Studies in Retirement

Talking to Phil was the high point of my week, but he's not the only retired gentleman I got to observe. I went out to breakfast twice. The first time at Bert's Diner - think bacon avocado omelette. This is a community restaurant, not a tourist stop. A lot of the patrons are locals and you often see people you know. This friendly gent had finished his own breakfast and was talking to people at a table behind him.

His name is Andy and evidently he's at Bert's almost every morning. Someone drops him off and then picks him up an hour or so later. A neighbor? A son or daughter? A wife who won't cook breakfast? I'll ask him next time.

These pictures are all from my iPhone, by the way, so they're not very good. The iPhone takes pretty good pictures, but I'm not very good at holding that squirrelly little phone in one hand and pressing on the screen with my bacon-greasy finger. Sometimes I press the "off" button by mistake, and then have to start all over again.

This morning I ate breakfast at Denny's and observed 3 gentlemen. This one had his laptop and was surfing away on the internet.

I asked him if Denny's had wifi. He said no, that his computer has a card that connects him to the internet. But he did have it plugged into Denny's electrical outlet. He has breakfast at this Denny's every morning. Mental note: I could do this.

There was another retired gentleman who was ahead of me at the checkout register. He was arguing with the attendant about the charge on his bill for a cup of coffee. It was $1.99. He said, "I thought breakfast came with a cup of coffee." The attendant said yes, it does, but you have to pay for the second cup. The man said, "No one told me I'd have to pay for another cup, they just asked if I wanted one. I'm not paying for it." And so it went on for what seemed like forever. He finally ended up paying grumpily. Mental note: If I get to the point where I feel I have to argue about $1.99, I'll stay home and make my own coffee.

And finally as I was leaving the parking lot, I saw this fellow behind a McDonald's.

I know, it's a difficult picture to decipher. So I'll tell you what it is. An older fellow was walking briskly along toward the dumpster. He had a backpack and a long pole. When I slowed to take his picture, he changed directions, picked up an errant piece of garbage with his pole, and deposited it into the dumpster. I don't think that's why he was there. He had the demeanor of a retired business executive, but seemed intent on dumpster diving. Maybe a retired investment counselor? Mental note: There is nothing in a fastfood dumpster that was worth eating when it was new.

Where are the older women, you ask? I didn't see any, actually. I can only assume they're home knitting. I'd rather think they're off on a cruise, though. Or playing with their grandchildren. I'll look into this and keep you informed.

Motorcycle Man

On my day off last week, I got up early, grabbed my list of errands, and hopped in my car to hit the road. As I drove behind the Corn Stand, I saw the strangest thing. It looked like a motorcycle with a jet engine attached to the back.

I intended to just hurry on my way, but when I got out to the highway I stopped. And then I backed up. If I hadn't gone back and satisfied my curiosity, I would have kicked myself all day.

That's how I met Phil Funnell.

Phil was traveling through from British Columbia to somewhere. He never really said where he was going, and since he lives on his motorcycle much of the time, it doesn't really matter. He's always going somewhere. The pod that looks like a jet engine is really the world's smallest camper. Phil is not very tall, and he fits right into this snug little bed. He said he has straps on the inside that he can hold if the bears in Canada get too snoopy. This pod is the Mark II.

The Mark I was stolen in Stockton a few years ago, on another trip. Phil goes everywhere a motorcycle can take you. He said it takes him 10 days to get from BC to Panama. 30 days to Tierra del Fuego, at the southern tip of South America.

I took pictures for my brother Jerry and Merlene's brother-in-law Dave. They could do this. I can see both of them, though, with conveyances that are somewhat less road-worn. Phil's is held together with a liberal use of duct tape.

There are stands on both sides of the motorcycle to hold it up at night when Phil sleeps, and he puts a styrofoam block under the wheel at the back of the pod. It's a bicycle wheel. Phil says it works great, he hasn't had to replace it very often. There is a blue plastic thing on top of the gas tank that holds a cooking pot and some other camping necessities. And the hitch between the cycle and the pod is very interesting.

The pod can do a 360 degree turn.

