimester tests came back the doctor told her there were worrying signs that all was not well. Soon after she started spotting. Loosing the child was the last straw for the man who once loved her and turn sour. He turned against her saying she had gotten rid of his child because she didn't want to be with him. Or perhaps she was cheating on him and didn't want to be tied to him with a child. The accusations got wilder and more abusive till she had to flee from him out of fear. He had changed so much. If only he had given her a chance to talk. If only he had found out WHY she was afraid of the pregnancy. If only they hadn't been so young and stupid. A shot rattled the aluminium door and Jenna jumped back from it. More shots hit but did not much but dent the metal. The fear twisted in her gut into a feeling she knew very well. She held her head up to the moonlight filtering thru the frosted glass of the skylight. Her stomach cramped and she dropped to her hands and knees as He continued to shoot at the door. Sooner or later he would make it thru. Her nails bit into her palms as she clenched her hands into fists. If only he had asked her why. She was going to tell him before they got married, but the pregnancy had happened before she was ready. Her hair tumbled down her back and over her arms and legs. He had changed so much, but he had no idea how much she changed. She didn't want this to happen. She had loved him once. She had ran from him out of fear, but not of HER life. A snarl curled over her face. She had loved him once and hadn't want to hurt HIM. The door flung inward as he kicked it open. Holding up his gun he hesitated at the two red glowing eyes staring at him. The change of woman to wolf is hard on the fetus. Werewolf women typically miscarry in the 2nd or 3rd trimester. Jenna uncurled her claws and lept for the man she once loved and proved unworthy of her affection. If only he had asked her why. |
It happened again.... The feds have been reading my blog. This time it was the Fish and Wildlife Service. Not sure that's as exciting as last time, when it was the Secretary of the Interior (or someone in her office ) who looked at my blog.
Should I be paranoid??? Bwahhhh
Or just assume it was someone who found me by looking for wildlife photos. Or maybe a bead maker friend with a fun day job, or a connection to a local friend who works for the Fish and Wildlife Service. Or just a randon click by someone websurfing at lunch.
Or, maybe, Big Brother really IS watching. LOL
So a weird bit of amusement from my world, maybe no one else will find this funny, but me being easily amused, I did. Back in December I accidentally joined a dating site, OKCupid. I know, how do you accidentally join a dating site? In my case it was because of spiders. I had a spider boldy run out from behind a canister on my kitchen counter. He ran right at me, taunting me, and so, I squished it. That was my third such encounter I had with a spider in my home that week. I posted something about my spider invasion on facebook and a friend suggested that perhaps the spider was my totem animal, because spiders are natures artists, the weavers of amazing web tapestries, and like a spider I am a creative person. I'm not at all fond of spiders, they creep me out, but am also not freaky about them. I often think they they are beautiful and fascinating, just so long as I know where they are and that 'where' is outside of my house. Inside spiders, well, they find themselves squished or sucked into the vacuum, not a demise fit for my sacred animal totem.
That got me curious what my animal totem should really be, so I searched for some online tests that would tell me. I tried about three tests, which of course gave different answers, so I don't really know the answer to that question. Then a funny thing happened. After taking one of the tests, a message popped up saying "You are now registered at OKCupid" Hmmm... My first thought was "How did that happen?" and my second one was "What the heck, I am single after all." and I continued clicking.
The site started asking me questions, which is typical for a dating site. Standard tell me about yourself questions, ethics questions. lifestyle questions, sex questions. The questions seemed to go on forever, after answering about 80 I started getting bored, began to wonder if they would ever end, found the way to click to browsing mode, and started to check out profiles... This is where you can read men's answers to the questions, so long as you had answered the same question. I kinda wondered how many questions there were. The first profile I clicked on had 200 and some odd questions answered. Then I saw a guy I knew... he'd answered about 800, which then spurned me to answer more so I could see his answers. It was as though I fell down the rabbit hole, getting hooked on reading the answers to questions, answering more questions so I could read more answers, and trying to figure out why OKCupid thinks we may match. Some of the questions were pretty strange, and likely insignificant, my favorite strange question, which I didn't not bother to answer "While in the middle of the best lovemaking of your life, if your lover asked you to squeal like a dolphin, would you?" Really??? I spent about a week of Christmas break playing this game, then came upon a guy who had answered 3000 questions, which is when I realized how deep the rabbit hole was and then decided I was wasting waaaay too much time, all for naught, so I deactivated my profile...
That was until February, when I had a 'break up' with a guy I was sporadically dating. (I think we need a word for what it is when you break up with someone you were never really actually with, but that is a subject for another time) I decided to reactivate my OKCupid account. This time I left it active, and at least I made a few real life connections, but what I find the most of are messages from scammers. Scammers meaning guys, usually from other states, who write you because they find your profile so terribly enthralling that that they will do most anything to be with you... Eventually, should you engage them I imagine there will be some bid for your credit card number, but more often than not their profiles disappear in a day or two.
The preponderance of scammers makes me cautious, so one of the things I often do is reverse image search a fellow's profile pictures. This has become a game in itself for me, seeing if the scammers pictures show up on 'beware of scammers' websites, or as facebook, or business pictures of fellows with different names in different states; poor guys who likely don't know that their images have been commandeered for nefarious reasons.
