|
Greenwood/Elk columns July 4 ~ August 29, 1991 July 4th Hi kids, I'm back. Actually, I've been back for a couple of weeks now but Louis Martin was on such a roll about that ditch down South called Point Arena that I figured I'd leave him enough rope to hang himself, which he nicely did. Anyway, thanks to Louis, Gerry, and Mary for keeping this space occupied until I finally got back. Yeah, I'm back. As some of you know, I went roaring off to Seattle, Kent actually, to be with my Father during his final days. At the time I figured he had about two weeks left in him. Little did I know. I got up there right after he had returned from the hospital from a big blood transfusion. The prostrate and colon cancer had now expanded in his pelvic area and was attached to the hip bone. He wasn't making red blood cells anymore and he had decided against any more transfusions. They just weren't worth the results, he said. He had agreed there wasn't any more that could be done in the chemo, radiation and operation department and had finally accepted Hospice care. I signed on as the twenty four hour a day care giver and settled into the spare bedroom. Mom has had Parkinson's for fifteen years and was just barely able to get around with a walker. The Hospice staff provided nursing care, house cleaner, bed baths, counselor, and chaplain with me to call them as needed. The first week there, Pop and I played a couple of games of chess. He was able to walk from his chair, in the living room, to his bedroom at night and back again in the morning, making a stop at the bathroom to deal with his colostrum bag and catheter. As time went by he was less able to do things and finally had to give up and teach me what to do concerning his bags. As much as I hated the idea and smell, I found it was something I could do in spite of myself and, as much as Pop hated to have to have me do it, we found it brought us closer in an unexpected way. To change your father's diaper after he had done the same for me years earlier, completed the circle, so to speak. Soon he could only get around with a walker and finally had to accept riding back and forth in a wheel chair. I took him out on his last outing, a trip down the block to inspect a new house under construction. He slept for several hours after that adventure. Soon after that the wheel chair was too hard to get in and out of and we got a hospital bed and had it set up in the living room. He moved into that. Lying there all the time really got to him and one day he wanted to go for a ride. I got him into the wheel chair and we went down the hall and back. That was all he could take and he really slept after that exertion. A week before he died he wanted to see how much he weighed. I brought the bathroom scale and put it beside his bed. It was all he could do to be helped up and stand on it. He weighed one hundred and thirty seven. He use to weigh one hundred and fifty four. That was the last time he got out of bed. He had a bell, tied on a string that he could ring in the night if he needed me. One night he was ringing his bell. I didn't hear it but mom did so she started pounding on the wall between her bedroom and mine. I jumped up and ran down the hall. "What's up Pop." "I want a beer." "Right." I opened a beer and poured some in a glass. He took one sip and went back to sleep. Several nights later I woke to the sound of the bell ringing and mom pounding on the wall. I ran down the hall. "What's up Pop?" "Get my jacket. Let's go do something." "Pop! It's three in the morning!" I showed him the clock, then opened the curtains to show him how dark it was outside. He looked at the clock and then outside. "I don't know. Something's fishy around here." Then he went back to sleep. He never complained of pain except from lying in bed so much. He couldn't get comfortable. He never lost his sense of humor. One day the visiting nurse stopped on her way out the door, came back to Pop's bed and said she wanted to give him a hug. She had forgot to do it the previous time and didn't know if he would still be around the next time she visited. She hugged him and said she knew it was a tough way to go. He smiled up at her and said, "I've enjoyed every minute." Several weeks earlier he had told me how he always got a kick out of making something out of nothing. He was always making whirligigs out of beer cans, carving beautiful things out of boards, making little animals out of walnut shells, feathers and rocks. I realized he was still doing it, making something out of nothing only, this time, the nothing was himself...and he was making people smile. I found in his closet his life story which he had started writing on