Jim and Pete and I listened to Phil's tales for quite a while, he has some good ones to tell with his charming English accent. Phil said he travels frugally, he enjoys cooking his own food and he finds a place to stay for the night by driving into the brush on a back road. He seems to be fearless, but of course he made this outfit himself so he can fix it himself.

When I finally got back to my errands, I drove off thinking, "Now that's what I'd like to do!" Just hit the road and be free as a bird. Well, but not on a motorcycle. And I do like to stay at Hampton Inns, they have comfy beds and free internet. I couldn't sleep in that pod for one night, even in my own yard. It seems too much like a coffin.

But there's something about people who live outside the rat race that makes the rest of us weenies long to hit the road, too.

A Few Rays of Sunshine

Blue Top stuck his head out of the barn this morning to soak up the few little rays of sunshine that came out today. Is it going to rain forever? The clematis growing on the chain archway likes rain. I don't. Enough already!

Sorry About the Wait

I enticed you with a promise of chicks, then didn't pay up. Here they are - 11 chicks and 4 pheasants.

In the bigger brooder there are 3 Anconas and 2 Ancona crosses. The crosses are the white chicks. Their mama is a Leghorn, so if they're hens they're likely to be good layers.

In the smaller brooder I have 2 white Old English, 3 Bantam Dominiques, and a mutt bantam (its mother is One Spot and its father is Alan). The OE are already running the show; they have no fear and they're bossy little darlings. Bob and I had forgotten how much fun it is to have white OE babies around. I ran right out and stuck 2 more OE eggs under a setting hen so we'll have a couple more in a few weeks.

There are 4 baby pheasants. My friend George rescued the eggs when he accidentally ran over the mother on her nest. There were 11 eggs. It took a few hours for us to get them to Katherine's incubator. Six have hatched, the youngest  two are still at Katherine's. I'm frankly relieved there aren't 11 of them. I've never raised pheasants before, but they seem to be similar to the quail I've raised. Very squirrelly. I went to PetSmart this morning and got lots of live mealworms for them. One baby was in poor shape this morning, on its side like it was ready to pass on. It's a wonder what live food will do to convince a chick that life is worth living. It's doing pretty well this afternoon.

One of the babies is not the same color as the others, its dark stripes are blue instead of dark brown. Does anyone know why that is?

The goal with the pheasants is to raise them to a releasable age, then George will take them back to his place, which is surrounded by hay fields. In the meantime, it's really interesting to be able to watch them. I love baby birds of all kinds. Wild birds are especially nice because they'll eventually go about their own business and you don't have to make sure you have pen space for them.

I have some extra adult Dominique Bantams if anyone would like some.

Tonight there will be chicks

Katherine, who has chicken procreation down to a fine science, has graciously incubated and hatched some babies for me. There will be a couple of white Old English bantams from the very last little hen from Bob's show bird line. There are some Dominique Bantams, and I'm totally open to sharing these with folks who want to raise them. There will be a few Anconas, hopefully all hens. They are such incredible egg layers, long-lived, hardy, and self-sufficient. And, of course, there will be a few mutts. What would life be without fluffy-butted chicks?

Chris Tamayo took my best three Dominique Bantams and showed them all over California last show season. Thank you, Chris! He volunteered to do this because they're a rare breed and thought it would be fun for people to see them. I agree, and they're easy birds to keep in show shape. Especially compared to the white OE that Bob used to show.

I can't believe that Bob used to take 30 birds to a show sometimes. All of those birds had to be washed and groomed. One year we went to 13 shows. We were on the road with chickens a lot. It was a ton of work, but so much fun. If you have kids and have the chance, let them join 4-H and support their activities.

Bob uses knowledge and skills he gained in 4-H all the time. Last night he said that his boss at the winery asked him a question and he just went into "judging contest" mode. One part of poultry judging is to give reasons why you've placed your choices the way you did. Learning to organize your thoughts and state reasons is a great life skill.

Jan Bakes Low Carb Muffin

Half of the pictures I see on blogs and on Facebook are of food. Some of you, like Dan and Katherine, cook awesome stuff. Some of you - Jaime comes to mind - don't seem to cook much, but you take pictures of all the incredible stuff you eat.

