24-Hour Excursion

As I mentioned a couple of days ago, I left town on Bob's party day. I didn’t have a plan beyond delivering my box of chicken fabric to Marta. My little trip ended up being a 24-hour circle that started on Hwy. 80 toward San Francisco, cut across the valley on Hwy 4 with a night in Stockton, then resumed on Hwy 4 the next day. I cut north across the foothills from there and ended up back home on Sunday afternoon.

I was amazed that I managed to drive right to Marta’s house even though I couldn’t remember the name of a single street and didn’t have a map with me. I guess that’s like being amazed that even though you’re stupid, you CAN survive.

Once I’ve been somewhere, I can always find it again just by following my instincts. This is much easier when I’m driving by myself, of course. It’s almost impossible if someone else is driving and I’m responsible for giving them directions. I have to feel where to turn. Try explaining that to a guy. There is a problem with this talent. I can only follow exactly the same route that I took the first time, so if I originally made a wrong turn and had to backtrack, I’ll have to do that again.

Marta and her family are doing well. After the years of practically living in their car, driving from one activity to another and donating a lot of their time to 4-H, Grange, and other things, they’ve been sticking pretty close to home. These days Travis is working on his geology major and has a part-time job stocking shelves in a store. Marta is in a 4-year program to become a sign language interpreter and is making quilts for the fun of it. She and her mom Julie also have a huge garden.

Marta with one of her quilts. This one has a nautical name (Swirling Seas? Wild Waves?) and I swear it looks completely different in this picture than it did when I saw it in person, it’s like an optical illusion. If you look at it one way it has overlapping circles. Another way you will see overlapping diamonds.


Marta and Julie with their garden in the background.


Marta still has one chicken, a very old frizzle hen living in the lap of luxury with her own spacious, air conditioned pen.

I miss these people, we spent a lot of hours traipsing around Kentucky and other places. What great times and fun memories. I need to see them more often.

Excursion 3

I could have driven directly home from Stockton. Bob would already have cleaned up from the party the night before. But instead, I saw the sign for Hwy. 4 again and decided to explore to theeast on it. A big sign at the offramp advertised California Caverns and Moaning Caverns. Nope, won’t be doing that cave stuff; dirt is meant to be under your feet, not over your head.

Again there were miles of fertile fields with corn (field corn this time), alfalfa, and grapes. I saw a Highway Patrolman hiding in the bushes. I saw a roadside stand selling eggs. The sign said “Free Range Eggs.” Just beyond it there were a couple of dead chickens by the side of the road. Hmmm, truth in advertising.

Near Farmington I bought some blueberries and a bird church* from a diabetic lady at a roadside stand.


Then I stopped to take this photo of a crop duster loading up for a spray run for my brother, the plane guy.



*Bird Church

Hair Tales

Warning: Guys may find this boring.

I got my hair cut even shorter, as you may have noticed in the Yerington pictures. Somewhere I got the stupid idea that shorter hair would be cooler for summer, easier to take care of. Kari at the hair place did a great job trying to make that dream come true. And when I left her shop, it DID look pretty good.

But I don't have Kari at home. All I have is me, a person with frizzy hair and shoulders that don't work very well. I came to work the next day with hair that stuck out like I'd put my finger in a light socket. I looked a lot like I did as a freshman in high school, which is pretty scary. Didn't like it then, like it even less now. Isn't there a rule that you don't have to look geeky after you turn 40?

So I asked a lady at work who has wonderful hair - Kristen - how she manages hers. I wasn't deceiving myself. I understand Kristen is one of those people that dirt does not stick to. She always looks terrific. I was hoping I could take some advice from her, however, and manage to have just my hair look 1/4 as good as hers.

Kristen demonstrated how she uses a blow dryer with a brush on it, and told me about a product she uses - Moroccanoil. On the way home that afternoon I stopped and got a(nother) hair dryer, (Yes, I know, I already bought one a few months ago didn't I? And I still have the ancient one. So now I have 3.)

While I was looking at the hair products, I saw a little bottle of oily-looking stuff. Not the stuff Kristen recommended, you have to go to a classy place for that. But I decided to try it.

When I got home, I tried the oil first. Woops. The frizzies disappeared really quick. It looked like I had salad dressing in my hair. I thought I'd give it a chance to dry before I formed an opinion. It looked like dried salad dressing in my hair. I tried to shampoo it out. It wouldn't leave. I finally had to use New Dawn Dish Soap, the grease-cutting formula that you use on lasagna pans.