spiral bound notebooks, back when he was a machinist at Boeing. I retyped it. It started from the time he was born, on a farm in Iowa in 1914, up until he was a glider pilot during the Second World War, 1944. Unfortunately, I started a week too late and he was unable to add much to it. I started building a model of the glider he flew, made out of balsa sticks and tissue. I didn't get it finished in time, although Pop was able to give me the correct proportions when I started. The last evening, my brother and sister in law were visiting again; they spelled me every other weekend and sometimes during the week. Pop was having trouble breathing. When they left about ten o'clock, Pop gave them the "thumbs up" and a weak smile. Mom was in bed and I brought my sleeping bag out to the living room couch. I woke up at midnight. Pop was doing the death rattle. I had heard of it before but now there was no doubt about what it was. He was making swimming motions. Eighteen minutes later he stopped. Seven years of fighting cancer and he ends up drowning. I closed his eyes, drained his bag, pulled the sheet up to his neck. He finally looked very peaceful. I didn't wake up mom but called my brother and sister and Hospice, then went back to bed. In the morning I called the funeral home and asked them to come at eight thirty. My brother and sister in law arrived, told mom, and we all took her in to see Pop. She was very sad and very relieved. The funeral home van arrived and we took mom for a walk around the back yard. My brother and I went back in the house and removed Pop's bed and re-arranged the furniture. My sister arrived from California at noon and then we all went to the funeral home for the last minute arrangements, also my sister wanted to see him. We all went in and there he was with a sly grin on his face. The Memorial service was three days later with a wonderful turn out of family and friends. Two and a half month after heading North, I returned to Greenwood/Elk. Would I do it again? You betcha. I know every situation is different but in this case it sure rounded things out between me and Pop. Seventeen years ago I delivered my daughter at home. Last month I closed my fathers eyes, at home. I have been greatly blessed both times. Pop had just turned seventy seven. Next week. Greenwood/Elk!!! I promise. July 11th Ah yes. Greenwood/Elk. So what has changed in the last three months? Well, nuttin' really. More flowers out than when I left. I saw a string of pelicans fly by the other day. They're back. The hay on the hillside is cut and waiting between sprinkles and fog for some sun shine to dry it out. All the heat is up in the hills above town. The ridge folks are coming to town and the beach to cool off while the coast dwellers are heading for the sunny inland swimming holes. Digging a little deeper, I discover various FOR SALE signs sprouting up. deVall trying to move out of town, Walter and Polly Green trying to move in. That could be a nice trade. The duplex, on the 'S' curve, north of town is being "shown". I understand our Mistress of the Post, Erna Smith, is going to buy the former Thompson house, south side of Lousia Street, off Highway 1. She plans to live up stairs and make a coffee-shop-book-store-art-stuff-hang-out, down stairs. I hope so. The Keene house is getting a new foundation. Mr. Mitchell is building something at his house up the Philo/Greenwood Road. Looks like a garage/studio situation. I know he has been taking art classes. Hildrun at the Elk Cove Inn has erected something that looks like an arbor/gazebo affair; someplace to sit and take in the view of Greenwood Cove, I suppose. Lousia Street has been graded! The old pot holes are gone for a while. I understand our ol' friends, Cal Trans, had some ground up road mix left over from somewhere and did us a favor. Quite an Improvement. Bob Matson at the Elk Garage has ordered a new tow truck. It should be here in a month or so. It will be big enough to handle motorhomes. Speaking of the Elk Garage; it is now open on Sunday. Let's see. Who else can I pick on. It's tricky business writing a column in a small town. Everyone knows what is going on but nobody wants anything written about them. Yet, years from now, folks will want to know what happened back then. So, I just write my observations and try to not get too close to the facts. Our town cop is doing a swell job. Actually we don't have a town cop. Bob Bardwell is a CHP who happens to live in town. He usually finishes his breakfast at the Roadhouse Cafe, moves his car up the road to the wide spot across from the Post Office and proceeds to nail three or four speeders before moving on into his day of work. His