I used to be a decent cook before I became diabetic. Now my recipes are simple. For example, Spinach Salad. Dump a whole package of baby spinach into a big bowl. Add 2 Tbsp of dressing and 2 Tbsp of crumbled feta cheese. That's lunch.

I still make cookies on Bad Movie Night occasionally, because there is a small herd of guys here to devour them. And I can make very, very good cookies. But since I'm eating low-carb, sugar and flour are out. I haven't baked anything for myself. Until recently. I found a recipe online, and I'd tell you where if I could remember. Just know that I did not invent this. In fact, when I first saw it I was pretty sure it would be oookie.

I already had flaxseed meal. It's one of those things I know is good for me, but didn't know what to do with it. In fact, I had 2 kinds of flaxseed meal.

You can get this in the health food department of your supermarket, it's pretty common.

Here are all the ingredients gathered together.

This is what you do with them: first, put the olive oil in a coffee cup. Add the egg and lemon juice and mix until the egg is blended.

Add the dry ingredients all at once and mix that, too. It takes a while, the flaxseed meal likes to hide at the bottom of the cup.

See? At this stage it looks oookie. I was sure I'd be scraping nasty stuff out of my coffee cup and tossing it in the garbage. But no! Put it in the microwave and cook for 1 minute on high. This is what you get.

It turns right out of the cup onto a paper plate, and when it's cut in half it looks just like a bran muffin.

The picture I took without butter was a little fuzzy. And I ate the muffin before I checked the pictures, so I couldn't take a better one. Take my word, this looks and tastes like a bran muffin.

I really like this recipe because (without the butter on top) it's 7.5 grams of carb, 6.5 grams of fiber, so the net carb is 1 gram. It's about 300 calories, 200 if you leave out the walnuts. It has 11.5 grams of protein, 10 if you leave out the walnuts.

It's easier to pack to work in my purse than bacon and scrambled eggs, and the recipe only makes 1. You don't have 11 more muffins staring you in the face, demanding to be eaten. Even better, I put the dry ingredients in a plastic bag and the wet ingredients in another, mix them in my coffee cup at work and have a freshly baked muffin.

I've tried this with nothing on top of it. It tastes fine to me. I've tried it with cream cheese and a sliced strawberry. That's wonderful. I've tried it with my Raley's peanut butter (pure peanuts and nothing else) and that's great, too. It's very filling.

The sugar addicts at work took one look at my freshly baked muffin and said, "Oh, I could make that! I'd just add some chocolate chips, some honey, some sugar, etc.)" Well, try that if you want, but it won't be low carb anymore.

Later today Bob came home from work and said he wanted to make some cupcakes to take tomorrow to try at the restaurant. So we made banana cupcakes with sour cream frosting and rocky road cupcakes (marshmallows, walnuts, tons of chocolate, and our recipe uses Bailey's instead of milk for the liquid). We also made a small pan of rocky road cookies because Chef Paul is home with a bad back and they're his favorite. Bob will drop some off for him.

The house smells disgusting, like Willy Wonka lives here. My hair smells like Twinkies, there's chocolate under my fingernails, powdered sugar on my t-shirt. I didn't eat anything, but if I took my blood sugar right now, it would probably be high just from the vapors wafting through the air.

There's one thing I love about having a kid who works in a restaurant: he does all the work and he cleans up after himself. Life is good in so many tiny ways.

What's That?

What's this in my driveway? A pile of something?

Uh oh, it's a shirt. Has the Rapture begun?

No, now I remember. Kyle was here. Kyle is always losing clothes, especially ones he borrows from other people. I hope this wasn't a borrowed shirt.

Kyle, I have the shirt. Just wanted to let you know so you wouldn't think your clothes were taken up and your body left here on earth.

Mother's Day Present

My son brought me this wonderful ceramic rooster from the gift shop at Villa Toscana. Or maybe it was a decoration in the restaurant there. I don't know. Now it's mine and I love it. I never bought my mom anything cool like this. She probably would have said, "Why did you buy that? I could make it for probably a quarter what it cost." And then she'd make 4 of them just to prove it.