Now I had a professional case of the frizzies. So I mixed a bunch of conditioners together (a little bit of everything I've bought and tried) and soaked my hair in that. Then I tried the new hair dryer. It's not easy drying shorter hair, the ends don't "dent," they just stick straight out. I can't hang onto the dryer with one hand and the hair with the other, that takes too much coordination. Mostly I just burnt my fingers.

Aside from looking nasty, the shorter hair is inconsiderate. It curves around my face like a ram's horns, just the right length so the ends poke up into my nostrils. When I lean over, I can't see anything through the hair and it's too short for a pony tail.

I guess the short, smooth, straight look just isn't for me. I like cousin Nancy's curls, but I'm afraid if I had a permanent to recreate that, I would look like Bo Obama.

When my hair was long a couple of years ago and I was thinking about cutting it, I'd pass someone on the street with medium to short hair that looked awful and I'd think, "That would be me." Then I'd change my mind about cutting it. Prophecy.

OK, that's all the complaining I'm going to do about this topic until the next haircut. In the meantime, if I post any pictures of myself that look weird, just pretend the wind was blowing that day.

Where are you, Alex?

Has anyone seen Rabbit Boy? I hear he’s in New Zealand, but he didn’t say goodbye, the twerp.

I think he went there to do his famous 4-H demonstration about how to breed New Zealand White rabbits.

The 4-H "Kids"

I’m starting to get behind on my blogging. I’ve just been having too much fun taking pictures, seeing people, and being nosy. I may need to post a couple of times a day just to get it all in. That’s no guarantee it will all be great stuff, though. Maybe I’ve just been drinking too much iced tea since the weather turned warm and the caffeine is making my brain work too fast.

One of the things I love to do is keep up with the kids we’ve known for a long time. In addition to Bob’s friends from school and our local 4-H club, he met quite a few kids in statewide 4-H and in poultry activities.

A week ago Bob and I were invited to a celebration party in Grass Valley. Chrissy graduated from UC Davis. Chrissy and Bob were often competitors in showmanship classes. I know I have a picture of them when they were younger, but I think it’s in a box in Bob’s room (aka no man’s land). This is the only one I could find, when they were a little older.


This is me, Chrissy, Bob, and Richard. Richard is also a poultry person, and is Bob’s current boss at work, which is one reason why Bob enjoys his job. Chrissy was a communications major. Maybe someday we’ll see her on the evening news.


While I was looking through old photos, I found some others that I think need to be shared, because some of you know these kids. Even if you don't know them, you might enjoy seeing the before and after pictures. This is Jon after one of his big poultry wins.


This is Travis and Jon at 4-H Camp, looking sort of like POWs.


This is Jon the nerd today; the debonair, professional nerd.


This is Travis the smiling history major today. Well, really last Monday.

The Clompers Are Good for Something

Gardening! I was planting some flowers in the newly-remodeled back yard and needed something to tamp down the dirt. Couldn't find a gardening tool, but as I looked down I spied the big Kaiser shoes I was wearing. They worked great! And they're dirt colored, too.

I'm not taking the week off from blogging, but have been busy. I read Book 15. It has lots of Ranger moments and lots of silliness of course. Spending a couple of days in Stephanie Plum's world always gives me a different perspective on my own.

I have been helping Bob get the backyard ready for its inaugural party this weekend. This replaces the yearly river party. Everyone under 30 is invited. I'll be going somewhere else Saturday night. Partying does not bother me, I can sleep through anything, but it seemed like a good opportunity to just go somewhere. I don't even know where that will be. I like surprises.

Capn P has been off on some of his own adventures. He tried surfing and bought a skateboard. Wonder Woman has been shopping to decorate her new home. I guess she got tired of living in a teepee with a pig. Hotei has experienced some amazing changes in his life as well, thanks to Q. There will be pictures, I'm sure.

Evanovich Fans...

book 15, Finger Lickin' 15, comes out today. The best deal I've seen is at Costco, about $15. You can read the first 2 chapters for free at Evanovich.com.

Yerington 4

Before I left for home the next morning, I got a tour of the Yerington area. It’s pretty isolated there, which I like. It is distinctly agricultural, and I like that, too.

Our last stop was Jerry’s place. In this picture Jerry, aided by his mule, is herding geese.