radar works, coming or going, so abandon all hope ye hot footed drivers. It is 35MPH through Greenwood/Elk. And more power to him I say. We have kids, cats, and dogs, you know, plus the occasional fox, bobcat, and herd of cows. I see our ol' friends, Cal Trans, will be doing their best to keep the coast frustration elevated to a fever pitch. I see the Navarro grade fix is about to start and that will involve FOLLOW ME cars during the day and stop light signals at night. This will go on until Labor Day and, one can hope, will cause the hoards to turn back and book reservations at Club Med instead. Now what? Oh Yeah. Force Ten, the semi-existent kayak touring and instruction business, located somewhere in Greenwood/Elk, celebrated its Tenth Anniversary the other weekend. Force Ten is one of the lowest keyed businesses I have ever known, yet it offers one of the best experiences you can have on the coast. Steve Sinclair and his guides will take you OUT THERE! OUT THERE is a up close and personal view of our rocky coast line, secluded beaches, caves, birds, seals, and past logging off loading areas. It is totally different than anything you can see standing on the shore. Steve has taken folks out that range in age from five years old to seventy five. All come back awed by the experience, but first, try to find Steve or even Force Ten for that matter. They are around here somewhere. Try the locked door just up Lousia Street. Speaking of minimal businesses. My latest T-shirt design; BACK FROM THE FUTURE is now for sale at the Roadhouse Cafe. It immediately sparked a controversy amongst the Roadhouse Staff. What does it mean? Isa Pederson, who has only completed two years of college didn't know. Kate Dougherty, who has more experience with the world at large, understood instantly. Bob Matson thought it might be a movie. I tell ya, how can you not love this place. July 18th Hi kids. Okay, so now, today, I'm a shop keeper. Lolli went off for a couple of weeks to attend some weaver conference up in Seattle, and she asked me if I would "sit" her retail shop at the Art Center in Mendocino, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Two weekends in a row. So, here I sit. My second day on the job in Mendocino, a foggy Saturday morning. I'm working on my column, as we speak, and hope no tourist will come in and disturb my thoughts. The drive to Mendocino has all of a sudden become more interesting. Over the years I've become use to the spectacular ocean views and the gorgeous road side flowers, settling down, gradually into a low keyed funk concerning motor homes and log trucks. But now, something new has occurred to brighten my thoughts. Hot pink, fluorescent green, and white arrows!! Here and there on the road from the Navarro bridge all the way north to Van Damme. What does it mean? Well, as I drove along I sort of figured it out. Quite obviously the hot pink arrows point to the pot holes and are visual indicators for those of us who have been driving so long that our butts have gone to sleep. Now, for the fluorescent green and white arrows? I'm not so sure. I think the green arrows indicate where the next pot hole could eventually develop. The white arrows indicate places devoid of pot holes and need more hammering by log trucks and motor homes. Opps. Just a minute. A tourist has arrived. Wow. That one was hard to get rid of. Oh no, here comes another one. Okay, where was I? Oh yes. Yesterday I was taught the game, FRUSTRATE THE SHOP KEEPER. Maybe you all know this one. It goes like this: 1. Put on about a thousand dollars worth of clothes. 2. Get a rented car and drive up to Mendocino and park in front of some shop. 3. Go inside the shop and walk around for a while. 4. Pick out something quite pricey and show a lot of interest. 5. Talk about how it would look in you house down in L.A. 6. Discuss how it could be sent and the shipping costs. 7. Find some small flaw or defect and express doubt. 8. Negotiate a new price. 9. Say you want to think about it. 10. Ask "What time do you close?" 