1997

The Cosumnes River has been fine this year (thank you God), and as Uncle B pointed out, in the summertime it's barely a trickle. But this is what it looked like in 1997.

The view is from the top of the levee, just west of the Dillard Rd. bridge and looking toward the Corn Stand. Just beyond the tractor on the right is the roof of the house right in front of mine. The levee isn't very wide, you couldn't even drive a car on it. And it was made from the same sandy loam soil that grows such wonderful crops. This is what happens to it when it's wet.

The Cosumnes is not like the Mississippi, it doesn't flow high for weeks at a time. It usually takes a couple of days to rise and then, when the levee breaks somewhere downstream, it goes down to a safer level where we are. The levee usually only has to contain water for a day or two, which it can if it's not compromised by squirrel holes or rotted tree roots.

The levee district has been attempting since 2006 to make improvements to the levee. The amount of red tape is phenomenal because this is a riparian area. I support conservation of riparian areas, I don't support government agencies that can't do their jobs in a timely manner.

The top photo shows how close the highway is. If the levee broke in this area, it would wash out the highway. Which makes one wonder why Caltrans isn't concerned about it. While the levee district struggles through a permit process just to make repairs, Caltrans blithely comes along and cuts trees and leaves the stumps and roots to rot. If my house wasn't in jeopardy, I'd say let justice take its course.

I may have posted these pictures before, I didn't go back and check. The levee is always at the back of my mind, more so whenever I see pictures of flooding in other parts of the world. Should people not live where there is always a chance of flooding? Probably not. I never would have chosen to BUY the property where I live. But in the 100 years my family has been here, we've never been flooded. People fixed the levee and made repairs and improvements when they saw the necessity. They used to have a gravel company come in and take sand out of the river bed when it built up; they kept trees and brush out of the waterway. And they didn't do that irresponsibly, to the detriment of wildlife. In one particularly dry fall when there was no water flowing, I remember my father using a trencher to make a stream for the salmon. It was maybe 3 feet wide, but there was just enough running water in it. We watched the salmon going upstream in it.

Now, with all the restrictions, the salmon run is about 57 fish a year. They have to wait until there's enough rain in the fall so the water will flow. There is so much sand in the entire riverbed, they have to go much farther upstream to find gravel and spawn. Brush grows in the bottom of the river, which holds  sandbars in place when the water comes up and makes curves that direct the flow right at the levees.

I guess wherever you live there is an ongoing problem. This is mine.

Switching From Whine to Wine

Before I got all snarly last week, before it started raining and acting like winter again, I took a lovely drive east on Hwy. 16 to Amador County. It's not very far, I live almost at the eastern edge of Sacramento County, where the valley starts to change to foothills.

This is a steep hill just before you reach the small town of Plymouth. My mother was born and raised there, and several of my relatives still live there.

There is a mix of local traffic and tourist traffic. These are obviously locals, cowboys headed out to work. The tourists are mostly on their way to the wineries.

At this fork in the road, going straight will take you to Fiddletown. The road to the left goes to the Shenandoah Valley wineries. You might want to go to Fiddletown sometime and have dinner at the Moose Lodge on "Burn Your Own" Steak Night.

I turned left, though. I wanted to see Villa Toscana and Bella Piazza, where my favorite sous chef Bob works. I found him making designer pizzas.

There were lots of tourists that day. This was a popular mode of transportation.

People get together and rent a limo to drive them from winery to winery. It's a smart thing to do because the cops in Amador County are only too happy to pass out tickets to tipsy tourists.

This was the tasting room at Villa.

This is so different from the wine tasting we used to do at Uncle John's 30 years ago. In those days the wineries were all small and locally owned. We'd sit out on the lawn and drink wine out of big Tupperware cups. Uncle Orin liked to mix his own, directly from the storage tanks. My mom liked red wine with 7-up and ice cubes. The best wine in those days was made by the Italians who had been there for generations, but after a big glass or two, all wine tastes just fine.