Why? One of them has a gray bill instead of orange, like it should be, and of course I had to wonder why. Jerry thought maybe it had been tunneling in the dirt, and that was just dirt on its bill. He couldn’t catch it, though, to check it out so I’m still wondering.


Jerry has pigeons and chickens and dogs, and some golden goats that are part Boer. The doe showed us how she keeps the mule in line.


This mule is really adorable. I got in trouble for smooching on it. Bill said not to teach Jerry bad habits. Correction. Make that ANY MORE bad habits.

It was hard saying goodbye to my buddies. I hope it’s not so long between visits next time, and I hope Joan is there.

About 15 feet out of the valley, the desert began again and lasted until Carson City.


Here’s something you’ll probably only see in Nevada. A 7-11 that sells gas and snacks and that will pawn your car so you can keep on gambling.

Fat Butt Cow Mystery Solved

Thank you Katherine, expert not only in birds, but also in identifying cow butts.

I took your suggestion and looked up Belgian Blues. I think the cows that were also in the pen at Yerington were this breed too. I assumed they were Holsteins because of their color, but I remember Bill saying they were the fattest Holsteins he'd ever seen.

Yerington 3

Here's Trouble – and proud of it!


Is there anything more pathetic than a bunch of old people sitting around talking about how wild and crazy they used to be? Jim’s wife Carolyn must have been chuckling to herself, listening to our tales. She took this picture.

The three of us spent the whole evening remembering the fun we had. Bill and Jim were good at annoying people in person. My job was to try to keep everyone organized and out of trouble. It was a rough job. My specialty was annoying folks in print, in advertisements, for example. I mean, if someone was determined to have a cow, you should help them do it, right?

It’s really great to see people you grew up with succeed. I don’t mean just financial success, but personal success. Having good families that love them.

Yerington 2

This is the view to the west (looking back towards California) from the picture window of Crazy Bill and Joan’s living room. Watching the shadows from a thunderstorm over the hills is almost as relaxing as watching the tides come and go from Jean’s living room window. This is a rule for retirement: make sure there’s a good view from your easy chair. I don’t think Bill spends much time in one, though, he’s too busy taking care of animals and working on new projects.


This is the view in the other direction, east. See that tallest mountain under the tree limb? All the ex-trail riders (and probably my brother) are thinking, “That’s where I’d go, I wonder how long it would take to get there?” Bill can tell you. He and Jerry rode their horses, he said, and it took most of the day. There were patches of loose shale and the going was rough. They erected an American flag at the very top. Bill said he could see it from his house for a couple of weeks. Either the wind took it, or maybe aliens (this is Nevada, after all).

If you’re starting to wonder why there are no pictures of Joan, it’s because she was in Florida visiting some of her grandkids. CB said he didn’t go with her because he doesn’t like to fly. (He’ll train and ride a 2000-lb steer, but flying is dangerous. Are you beginning to understand his name?) I missed Joan, but got to see what keeps her busy. The house is full of gorgeous quilts she’s made.

Most of Bill’s horses are grand-babies of horses that I knew many years ago. One of those old horses was Go Boy’s Red Bluff. This is a picture I painted of him back then that Bill still has on his wall.


And this stallion is a son of Red Bluff.


This is a yearling mule. Bill has a pair of them.


Later in the afternoon we went to Jim’s house. Since I’d heard he was now a business tycoon, I thought this was probably his house.


Nope, this one belongs to the King of the Onion Fields.

We had to drive a bit further to find Jim. He lives at the end of a road, in a comfy house surrounded by shade trees. It’s just past a pen with some fat butt cows. Does anyone know what breed of cow this is? There were 2 or 3 of them in a pen with some Holsteins. They were roany, like this one.

Yerington 1

How did Crazy Bill get his name? The first time I met him was at a horse show in Roseville. He and Joan had arrived the night before with their camper, horse trailer, and 3 small girls. Early the next morning, Bill was out getting his horse (Bama Boy’s Pride) ready, sipping a can of beer long before the rest of us even had our first cup of coffee.

Bill came from Tennessee, where he learned ride gaited horses and drive anything with four feet as a boy. Over the years he’s trained some difficult animals: teams of oxen, mules, and Hannah the Haint – the wildest TWH known to man. Over the years Joan has lived, graciously, with all of this.