11. Leave. It is an interesting way to pass time in Mendocino. Well, enough about Mendocino. Let's get back to Greenwood/Elk. There are a few folks I missed last week. First off, a correction. The speed limit through our fair little town is thirty. Not thirty five like I said in last weeks column. Now then. We have a new street in town. Yep. A second street showed up last week. Kendrick Petty had an access road put in right across from his Greenwood Pier Cafe. It will eventually go back to the twenty acres Kendrick owns at the base of Mr. Mitchell's hill. I called Kendrick to find out what the new street will be named. He told me that a neighbor (Doug Blaine) has a name for it but since this is a family paper I don't think I can repeat what it is. Other than that, Kendrick thought "Winona" might be a good name. Any suggestions out there. Give me a call (877-3216) and I will pass them on to Kendrick. There seems to be a controversy over who owns the trees at the Catholic Cemetery. Some think the Roth Ranch, others think the Catholic Church. Bobby Beacon showed me a copy of a deed, dated 1879, that looks like the one and a third acres were bought by the Diocese with the exchange of one dollar. It seems to me the trees would go along with the land, but what do I know, I was raised Methodist. I went for a flight, in a friends airplane, up Elk Creek watershed just south of town, last week. I had a hunch and sure enough, there was our ol' friend, the feller buncher, happily munching its way along a hill top plateau. It couldn't ask for a better place to live. Out of sight, out of mind. Far from the contentious new age environmental rabble. Bordered on all sides by old time conservative neighbors. Free at last to go its merry way, displacing jobs and trees. Speaking of Elk creek. I was told that one of our local young bucks, working on another harvest plan up there, accidently dropped a tree on the cab of a logging truck. He lost his job, of course, and the truck was later seen being hauled down Highway One on a flat bed. I was also told, this week, "Why don't you mind your own business" Well, I'm trying to and it looks like I have indeed... come to the end of another column. July 25th Let me point out something I think is quite interesting. Did you know that our little town of Greenwood/Elk has four, count them, four people that are "doing" radio at KZYX. First off there is Walter Green and his "Wondrous World of Music" program on Wednesday afternoon, 2 to 4:30. I say, first off, because Walter has been doing his program since the station started, if I remember right. Next, there is Jamie Roberts and his "Radiogram" program, Thursday evenings, 8 until 10. Jamie has a lot of spoken word, audio stories, things we use to listen to back before T.V. He also plays some of the new audio books that are becoming popular. This week he finished "The Milagro Beanfield War", read by Cheech, of Cheech and Chong fame. Jamie also aired the final installment of "Dreams of Rio". New stories coming up. Then there is Kate Dougherty. Kate hosts the "Wild Sage Poetry Hour" once a month, Tuesday evenings 7 to 8. She has also filled in on "Women's Voices" and co-hosted Environmental programs. Finally, one of the newest programs is Steve Garner's, "Greenwood Shuffle". Steve has a huge collection of records and he is giving us a treat by sharing some of the rarest and finest. Tunes costal folks particularly remember from the 'good ol' days', "Cat Mother" for instance. Steve's program is on Saturday evenings, 7 to 10. Check them all out. I noticed in the Beacon, a couple of weeks ago, that there is talk in Fort Bragg of a K-Mart moving in, south of town. The interesting part, I thought, was the city fathers scratching their heads and wondering if a mall might have any impact on downtown. Maybe a study should be done. Come on folks, how many times must the wheel be re-invented? I would think there would be thousands and thousands of city fathers of small towns all over this country that can give you the answer to that question with one phone call. Shopping malls are the kiss of death to the heart of small towns, everybody knows that. City fathers only have one choice and that is to get their money down early, out back, while they ponder the question, up front. Then, in a few short years they can emerge from the ashes of their gutted town as the new movers and shakers, because we all know, once the local rabble has a choice, they will flock to the malls every time. High volume, low prices, and convenience is hard to beat. Surprise, surprise! Even Jim Eason on KGO got excited about the environmental damage done to the Sacramento River by a railroad tank car full of chemicals. Over the years, Eason has consistently blasted environmentalists for their ranting and raving about spotted owls and ancient forest, but this event finally woke him up. I guess the poison spill happened in a fast enough time frame for him to grasp the picture, whereas, the devastation being done in the forests only happens, relentlessly, one tree at a time. Big yawn. There is a quarterly newspaper called "Out West". It is a roving newspaper that travels the back roads using a small motorhome as its newsroom. Out West passed through Greenwood/Elk on its way up the coast a while back and took a photo of the post