South of the Border

 Southern Oregon is a funny place, in oh so many ways.  In particular I'm thinking of my tendency to wander all over the state, for hours on end, in almost any direction but south.  That direction leads to the strange, foreign land of California, which is obviously another world despite the fact that it's only 18 miles away.  There's a perceived barrier that halts my imagination in its tracks when casting around for the next adventurous destination.

This weekend we decided to cross that barrier and head south to see what we could find.  Mt. Shasta is visible from many of the peaks around here, and we got the chance to see it up close and personal.  We took a quick tour through the town of Weed (named after its founder Abner Weed, but now rife with hilarious connotations) and stopped at the brewery there for lunch.  There were a lot of empty store fronts on Main Street, a couple of tacky shops on the highway selling "I Heart Weed" shirts, and a surprisingly nice community college.  The brewery was quiet but delicious.

On down the road we headed into the town of Mt. Shasta, its namesake looming in the background.  There's a healthy population of hippies and wealthy retirees, somewhat like Ashland, and it made for some good people watching.  The forest service office there provided us with some fodder for future excursions, before driving up the mountain to see what it was all about.  Mt. Shasta towers over its neighboring peaks at 14,179 ft, making it especially striking since the valley floor is only 3,000 ft.  There's a wilderness area covering much of the peak above 10,000 feet but since Bubba couldn't read the signs it wasn't a problem.  The road dead-ends at the old ski area, empty now except for the parking lot, a couple trail signs, and some hippie rock art.

From there we took the back way to the active ski area, which was kind of disappointing given the terrain we were looking at.  We may have to make our way back in the winter anyway, just for the fun of it.  By the time we headed back north the clouds had cleared from the peak and I was able to convince Carl to pull over so I could get a picture of it.

Even though the autumn solstice is fast approaching, there's still plenty of time for adventures before the snow flies.  We've had only two traces of measurable precipitation since June and there's nothing in the forecast anytime soon.  Our goal is to fit at least one backpacking trip in this year, however short and sweet.  I'll keep you posted.

Things Are Getting Real...

Yes, it's true, summer vacation is over and it's time to face the real world.  No matter that temperatures are still in the high 80s and the tomatoes haven't ripened yet.  Days are getting shorter, the sun sits lower in the sky, and I've got myself a real honest-to-goodness job.  That's right, I've joined the ranks of the gainfully employed as a licensed massage therapist.  I'm working at Balanced Massage, a clinic up in Medford that focuses on therapeutic and deep tissue work, and so far it seems like a really good fit.

I wasn't supposed to start work until this week, when the gal I'm filling in for was scheduled to go on maternity leave, but she ended up going into labor on Friday.  Needless to say, I got to jump right in to her busy schedule, and thankfully no one seemed too upset by the fact that I wasn't her.  She gave birth to a healthy baby boy that night, and they're both doing fine.  My system is still in shock from dishing out five massages in one day; my hands and forearms are a little sore, but give me another month of this and I'll challenge anyone to arm wrestling.

So here's the next great adventure.  I get to experience all the joys and frustrations of building up a clientele, figuring out the best way to get stubborn muscles to relax, and becoming the most popular massage therapist in town (just kidding on that last one).  Oh, and living in the same place with the same person for a whole entire year.  That hasn't happened since high school; I've still got a couple months to go before it's official but just the idea of it is scarily grown up.  I guess that goes along with the multiplying gray hairs on my head...

The Hayes Family Goes to the Beach

There's nothing like those hot, hazy, stifling days of summer to make you pack up the furry kid and some gin and tonic materials, and head for the coast. That, and a massive family reunion. We made a stop over in Portland first, to eat delicious Thai food, watch the mania of the Timbers' Army cheering on their soccer team, and provide cheap labor for my mother's dessert factory. Then it was up Hwy 217 and west out 26 to the northern Oregon coast. I'm not sure who was responsible for booking this family madness during the busiest weekend of the year in Seaside, but our clan joined the 50,000 other folks descending on this town of 6,188 for the culmination of the Hood to Coast Relay. Like the name says, the "biggest relay in the world" starts at Mt. Hood and winds up in downtown Seaside 200 miles later.

We managed to avoid most of the people, even when we visited Cannon Beach to fulfill Carl's dream of recreating "The Goonies". That man has a mean truffle shuffle. We found plenty of kelp to fling for Bubba, who probably ran his own equivalent of the Hood to Coast over the course of the weekend.
My Aunt Ruth found a rental to hold most of our immediate clan, and there was an amazing view off the back porch. It was just the place for sipping cool drinks, soaking up the sun, and keeping track of Hurricane Irene's path of destruction up the East Coast. Just another reason why the West Coast is the best coast.
The house was built in the 40's and had a funky floor plan with lots of unnecessary stairs.
At the reunion, shaking hands with relatives I haven't laid eyes on in years, I was bombarded with the consistent greeting, "Nice to see you! So how are the chickens?" To fulfill everyone's curiosity, here's the latest on the little feathered cluckers:

At five months old, the ladies are fully feathered and starting to figure out their purpose of producing eggs. The Fury and Erica are both laying the cutest little eggs you ever did see, while Brendina seems to be a bit slower to catch on. I did find an egg without a shell this morning, so maybe she's getting it; part of it, anyway. Carl still enjoys communing with the girls. I believe that's Erica on his lap, in time-out for trying to peck his toes.
Here they are in all their chicky glory: Erica, Brendina, and the Fury.
And us? Oh, we're just fine.