Jim was the quintessential gypsy horse trainer from Rio Linda. As a teenager he was already a better trainer than any of the adults in California. That made him much admired by the rest of us kids. I have known him off and on over the years, whenever he came toodling back to this area for a while. I stopped writing his information in my address book, though, when I had used an entire page for him in the L section. He moved a lot. He somehow managed to survive the horse business, and is now a successful businessman in a more mundane field of work.

I planned my trip so I could make a circle, starting on Hwy. 88 and coming back on Hwy. 50. My stepfather had the cattle range between these two highways when I was a teenager, and I’ve spent a lot of time riding and hiking the area. That was a different time.

In 50 years, a lot has changed. In the rest of California everything has been buried under a sea of ugly houses that are connected by huge, crowded freeways. In the mountains the roads have been improved some, but they are still two lanes. Cabins and businesses have been systematically eliminated. Where’s the cabin at Tragedy Springs? What happened to Fred’s Place? I know the latter has been gone for quite a while, but I can’t even figure out where it used to be. The granite mountains of the Sierras are the same, but periodic fires and new vegetation make the landscape seem different and the human-made landmarks are gone.

After all the lush greenery of Oregon and Washington, and the forests of the Sierras, Nevada is quite a contrast. Everything is wide open and looks dry. This has been the wettest June on record. There are mud puddles along the road. But the sagebrush doesn’t celebrate the abundance. Their colors are still army drab, the plants exude sullen pessimism.


The only brightness grows along the creeks and rivers in cottonwood and willow groves. There are more of them than I expected. That’s probably because the roads were traditionally built to follow the water. Horse teams would require it.

Following the West Walker River through the desert, the highway suddenly dips into scenic Wilson Canyon. Here the river has cut through bedrock. You can imagine the Grand Canyon looked like this when it was a baby.


Shortly after this is the first of the agricultural river valleys, mostly alfalfa farms and small towns. Yerington is the biggest and the agriculture there is a little more diverse. For one thing, there are a lot of onion and garlic fields in addition to the alfalfa. Where water is applied, crops flourish. Directly across the highway you might see pristine desert.

After I passed the Yerington turnoff, I started looking for Crazy Bill’s house. This must be it! It looks pretty crazy.


Actually, it IS pretty crazy. The locals, I was told, consider it their version of the Winchester House, its inhabitant a little difficult and off-center. Bill and Joan live not too far up the road in a more traditional house.

I found CB in his garage working on his newest project, a goat wagon.


He doesn’t feel like getting behind a team of big, wild animals anymore, he said, so his latest project is training a team of 4 of these guys to pull a wagon:


Wow. We have only one goat at home, and he’s 3 times harder to manage than both our horses put together. And Bill’s goats have horns. (Maybe you can’t license a goat wagon unless it has a horn? Snark snark.)

Bill’s neighbor Jerry drove in after me, which was convenient because he took this picture of us.


I had worn my official Crazy Bill shirt and he put on his own just for this historic photo. Do any of you guys still have yours?

This is Jerry and Bill. You folks from Sloughhouse of long ago will be interested to know that Jerry’s cousins used to live there – the Falkensteins.

Who, What, Why, Where?

You might ask why I seem to be on a crusade to go around visit old friends. Well, if you didn’t ask, this may be boring, you should speed read.

First, it’s because I finally CAN. There were times in the past couple of years when I had to be driven. When I finally did resume driving, it was only to work and back. Now I can actually get in my car by myself and go places and do things. Yeeeehah!

Second, it’s because the old friends are the ones who live far away. My newer friends all live in Sacramento County. And my relatives on both sides of the family – and the in-laws, too, for that matter – are homebodies who all live within 50 miles of where they were born. Except for my brother – that rebel – who lives within 100 miles, and his daughter who lives in Oregon. (And thus they got visited.)

I didn’t get to see my old friends much during the kid years, the years when I was totally involved in raising Bob. My old friends are from the pre-Bob horse days.

I was always horse crazy. My childhood friend who shared that craziness was Mitzi. I bought my first horse when I was 13. Rosie was a Tennessee Walking Horse. In high school I met Merleen and Anita. Merleen was not a horse person. I lost track of her for 45 years. Anita lived a mile away in Camino. She also had TWHs. I spent a lot of time at her family’s stable, where I met Copper and Max and Carlotta, and was introduced to the show horse world. At the shows I met Jim, Crazy Bill and Joan, Aunt Bea, Jack, and a host of other endearing oddballs. Aunt Bea introduced me to her neighbor Neva, who introduced me to Charlene.

