Endings and Beginnings

It is with much regret and a heavy heart that I report that Katie-hole is no longer with us. Upon our return from the Tetons, we found a bird that was a third bigger than the others with a substantial comb and big long tail feathers just starting to curl over. The rumors turned out to be true; Katie-hole was indeed a rooster. He departed us on Friday, after we received a positive response from an ad posted on Craigslist. As I watched him being carried off in a cardboard box, I couldn't help but think, "The lucky little devil". Turns out his new home is a large piece of land outside of Medford with 15 young and lovely chickens, and not another rooster in sight. Between the harem and his alpha-male status, Katie-hole has truly gone to a better place.

As I briefly mentioned before, I have managed to successfully work my way through 6 months of massage school and am now a proud graduate of Ashland Institute of Massage. From here, the next step is a practical exam administered by the Oregon Board of Massage Therapists up in Salem (I have yet to receive my date), pass said exam, and then apply for a license to practice. After that, who knows? I suppose I'll use my new-found skills to find employment, but I'll take it as it comes.

In the meantime the calender has once again propelled us into the season of summer, and the weather has decided to follow suit. There are new and exciting things appearing every week at the farmers market, and we've been busy scoping out swimming holes for when it really gets hot around here, not just the measly 80 degrees we've been experiencing. It's a good thing we're getting used to this now because on Thursday we're flying off to wild and wonderful West Virginia for Carl's family reunion. Sadly, Bubba won't be in attendance; he gets to go to doggie summer camp with Grandma Maggie and Grandpa Fritz up in the San Juan Islands. His life is so hard. Happy 4th of July, ya'll!

Tetons, Ho!

Grand Teton National Park is one of those places that is stunningly photogenic, yet impossible to completely capture. I spent so much time gawking at it all that I would totally forget to turn the camera on, let alone try snapping pictures.

We rolled out of Ashland practically the exact same hour I finished school. That's right, I'm a proud graduate of Ashland Institute of Massage, and I've got the t-shirt to prove it! Now back to the fun stuff and more on that later...

Oregon is a freaking big state. So is Idaho. There are mind-boggling open expanses that hold nothing but sage brush, some scruffy junipers, and a pine tree or two. We split the 15 hour drive into two days, crossing Oregon, then Idaho, and finally up into Wyoming. This is a pit stop we took along the Malheur River in eastern Oregon.
Guess what, it was still winter there. They had over 700 inches of snow up in the mountains and all the waterways were running fast and high. Thank goodness I brought my down jacket to protect my thin Ashland blood. I had meant to put the cute smiling picture of me eyeballing pelicans here, but I guess I uploaded the perturbed one instead. Whoops.
We fully enjoyed playing around at the discovery centers in the park.
One day we took an excursion to the national forest to take Bubba for a hike. As much as I love the parks, I'm not a fan of their "no dogs" policy. The trail took us up alongside a creek that required us to get creative with our crossing techniques. Bubba was the only one who ended up swimming, thank goodness.
On our search for wildlife Carl decided to set up his own perimeter to wait for a bear to emerge from the willows. We soon got bored and moved on, but we later heard that she crossed the road exactly where Carl predicted she would.

Golden eagle

A moose and her calf crossing the Snake River.
Carl and his trusty steed.
Our main excuse for heading to the Tetons was to attend the wedding of the man who introduced Carl to PBR (anyone responsible for such a life-changing event certainly deserves some respect). The ceremony was down by the river with the mountains looming in the background, and the following reception was held at the National Museum of Wildlife Art. We got to wander through the galleries to our hearts' content, although we did get busted trying on the costumes in the kids' discovery corner.
Up close and personal with a moose.
This bison was checking out Bubba from a roadside vantage point.
The big news in the park this season was the three-cub litter of bear 399, the second time she's had that many. We were lucky enough to see them about 25 yards off the road.
She was a big girl.
The two seasons Carl worked in the Tetons it was his tradition to go to Yellowstone on his birthday. We were a couple days late but made it up there anyway to check out such bizarre sights as this super-heated water pouring into the river.
I guess the bison can't read because there were tracks everywhere across this thermal spot.
The Lower Falls of Yellowstone River, at the head of its Grand Canyon. Even with all the people it was still spectacular.
Bubba checking out a bison jam. He's a well-seasoned traveler at this point.
Quintessential Yellowstone: bison and thermal vents.