in front of the Elk Market, the one with all the mileage signs on it; how far to Mel's garage, Chernoble, $pendocino, etc. By the time the photo was published in Out West, Greenwood/Elk had become Albion. Our one big shot at fame and fortune and Out West blew it. Not so, claims Mr. Huckaby. Gerry said he saw a five column wide, color, aerial photo of Elk in a L.A. newspaper. The caption titled... yup, you guessed it. Albion! Well, I guess by the time you arrive in Greenwood/Elk, after hours of driving winding roads, you're bound to be a little off. Enough pondering the fortunes and misfortunes of our little coastal shelf. I'm off for a hit of reality. "Terminator Two" is showing in Fort Bragg. Yahoo! New World Order. August 1st Well, it is the first of August. One hundred and forty seven shopping days left until Christmas. What happened? Where did this year go, this summer go? What summer? I hate throw away years but I guess this one is as good as any. The war in the gulf, the saving and loan scandal, the failing banks, the deregulated airlines folding, the unending, go nowhere, political process. Last week, as I was sanding the roof of a truck, I almost fell off my ladder. Arch conservative radio commentator, Paul Harvey was throwing rocks at President Bush! I couldn't believe it. Mr. Harvey was saying that Bush was trying to put a Marshall plan together for the middle east when what we really need is a Marshall plan here at home. "Bush," said Paul, "was overshooting the mark." Strange times and I'm afraid it is going to get even stranger. Take this book title I saw last week, "Beyond Top Secret". Think about it. I don't think it is possible to write a book about things that are beyond top secret. If you do know anything beyond top secret you have signed your name on the dotted line to keep your mouth shut, period. If you don't... well, "ve have vays" to make sure you do. I see a crew from Redding came over to sand and finish the floors in what we call the Post Office building. The State Parks folks are finally putting some effort into that project. Eventually it will become a historical museum. I find it interesting that the crew comes from Redding, when there are local people easily capable of that type of work. The other thing is, don't you usually finish the floors last, after the ceiling and walls are done?. Oh well, like the beer ad says, "Why ask why?". The old house between the Country Store and the Greenwood Pier Restaurant has been torn down. I'm told that that was one of the oldest remaining buildings in out little town. Some of the crew said the redwood timbers, found in parts of the house, were as sound as the day they were installed, "they hadn't sagged and inch". I see Ted Galletti finally got his hay bailed from the field north of town. It seems to me it was cut over a month and a half ago. Every time he was about to bail it, it would sprinkle or be dampened by heavy fog. If it is bailed wet it will mildew. Not a good year for coastal hay. Not a good year for apples either, according to local apple grower, Al Weaver. It doesn't look like a good year for timber either. I see log trucks with special racks on them to keep the trash wood from falling off as it is hauled off to the chipper. Ah yes, a fiber forest. I was sitting in the Roadhouse Cafe, having breakfast when I overheard some out of town folks exclaim; "This is more of a new age restaurant than I thought. I had expected more of a local people, working class restaurant". Well, I'm afraid they are right, but it is all we got when it comes to breakfast, lunch or, come to think of it, dinner too. Us locals are stuck with tourist prices while living in a third world economy. Now for a real home town working mans breakfast, try the "Tired Chicken" on the northern outskirts of Crescent City. You get more than you can eat for a price you can well afford, or how about those Basque Restaurants in Bakersfield.. Talk about food for money, and coastal gas prices... don't get me started. Well, it's a sad year, at least it seems that way to me. Maybe my dad dying affected me, or maybe my turning fifty had an impact. I don't know. I don't hear anything good on the news, I don't see anything good coming down the pipe politically, I'm tired of the fog, even Paul Harvey is starting to make sense. Like my ol' man said, "Something's fishy around here. August 8th My goodness! A note for the column. You know I offer space here, any time, as a public service to those who live in the Greenwood/Elk ares and who want to get their information out. Anyway, here is a message from Hildrun Uta Tribess: "For anyone who is interested in circulating among the best social, educated, and