Now many of the wineries are owned by people who are relatively new to the area. Their tastes are more sophisticated, so you see things like this in the gift shop:

A bowl that sells for $950. Sure, it would hold a lot of wine, but so would a mixing bowl, and who could drink all that? Oh well, it adds to the faux European atmosphere (she smirks like a true native).

The wineries in Amador County are lovely, and much more intimate than the industrial-strength ones in the Napa Valley.

This is the buffet tent at Villa.

The atmosphere at Villa Toscana's sister winery Bella Piazza is a little more formal.

I didn't get pictures of the buildings there because I was too busy talking to Chef Paul, my cousin's husband. On my way back down the hill, I went through Plymouth to see Grandpa's house. This is where my mom and all her brothers and sisters lived when they were kids. The house still looks the same. The house is the background belongs to Uncle Robert's Aunt Eunice. She still lives there. Grandpa, my mom, Uncle John, Uncle Orin, and Uncle Robert have all passed.

That's how Amador County is, most of the conversations are about people you know in common, about who is related to whom, and questions like "Whatever happened to..." I honestly don't know how new people manage in places like Plymouth. For one thing, they'd have nothing to talk about.

I drove home on a back road. The oak trees were beautiful, forming a canopy over the road.

It was a nice day. Sorry you weren't there to taste some wine, I would have driven you home.

Lots of Rain Today

And snow in the mountains, enough to delay the start of the Amgen bicycle race.

Here in the valley it's raining on the hay that has been cut, and knocking down the hay that hasn't been cut yet. I hate to sound gloom and doom, but it's just been one of those weekends in formerly sunny California.

Another Thought

Why don't they require trailer homes to float? If they were on pontoons and a 12 foot anchor, most of them would at least be salvageable after a flood.

F--ing Farmers to Save Cities

By almost June I'm usually out of the flood-alert mode. Not this year.

First, there are the news reports from the south, where they are flooding farmers. Then there is the fact that it's still snowing in the Sierra. And finally, there is Caltrans hacking on the levee in front of my house.

I find it alarming and disgusting that farmers - and I don't bother to say "poor" farmers, because most all family-type farmers are poor - are being flooded to save cities along the Mississippi. I suppose it's easier to do this because farm folks are more self-sufficient. The government is worried about a repeat of the subhuman behavior that we saw in New Orleans after Katrina. Undoubtedly the big insurance companies also have more at stake in saving cities.

I own farm land, but I don't farm. I work at an outside job to subsidize this operation. I do know what happens when farm land is flooded. If there are crops on it, the farmer has likely lost his entire year's income. In cities, people might lose a house in an emergency, but it's likely their job will still be there. Being a farmer is like buying stock in the company you work for. If the company fails, you will lose your job and your investment.

Many farmers borrow money to plant their crops and pay off the loan when they harvest. We have seen how sympathetic loan companies are these days. But hey! The big agribusiness companies will be able to buy that land when the small farmers fail. ConAgra, Monsanto, Dow Chemical. Great companies, with your best interests at heart, right?

I've heard comments about farmers along the Mississippi: "They've been benefitting from the levee system for years (maybe 40), so this is just payback."

Hello? Where do you think the best farm land is found?

Those of us who live along the Cosumnes River also have benefitted from it over the years. In our case, the Army Corps of Engineers does not own our levees, we do. For generations we have maintained them ourselves. After the near miss in 1997 we formed a levee district and we pay a board of directors - all of them farmers - to advise us and hopefully perform routine maintenance.

I went to one of their meetings last week to report on the problem with Caltrans. I heard that the levee district is still waiting for approval from Fish and Game on small maintenance projects that were first submitted in 2006. Fish and Game has a reduced budget, they say, not enough personnel to handle the paperwork. So the maintenance projects just sit there festering and getting worse every time the water comes up.

Meanwhile, downstream on our river, but more notably on the much larger Sacramento River, developers are being allowed to build new homes in areas that are on floodplains. And the new homeowners in those areas regularly vote down measures to provide flood protection for themselves. Those who moved here recently from LA of SF probably think the levee is a landscape berm.

In the event of a flood, whose levee do you suppose the officials plan to obliterate?