At the end of the show years, Mitzi and I started trail riding with Jean, Crazy Bill, Neva and Charlene. When Bob was born my horses became pasture decorations as we spent our time on homework, 4-H and chicken shows. My newer friends are from those worlds, and also from work. Twenty-five years later, most of my old friends have abandoned California and moved to less crowded places.

Does that put things (and characters) in perspective?

After visiting Jean, next on my list were Crazy Bill and Joan, and Jim. Conveniently, they all live in Yerington.

Vacation Hiatus

I got home Sunday evening (the 7th). On Monday morning I took the car in for its 45,000 mile service. It was in perfect health. Have I told you lately how much I love this car? I also love my Kindle. I was reading the newspaper in the crowded service department waiting room and ran across an interesting book review. It took me less than 3 minutes to access Amazon on the Kindle, find the book, and download it. I spent the next hour reading the book. I resisted the temptation to hold my Kindle up and tell everyone how cool it is. They were too busy watching sleazy junk on TV. And yes, that IS a self-righteous comment.

Later in the week Adam came out and set up a drip system for my flower beds.



We had to figure out the pump system to get the water turned off. It only took 4 of us. Rick wasn’t working at the corn stand that day. He seems to be the only one who knows where all the pipes and wires go.

I really love to stand out in the garden in the evenings with a hose, but I also love to take off and do things and not worry about the plants. Now I can do both.

Look what Adam found. A dead gopher with teeth marks on its neck. He also found the remains of a munched mole. Looks like George has been busy. That cat gets a raise!


After a week of chores and appointments (I got my hair cut shorter), the vacation could resume. As I said, I had to put some more miles on the car before June 21, when the days start getting shorter. My next destination — Yerington, Nevada.

Vacation Report - Day 7

“Oh give me a home where the Angus roam, and the suicide rodents and antelope play…”

I decided not to extend my trip east from Bend. I’d never been to Alturas and Susanville. When others talked about these places, I had no mental picture for reference. So I went south. For 125 miles there was nary a car in front of me nor behind me. I finally learned how to use the cruise control.

The road was very good, but there were little fat rodents that liked to run across it right in front of the car. It reminded me of the computer game “Deer Hunt.” I managed to avoid hitting any. There were other strange things, like a lone magpie (the kind with black beaks) out in the middle of the sagebrush. Our yellow-beaked magpies at home stay in family flocks and like big trees. A few miles down the road there was another magpie. This one was scarfing a smooshed suicide squirrel off the pavement. Later, in Alturas, I saw a couple of seagulls squabbling over similar roadkill.

I saw lots of antelope tucked here and there among the cows. And in Lakeview many of the houses had rows of these poppies.


The scenery is unique, high desert with sagebrush and a chain of sunken valleys that were full of water. It looked like the water just stayed there until it evaporated later in the year.

I thought I’d probably stay in Alturas or Susanville, but it didn’t take me very long to get there. This was a highlight in Alturas (second only to dodging the seagulls in the middle of the highway):

Is it dangerous to drink beer around a microwave? I’ve never heard that before.

I decided to go to Chester and then take the back way on Hwy. 32, to my brother’s in Forest Ranch. Hwy 32 was not fun. The road was twisty and there were drop-offs. OK, not very big ones but it doesn’t take much to worry this flatlander. Mostly the California drivers were just so rude. I definitely preferred driving in Oregon.

There was a nice surprise in Forest Ranch, though. Sarah and Rufus and Luna were there, on their way back to Corvallis from Lake Tahoe. Cort had already flown home to be at work early Monday a.m.


We took a few pictures and got lots of hugs, then the Capn and I waved goodbye and headed home.

Vacation Report - Day 6

What’s wrong with this picture? It’s a mural on the side of a building in Astoria, Washington. I couldn’t figure out why the team of horses was being driven in the water. Wouldn’t that make the harness stretch and ruin it?

I had a late breakfast at Pig N’ Pancakes after I finally found a gas station. The pancakes looked so wonderful, I thought about getting some for the ladies at work, but I’d already bought souvenirs for them..

I looked at the map over my eggs and bacon. Going homeward, it didn’t matter which route I took, if I headed sorta south, I’d get there sooner or later. I decided to wing it.