The day of our departure was the first day of summer and actually felt like it, too. It was hard to leave those gorgeous mountains behind, but we'll be back. On the way home we stopped in Idaho Falls at the very much off-the-beaten-path Museum of Idaho. For some reason they were host to an abbreviated version of Bodies: The Exhibition, and I couldn't wait to see it. Carl was good enough to humor me as we wandered past the preserved bodies and I excitedly pointed out all the muscles and structures I had learned in school. It's one thing to learn a specific muscle from a book; it's completely different to see how it fits in with everything else. My favorite exhibit was of the cardiovascular system. They used a process called corrosion casting, where colored plastic is injected into all the blood vessels and then solidifies, allowing them to remove everything else around it. The end result was a perfectly discernible structure of delicately branching tubules; the arm looked exactly like an arm, right down to the fingers, and the whole body was there including ears and lips. If you ever get a chance to see this exhibit, even somewhere like Idaho Falls, you should definitely go - it's amazing.

Back at home the corn has grown another foot, the peas are raging out of control, and we have salad greens coming out of our ears. Even the chickens seem bigger. Oh, and it hit 91 degrees yesterday. Hello, summer!

The Sweetest Things

After the wettest three month period in Ashland history in the last 100 years, the end is finally in sight. Temperatures are rising, the clouds are parting, and all the warm-weather crops are itching to get going. Just the other day I rang in the season with one of the best things ever: the first strawberry from the garden. Those big pasty things from California just can't compare with the intense sweetness packed into the little ruby prizes ripening in the yard. The best thing is there's going to be more where that came from.

Saturday night, following the color scheme, we got our redneck on and headed out to the Wild Rogue Pro Rodeo for some carnage and people watching. There was plenty of both; the bleachers were packed with all sorts of folks out for a big Saturday night, and we got front row seats to watch it all go down. There were belt buckles the size of dinner plates swaggering by at eye level, kids with hats as big as they were peeking out from underneath the brims, and boots and denim and shirts with pearl snaps galore. I realized I wasn't wearing nearly enough shiny, sparkly things or eyeliner to fit in with the female contingent (note to self for next time). There was one little girl decked out in pink Disney princess cowboy boots that lit up and had a furry ruff on top. Where were those when I was growing up, I ask you?

Beyond the human population, which was an event in and of itself, there were also a large number of large animals involved: bulls, broncos, and sheep, the whole bit. The first time I saw a bull fly out of the shoot with a man desperately clinging to his back, all I could think about was how gnarly that guy's sternocleidomastoids must be (Carl was not thrilled with my hankering to get my hands on the rodeo dudes). Those cowboys take some punishment. I can't imagine how they climb back on the broncos and get thrashed around on a weekly basis - it's repeated, full-body whiplash for an eternity of eight seconds (or however long it was before they were heaved off). Some wore helmets, those on the broncos had protective padding behind their necks, but that can't be good for you. How any of them are able to have children after all that is beyond me.

The lower-impact, less cringe-worthy events of steer roping were also quite entertaining. I think these guys are freeing a calf after the fact. Those baby cows seemed to take it all in stride: busting out of the gate, getting lassoed and eating dirt, then hopping up and trotting out of the ring.
I believe the winning time for this event was 4 seconds flat. In that time the cowboy ropes the sprinting steer, leaps off his horse, tackles said steer, and ties its feet with two wraps and a half hitch. Done and done.
The rodeo equivalent of the half-time show involved all sorts of legal forms of child abuse. My favorite by far was the mutton busters. A crowd of kids in helmets entered from one end of the arena and a herd of frisky sheep were led in from the other; 4H high schoolers steadied the steeds while the kids clambered on (some facing forward, others opting to ride backwards). Someone blew a whistle - they were off! Sheep exploded in every direction imaginable, kids flew through the air or were dragged in the dirt, and the crowd roared its approval. The winner was a tenacious little guy in a backwards stance, hugging his woolly steed for dear life as the high schoolers tried to pull him out of the reassembled herd.

The next part was the boot race, where kids under the age of 8 pulled off one shoe, left it at the opposite side of the arena, and assembled back on the other end. The idea is to race to the pile of boots, find yours, put it on, and get back to the finish line before anyone else. Kids are vicious, especially when there are prizes involved. The ensuing dogpile was too amusing not to photograph.
How on earth do you top that? With a twelve mile run, of course. Sunday I set out and plodded up 1,700 feet to the network of bike trails that wind through the hills behind town. The birds were singing, the wild white irises were blooming all over, and my new shoes felt just fine. What a way to ring in the second to last week of school - 10 days until the Tetons!