After a flood, farmers can't just go out in the fields and plant a new crop. First the field will have to be releveled so irrigation ditches will work. This is very costly and time-consuming. Here in Sloughhouse, where we have loamy soil, water from a levee break will eat out a huge hole in a field. The last levee break left a hole 30 feet deep and 300 yards long. That field couldn't be used for a year while the work was being done. The farmer was not compensated for those expenses.

People who live in urban areas near Sacramento shouldn't feel too smug, though. One year the Army Corps was hours away from blasting a hole in the American River levee to "save" the CITY of Sacramento. If you lived in Rancho Cordova, you were going to be sacrificial toast.

Back to the subject of Caltrans. I went to the levee district with photos and paperwork and told them the history of my problems. I said, "Last time I had to deal with Caltrans, they told me 'We have a lawyer on staff and you don't.'" Well, the levee district DOES. And he needs something to do. Yeeeeehah!

New Hobby

I'm a bit concerned about life being too dull when I retire from my job. So I've taken up a hobby that should be suitable for someone of my talents. Something that doesn't require a good memory or much physical fitness. Something I won't forget how to do if I set the project aside for a nap.

Brushing the cat.

I have two cats left, but you couldn't pay me to touch Gollum with a brush. Velcro is difficult enough, but she's 13. Or maybe 14. And she's fat and not very athletic. Even I can get the best of her, as long as I don't have to pick her up.

She doesn't lick herself much, she can't reach much more than her front paws. There's a lot of loose hair to deal with. Maybe when I eliminate some of it, I'll discover that she isn't fat, after all.

I think I'll save the hair and crochet leaves for the ficus. It only has 6 of its own left, and that sounds like something else an old person could do between naps.

Larry Fuzzbutt

I forgot to post a picture of Larry. Here he is.

We have a half dozen mutt chickens that are a cross of almost every breed we've raised for the past 30 years. Larry has a Woody Woodpecker topknot and a scrunchy comb and wattles. This is how he got his last name:

We have more fun with the mutts than any of the other chickens. They were all spoiled as babies because they were the cutest.

Chicken Art

Why am I with Katherine, renowned artist of poultry, and her champion BBRed Rosecomb Pablo in an art store? Chicken Art, of course. (Please note our clothing.)

Remember the workshop I went to last year? Well Saturday was the second annual event at University Art, an art store in Sacramento. The instructor again was David Lobenberg. The object was to learn to paint chickens and produce some art to donate to the second annual Tour de Cluck. The Tour will be next weekend in Davis. People buy tickets and tour Davis' assortment of backyard poultry farms. UC Davis is an agricultural college, and Davis is a very "green" town. Davis residents know how to do urban farming. The donated art will be sold at a silent auction as a benefit.

Last year we just had photos to paint from. This year Katherine and I each took a bird. I took one of the Fuzzbutts, Larry. He was the only one I could catch. Katherine took Pablo. Pablo was superb. Katherine said he was trained to stay on a perch.

And stay he did, even without having his little feet taped to it. Rosecombs are very elegant birds. Pablo posed like this for 2 hours. Not once did he offer to hop down or act like an idiot, which is what most chickens would have done. Poultry kids should take note: this is one reason why Katherine never lost at showmanship (to my knowledge) - she was a great bird trainer. Larry Fuzzbutt was well behaved, too, but he stayed in his cage. He doesn't have a clue how to pose elegantly.

Here are some of the workshop participants.

Here is the painting I did (of Larry).

It was a good day, but not that fun for me. I haven't painted at all since the workshop last year. I was proud of myself for being able to find my paper, paints, and brushes, but when you don't use them very often you forget. I don't like being clueless. I don't even remember which brush is my favorite. I only have 40 of them, it shouldn't be that hard. (I make up for not being able to paint very well by buying lots of equipment.)