professional circles, or anyone who would enjoy the opportunity of becoming adept at excellent articulation, and who relishes the joy, exuberance and rewards of seeing the young people of our community develop and mature, and (last, but not least) anyone who gets a distinct satisfaction from being able to develop intriguing plans and solve uncanny problems in consort with a team of the greatest staff, administration, students, and parents in the Mendocino Unified School District -- for those people, so able and inclined -- I highly recommend running for the position of Trustee of the Board of Education of MUSD. This opportunity expires August 9, 1991 for filing your intent of candidacy with the Department of Elections in Ukiah. I am happy to personally speak with anyone regarding this unique opportunity. Please phone Hildrun at 877-1840." Okay. Where was I. Oh yes. The fog. Well, I finally had it, threw the dog in the bus, joined up with Ed and Suzanne and roared off to Dos Rios. As soon as we cleared the coast range the sun came out like it should on a typical August weekend. We arrived alongside the Eel River, found our spot, circled the busses and set up camp. We slapped sun screen on our coastal pallor, dug out our respective novels and let boredom set in. It was great. Boredom is a bit intimidating at first, but we soon got the hang of it. As time went by we began to notice things, stuff you don't normally see during 'regular' life. I finally got out of my lawn chair, found a pen and a piece of paper and make a list. Here is what we saw. Four Golden Eagles. That's about it, except for the frogs. Damn frogs. Big hummers. Dark green/black with bright green heads, yellow throats and yellow rings around their eyes. Just sitting there, across the swimming hole, staring at us. At first we ignored them. We read our respective novels, drank our respective drinks, put on some more sun screen, but every now and then, one would croak, breaking our concentration. Damn frogs. Finally Ed and I decided to do something about the situation. We slowly lowered ourselves into the water and with just our noses sticking out, make our stealthy approach. The frogs silently watched us come. Soon we were nose to nose with them. They never blinked. Ed and I retreated to ponder the situation. After more liquid refreshment, we decided the thing to do is catch one. That would put the fear of god into them. Back into the water. Run silent, run deep. Slowly, slowly, make the final approach. Inch a hand forward through the water, up under the floating frog, stop whenever the frog throat stopped pulsing. Wait for it to resume breathing. Eye to unblinking eye. NOW! Damn. The little buggers sure are quick. Fall back, regroup. There he is, over there. Another approach. Less trust on both sides now. The buggers are getting wise. I try to fling my hat over one. No dice. No wonder us humans invented gun powder. All things being equal, we haven't got a chance. Well, at least the frogs have moved on. We resume reading our novels, free of their intimidating stare. Finally it is time to pack up and head home to the fog. Just before we start our engines, we hear a tentative croak. As we drive away it becomes a full chorus. Damn frogs. August 15th Eduardo asked me if I would like to review his art show at Tangent's, in Fort Bragg. Well, sure. I'd love to. Be honored. Then I became worried. How do you review an art show? I already like his stuff. It's unusual and very powerful and 'amazing', a word that Eduardo uses all the time. Also, I saw a piece he had started on about six months ago, "Besando La Luna". I wanted to see how it turned out. So, throw the dog in the bus, stop by Mendocino and pick up Lolli. Then it's off to Fort Dragg. We turn the corner onto Laurel street and there is a parking place right in front. (Whenever I am with Lolli, I always get front row parking, front row seats, whatever.) Anyway, into the fray. The music is up, the food is out, the wine is flowing and there are a bunch of folks milling around, so, I grab a cup, dip some chips and settle into review mode. Make the circuit. Check it out. Should I be taking notes? recording my thoughts? noting first impressions? recording the titles? or what? Nah. Just go for it. Okay. So what do we got? Well, first off we got "Art Tools". Maybe four or five pieces that are parts of old paintings, cut up and glued together with black painted bamboo sticks attached. Next we got, what? Two by four with a bunch of sticks shot into it, all painted black with hot red tips. Next, down low, is an old favorite of mine. A painting of a black crow, just the head, with its mouth wide open. Inside is a