I found a radio station in Astoria that I loved. There was a local show put on by a third grade teacher. Her kids narrated a story about their town, she read a book called “The Lupine Lady” that was great I made a note to find a copy, and one of the songs she played was “Happiness Runs” by Donovan. I was sad when I got out of the station’s range. Note to self: see about satellite radio.

I drove along aimlessly for a while. Then, after Portland, there was a sign that said Hwy. 22, Bend. I’d never been to Bend so I took the exit. There was a buzzard perched on the signpost. I hoped that wasn’t a bad omen. I thought about this again when I came to a small town on Hwy. 22 named Gates. I kept my fingers crossed as I went through it, hoping the car had no Microsoft components.

The forest was interesting in this country known as the Oregon Outback. It started off green and lush, then suddenly changed to Ponderosa pines and sagebrush.


And then again to piñon pines at Sisters. Sisters seemed to be a fake cowboy cultural center, with lots of trendy western art galleries. I didn’t stop. I wanted to be in Bend before dark.

In Bend I stayed at the Shilo Inn. There was only one ground floor room left. It was a suite. I thought that sounded like an interesting experience, and it was. The place was like an apartment.


It had a living room with a couch and 2 huge leather chairs - the kind you can sit sideways in, with your feet hanging over the edge. There was a fireplace and a wall-sized TV, a kitchen bigger and better than mine at home, a dining room, a separate bedroom with another huge TV. And…get this… a built-in washer and dryer. Bonanza! I spent the evening washing clothes. That meant I could spend many more days on the road. Decisions, decisions.

I ate dinner in a nearby restaurant. I stay on a low carb diet, and generally don’t have trouble finding something to eat. It’s a little harder in a cowboy town, though. The menu had meat (beef, chicken, or pork) with 2 side dishes. Here are the sides: fried potatoes, French fried potatoes, baked potatoes, scalloped potatoes, or mashed potatoes. I asked if they had ANY vegetables, and ended up with some tasty green beans. I looked around and the other people were scarfing up 2 or 3 kinds of potatoes on their plate.

Back at the Shiloh Suite, I thought it would be nice to have a picture of myself in the plush surroundings. That was a problem. I’d asked the Capn to take a picture earlier in the day and it didn’t work out too well.


I tried to take my own picture, but that didn’t work either.


I finally just folded my clean clothes and went to bed, still thinking about my route for the next day.

Vacation Report - Day 5

I’ve told you before that riding with Jean mostly meant watching her horse’s tail disappear over the horizon. The short little lady sometimes needed a step up onto her horse, but once she was mounted she was gone. She is a high octane lady with strong opinions and lots of grit. My kind of gal. When she was my age, she finished the Tevis. That’s an endurance ride that’s 100 miles, from Squaw Valley to Auburn, in less than 24 hours.

It has been very hard for this self-reliant dynamo to be dependent on a walker to get around and on other people to help her. Boy, do I know how that feels! And I’m pretty much a gutless wonder in comparison.


I wore my lavender blouse just for Jean. When she rode, she was the Lavender Lady. She not only had lavender clothes, she had a lavender bridle, halter, and saddle pad. It’s still her favorite color.


Jean has some great help. Her caregiver Maggie is an ex-teacher and a thespian. She’s fun.


Even the dog is fun. This is Ralph, a former pound puppy. He’s devoted to Debbie, but he’s willing to let the rest of us think we’re his friends.

Jean and I took my car and explored the peninsula. This is the northern tip, just past Oysterville. You could park and walk to the beach, but we didn’t try that.


Back at the far south end of the peninsula, at Cape Disappointment, is Fort Canby. It was activated in 1864 and deactivated in 1947.


There is a Lewis and Clark museum here. Jean pushed her walker up and down the hill to the museum the same way she used to ride, full steam ahead, don’t use the brakes. (I wore the brakes out twice on my walker, and I live on flat ground.)

We found this beautiful big rhododendron in the town of Ilwaco. I hobbled out and stood next to it in the drizzle and Jean took the picture.


I got to stay another night in the comfy bed, and left in the morning. I decided that as soon as I got home I’d pack up my pedal thing and send it to Jean. Maybe it would help her legs like it did mine.


As I got in the car, I spied one of Rudy’s bright neck feathers I’d been carrying around. I left it tucked into a bush. If the sun ever shines, its bright blueness against the yellow Scotch Broom will bring a smile to whoever discovers it. If not, it made ME smile.