Another problem I had was not being familiar with some of the new paint I had bought and wanted to try. Paint with names like: Dragon's Blood, Bordeaux, Shadow Green, and Mayan Blue. Dick Blick (no nasty comments, dudes) is a purveyor of fine paint who has figured out that you can't make money just selling the old standards like Alizarin Crimson and Ultramarine Blue. Sure, people buy them, but those tubes last most of us old ladies a long time. If you just adjust the colors a bit and give them interesting names, we'll buy and buy. Well, at least I do.

I'm going to keep my equipment out on the kitchen table instead of trying to put it back in the hall closet (the closet of hell) where it was stored. It's only a month and a half until I retire, and then I can paint to my heart's content, right?

One last picture from the workshop. I call this Three Artists.

Famous artists Katherine Plumer, David Lobenberg, and Pablo (as in Picasso), shopping for supplies at University Art.

Follow these links to Katherine and David's web sites. They really ARE famous artists. 

It's Almost Official

My last day at work will be June 30. I'm retiring.

Blowoff

The top of my head blew off this afternoon. Thanks to Caltrans, my favorite state agency (no offense Mitzi, but they're dolts).

Shortly after noon Bob texted me. "Caltrans is cutting down trees on the levee again."

I knew Caltrans maintenance crews had been working in the area. Trees and brush grow very fast here and need to be trimmed periodically. Our electric company, SMUD, has the same problem.

SMUD sends a fellow around a couple of weeks before the work crews to talk about what needs to be done and ask for input. I don't always agree with him, but I appreciate the opportunity to communicate.

Caltrans, on the other hand, is a nest of arrogant assholes. They do whatever they please, wherever they please, and I'm sick and tired of them doing it on my property.

If I want to remove one of the trees growing on the levee myself, I have to obtain permits from several agencies: Fish and Game and the Army Corps of Engineers just to name two. Fish and Game would probably insist that trees not be trimmed when birds are nesting in them. Good call. (The birds are nesting right NOW, why is Caltrans cutting down trees in prime riparian habitat?) The Army Corps would insist that the tree trunk and all roots down to 3 inches in diameter be totally removed. To accomplish this, the levee would need to be removed entirely and the base of it excavated 3 feet. Once the roots were removed, the levee would be replaced with a certain type of soil and packed to certain specifications. Again, this is a good call. As one who lives next to a levee, I don't want rotting roots to cause a hole in it.

Several years ago, when the annoying highway in front of our house was widened so the transplanted city slickers who live in developments upstream could get to work faster, Caltrans "inadvertently" cut down 3 very large trees on our levee. The trees were several feet from the Caltrans right of way. I caused as big a stink then as a plain citizen could. In doing so, I learned a lot about how Caltrans treats citizens. Shamefully. The people I talked to had seemingly been trained to lie. They would not listen to anything I said, so I invited a representative from the Army Corps to come out and explain the rules to them.

I thought there was going to be a fist fight. Caltrans didn't listen to the Army Corps, either, they just walked away and left the mess. They said, "We have a lawyer on staff and you don't."

In ensuing years I learned that it's not unusual for Caltrans maintenance crews to cut trees - especially black walnut trees like mine - and sell the wood under the table. In fact, the night after they cut my black walnut trees those years ago, I caught two fellows trying to roll the logs across the highway and onto an empty trailer. That was one of those Wonder Woman moments, I flung them off the property not with a show of muscle, but with a litany of curse words. And called Caltrans again the next day and let them have a few, too.

So it surprises me that I'm having the same problem again. It only took me 20 minutes to get home after Bob's text message. In that short time, the cutting crew had loaded up and scrammed. The single poor sap who remained was gathering the traffic cones. I parked in front of his truck, walked back to it and got in with him, and somewhat less than calmly explained what the problem was. Yes, I was yelling at him.

His radio was on. Someone from another Caltrans truck was calling his name and asking if he was all right, did he need help? Before he could say, "No, it's just an old crippled lady," I screamed into the radio, "Shut the f--- up! I'm not going to hit him!"

Could I have been arrested? Probably. Do I care? No.

The traffic guy reached over and turned off the radio. As soon as no one could hear him, he said he understood exactly why I was mad, that this sort of thing happened frequently, and I needed to talk to his supervisor. He gave me the name and the phone number and seemed to relish the idea that the guy would get a call from an irate citizen.