white middle aged man, looking out. He looks like he just got caught doing something wrong. Then the Minotaurs. Pen and ink on white paper. Business suits with bull heads. Then "The Last Tango". Ah yes, relationships. The eternal triangle, love-hate stuff. Off in the corner, a hanging drawer from some old chest. Glued into the drawer is a series of Polaroids of male and female chests. Part of Eduardo's "Community Chest" series. Then one or two more painting cut-outs I don't remember, but now, back to the one I skipped, "Besando La Luna". There it is on the back wall. Like I said, I saw the beginning of this painting about six months ago. It was large, maybe three and a half feet by five. Oil on masonite. A painting of a heroic horse, stallion? head reared up high, lips reaching out to a moon made of gold leaf. Just touching. Saliva, or blood, or tears streaming down its neck. Very powerful. Black and gold and red with other stuff going on down below. Eduardo told me "Besando La Luna" (kissing the moon) was what was said when he was a kid growing up in the barrio of East L.A., when another of his friends died. "He kissed the moon." So now, six months later, here it is. Very different. The painting has been cut out into the silhouette of a squatting human form, looking off to the left. A woman? An Indian? Someone with power and patience? With-in the form, the reaching horse head and gold moon. I hear someone ask Eduardo, "What does it mean?" He replies, "If I could say, I wouldn't have had to paint it". Ah yes. Just so. We can play with the words... but, there it is. Another glass of wine and soon we all head off to the Coast Hotel for food and conversation. We find a parking place, right in front. What can I say. The Art of Eduardo Smissen will be at Tangents for a while, then, on to the Bay area and possibly, New York. Check it out. August 22nd I finally got around to visiting Dave Neilsen. I've been meaning to for several years now. Dave is locally famous, and even further afield, for his home made beer. Last week I happened to meet his daughter, down at the Elk Garage, and she told me that he was no longer brewing his beer. That was it. I figured I better get up there and find out what was going on. A phone call and a "come on ahead", and so, on a nice, soft, foggy, Sunday afternoon, I took a drive up Cameron Road t the Neilsen's Anchorage turn off, then down, then up, past his garden to their simple, comfortable house. Soon I had a glass of "Whitecap" in my hand and settled back into a chair on his deck, looking out over the Navarro watershed. Before me sits Dave, wearing his white cap. He looks to be about fifty but I soon find out he is now eighty. I then remember that I'm the one who is fifty. "So how come the name "Whitecap"? "My first ship was named Whitecap. That was back in '42. Then too, I use to get bottle cap 'over runs' that might be 7 Up or Coke. I painted them white, later bought caps that were already white. Anyway, 'Whitecap' it is." Dave brought out a pastel drawing, by Dick Mitchell, of one of his bottles of Whitecap beer. He use to take his beer to various pot lucks and local functions. "People always appreciated it." "We were the first house on Cameron Road, well, maybe Sophia Sutherland was first. We helped get the power up here, helped get a fire district up here on Cameron, the first truck. Being retired, we liked to help folks out and it is amazing how much pleasure has been returned." Dave brings out an assortment of plaques thanking him for his service to the Boy Scouts, from the schools where he taught, the Volunteer Fire Department, for his years of service. "I don't want to brag. I just want to say that I got back more than I ever gave. You know, on a clear day you can see the ocean, even the Kings Range from here. "So how did you start making beer?" "Well, David Marks brought me the makings, got me started. I like Dave a lot. I've been making beer for five years, well, maybe ten, but my doctor said I have to give up beer, so I brewed my last batch December 17. That beer you're drinking was from that batch." I pick up and look at the white cap. It has Dec.17 printed on it. I pour the last of the beer from the bottle into my glass and it runs over in foam. "So I gave all my beer making equipment to my granddaughter's husband. He's a physicist. He makes good beer, but what I really want to talk to you about it the two hundred tires Mel Matson gave to me. Let's go take a look." We walk down the hill and through the gate into his huge side hill garden. "Now the problem was terracing off the steep slope. It would take a bunch of wood I didn't have. Now, you can see how I used the tires to hold