This gets me back to the purpose of this post... my weird amusement. Yesterday I image searched the photos from my suspect message of the day... and was amused with what I found, as the closest match to this fellow appears to be a 9 year old girl. I wonder if he has any idea what his 'image' really is? That he actually looks more like little girl than a man. Not sure why I find that so hilarious, but I do.... so at least I get a few laughs out of this odd internet dating experience.
I'm not sure what they google searched for, as google no longer gives out this information for logged in members. Blog stats were more interesting when I could look at key words and see how people found me... I was often found by people wanting to know if maraschino cherry's caused cancer, or how to dress like an artist, or people interested in the octopus ride at he carnival. Now I can rarely see how I'm found... though despite my need to find a grand conspiracy theory to explain why the US government is looking at my blog, I suppose the most parsimonious explanation is that I was posting about the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge. I sure hope they enjoyed my pictures!
I asked him if he had eaten a hot dog form the Weinermobile, but he told me they didn't have hot dogs, but were giving out all sorts of swag like the stickers, and he was into it because he had fond memories of the Wienermobile from his childhood in the '60s. He then said to me "Can I ask you a question?" I said "sure" and he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out an Oscar Mayer Wienermobile whistle and then asked me "Do you want blow my wienie?" Well now there was an offer I couldn't refuse!!!! So I blew his wienie and we had a great laugh before we both skied off. I giggled about it all day... It was the first time ever blew a guy's wiener while I was skiing.....
I'm a single gal. Been that way for quite some time. A few years ago my next door neighbor Mabel lost her her boyfriend of 20+ years, and since we found ourselves to be the two single chicks on the street we started doing a weekly girls night out. Dinner, cocktails, other adventures. Mabel is 86, and last fall, after having a few heart issues, moved out of the neighborhood and into a retirement home, a tough thing for a vibrant, active woman. We have continued our girls night, and after dinner often take a ride, which Mabel really enjoys since she doesn't get out as much as she'd like.
This weeks Tuesday night adventure took us south for dinner, and decided to explore the south mountain area a bit... Being from the north end of town the south mountain area is all unknown territory for us. There is huge LDS temple that looms high on the mountainside in the south east corner of the valley, and thinking the gardens there may be nice we headed up there. Turns out there was not much to see at the temple, but as things work here in Salt Lake the higher up the hill you climb the bigger, fancier and more affluent the housing becomes so we decided to do a little real estate tour and see how the other half live. As we drove up to the highest point in the neighborhood, a street that ran up hill behind the temple, we were quite surprised to find a whole street of castles.
Yes, castles. Brand new,(many still for sale), modern day castles. Whoda thunk? A neighborhood full of castles. Brand new medieval Utah. Stone exteriors, turrets, spires. Honestly, I was surprised that nobody had a draw bridge. I wonder if they joust at their block parties? I've seen the occasional castle around town but never a whole street of them. Which got me thinking.... I'm single, and since becoming single have made a lot of single girlfriends. Lets face it, single gals are always on a quest to meet Prince Charming. As quests seem to go, they seem to be long journeys full of strange adventures and pitfalls and only a few lucky ones have success at ferreting out and enrapturing that prince. But now I realize the problem. We must be looking in all the wrong places... clubs, pubs, online dating sites... all in hopes that Prince Charming may find us. Clearly we should be looking in the places where Prince Charming must be... the castle kingdoms of Salt Lake.
So way back in the 80's when I was in grad school I lived in the the tiny town of Oxford, OH. I met my kids father there, and when we met I was shocked and and apalled that he didn't have a bike, as Oxford was the perfect place for biking, both as recreation and just for getting around town. So I cajoled him into a buying a bike so we could ride together. He went uptown to "The Bike Center" and bought a nice red Nishiki, a nicer bike than the one I rode in the color I always wanted my bike to be. I still have never had a red bike... **sniff**
Fast forward to 'now'. I live way out west in Utah. I am divorced. My ex never really was as interested in biking as I am, so he left his bikes behind when he left. My 23 year old son however, is into bikes, and bike building and repairing, so he recognized that the old bike of dads was actually a nice, quality old bike. So last spring he pulled it out of the crawlspace and hauled it back to Durango, CO where he attended college.
This weekend when I was in Durango for his graduation he asked me to take his dads bike back home, since it's winter and his house is tiny (really tiny). As we go to wrangle the bike out of his overcrowded entry way, I ask about the 3rd bike in the pile, a gray Trek, probably from the '90's, which I did not recognize. Turns out it was his girlfriend Alicia's... then he gets excited...
"But get this mom, you know how dad's bike came from Oxford? It still has "The Bike Center" sticker. Look at Alicia's bike... it's from "The Bike Center" too... it has the exact same sticker."
So you have to be kidding me! Sure enough both bikes are labeled exactly the same. I asked where she got her bike, and it turned out she had bought it used, there in Durango. So what is the chance that two old bikes from the tiny town of Oxford, Ohio would come to live together in the same tiny house in Durango, CO? Kind of a bike "love story" of sorts! Two bikes, from a sleepy little Ohio town, travel the west to, decades later, be united 1400 miles from home in Durango, CO!