I went back to the house, got my camera, and took pictures of the damage. I sent an email to Don Nottoli, my county supervisor. I called the head of our levee district after I'd had an hour to become more civilized. I got an answering machine. The cheery voice said, "the mailbox is full and cannot accept any messages at this time. Goodbye." Click.

Well, of course not. Isn't that how it always goes? Another bureaucratic blowoff.

Grass in May

Yes, this is California, but I'm not talking about drugs.

I went to the feed store on Saturday, took the scenic route. The wind was blowing, causing the grass to ripple and look like velvet.

When I was in elementary school, there was a grassy hill like this behind the playground. On a windy day in late spring, we kids would climb through the fence and lay on our backs on the hill, with the grass blowing around us. It was heaven. If there were puffy clouds and blue sky it was even better.

See that little pool of yellow in the photo above? Those are wildflowers in the remains of a vernal pool. In California's low grassy hills that separate the central valley from oak lands, there are little dips that fill with water in the winter. The soil along the hills has a lot of clay, so the water sits there until it evaporates in the late spring. These are called vernal pools.

About 30 years ago someone discovered that vernal pools were actually a little ecosystem for rare plants and animals, primarily Orcutt Grass and Fairy Shrimp. Laws were passed to protect them, to the dismay of developers.

In the little hills surrounding Sloughhouse there are some particularly fine vernal pools. I've never seen Fairy Shrimp. Bob and Jonathan used to splash around in a vernal pool when they were kids. Bob says the shrimp crawl up your pants legs.

By the time the water has evaporated, the plants and animals that live in them have completed their short life cycle and go into stasis, buried in the mud.

On Saturday I saw something in a vernal pool that caught my eye.

This pool was almost dry, you can see just a little water left in the bottom of it. There was an interesting assortment of birds: Canada Geese, Mallard Ducks, and Redwinged Blackbirds, all together. Sometimes you'll see Mallards nesting near a vernal pool, even geese near the bigger pools. But these birds appeared to be having a convention. I watched them sifting through the muck for a while and then realized they must be feasting on Fairy Shrimp! So much for preserving endangered species.

The native grasses around here are annuals. They're already seeded and the heat that's expected this week will probably dry them out by the coming weekend. Spring is almost gone.

Here is a field of oats growing near my house.

The oats are already at least 3 feet tall. This field will be baled by the end of May. It was interesting to compare our grain crops to those in other parts of the country last June when Katherine and I took our trip. The wheat and barley throughout the midwest were barely a foot high at harvest time.

Here's something else we have in abundance in California - poppies! These are planted on a hillside near the local school.

A few years ago someone had the idea to plant bajillions of poppies on the soil face of Oroville Dam. That would have been impressive if they'd ever managed to get them to grow.

Pigeon Freedom

The pigeon house that Bob designed and built has a clever little door that can let pigeons in and out, but (we think and hope) keep predators out. The pigeons have happily occupied their new abode for several months, and the Cooper's Hawk appears to have moved on, so Bob opened the door last week.

A few of the birds figured the door out right away. Val (the spotted one that Katherine brought me) and his wife have been out looking for more sticks for their nest.

They are avid nesters and raised 6 babies before we started replacing their eggs with duds so we wouldn't be overrun with birds.

Some of the pigeons will not use the door, they refuse to leave their house. The Taganrogs have accidentally found their way out, then don't know how to get back in. They walk round and round the pen - on the ground - until Bob goes out and picks them up and puts them back in. If all Taganrogs are like ours, I feel confident in declaring them the stupidest pigeons on the face of the earth. In 4 years there has only been one purebred Taganrog baby and she's the one I had to bring in the house to raise myself.

When a Taganrog has a mate of a different breed, however, it does manage to raise babies. The problem is not fertility or hatchability, it seems to be child-raising ability.

The pigeon population right now is 14.

The tubby doves like having pigeons flying around the yard. They hang around the feeder more when the pigeons are out, perhaps they know a hawk would find a garish, awkward pigeon easier prey.

The sun is finally shining today. There is no wind. It's a perfect day for birds.