back the soil." Sure enough, the hillside was like steps and risers. Ten feet or so of flat, then a retainer wall of tires, three courses high, then another flat, on and on. The flat areas were planted with a variety of garden crops, some of the largest cabbages I have seen. "Here, grab a container. Let's pick raspberries." We work our way up and down the rows and soon have three containers full. We leave the garden, close the gate, and head for the house. I get ready to leave. "I been married fifty three years. I credit any success I have to my wife. I've been retired twenty seven years now. This is a wonderful place to live. Wonderful folks live around here. Oh! don't forget to take the berries home with you, make a pie or something." I head back down the hill towards Greenwood/Elk. You're right Dave. Wonderful folks do live around here. August 29th Well, there is some new stuff happening around town, so let's get to it. First off, the Elk Garage has a new tow truck. A brand new, two ton International diesel with a NoMar machinery deck, cable lift, wheel lift, that sort of stuff. It will be able to handle motorhomes and fairly large trucks. The Elk Garage flat bed truck is now for sale. I see the light poles and signals are pretty much installed on the Navarro grade. It won't be long until it is impossible to get from here to there! The surprising thing I heard is that several years from now the whole Navarro grade is going to be redone, again. Only, the next time will consist of a major straightening out of the curves. This time around it is just a shoring up action. I stopped by the Country Store. I had heard that Peter Allegaert had a new painting on display. Yup, sure enough. It is rather large, maybe three feet by four with nine small panels in groups of three, running from top to bottom. The title, painted along the bottom on the frame said, "The Study of Metamorphosis". Across the top of the frame, heading their respective column were the subtitles, "The Bullfrog", "The Butterfly", "and the Boy". The first panel, under "The Bullfrog", is a painting of bullfrogs in a pond, croaking to each other. A lightening flash is reflected on the surface of the pond. The next panel down is of tadpoles, swimming around in the bottom of a small aquarium bowl, which is sitting on a table with a black cat peering into the bowl from the far side. The cat's eyes are sort of watery. The last panel in this group show small frogs in a shrinking puddle, being approached by a snake. The center column of panels, "The Butterfly", has butterflies flying high over our coast, the town far below. The next panel down is of butterfly caterpillars, crawling around on radish leaves. Peter is in the distance, doing garden work. The bottom panel is of butterflies emerging from their chrysalis, hanging under dandelion leaves. The last row of panels, under the heading "and the Boy", starts with a group of cars, parked at a drive in movie. In the foreground is a late '30's sedan with a couple necking in the back seat. Model A's and other cars of that era are parked elsewhere. On the movie screen is a image of a couple dancing, frozen in time. It is a black and white movie. The car windows are steamed up. The next panel shows a man in a business suit, with briefcase, wearing a snap brim hat, standing in an elevator. The doors have just opened, or are about to close. Close I think. There is a Chicklet gum wrapper on the rug, just outside the elevator doors. Ah yes, Peter's sad days as a candy salesman. The last panel shows Peter, standing at his easel, in his tiny studio. He is wearing his tired old green sweater, his back is to us but his salt and pepper hair is distinctive. His dog is stretched out asleep, under the table of paint and brushes. Mice are eating out of the cat food dish. Peter is holding a magnifying glass in one hand and a small paint brush in the other. He is patiently applying paint to the first panel on the easel. The panel is of frogs in a pond, croaking to each other. Lightening flash is reflected in the water... Ah, Peter, you have really out done yourself!! Four stars. Check it out. One of the old time local farmers told me that he feels this is going to be a real wet winter. "The summer has been like it was back in the old days, so we will have a winter like we use to have in the old days. Very wet." I was later talking to another long time local farmer and he told me that the local Indians always said, "When you have a foggy summer, you have a mild winter". I have combined this information to come up with my own prediction which goes as follows: It could be a wet winter... or maybe not. Remember. You read it here first. |