Where Would That Place Be?

Do you have a favorite winter get-away?

Someplace where the sound of waves offers tranquility and peace?

Where light and shadows create beautiful effects?

And man-made objects provide points of interest?

Where would that place be for you?

This November Day

The seasons changed quickly this year! A late and pleasant summer gave way to a few weeks of autumn, and then cold, wintry weather set in. 

Today the freeway over a nearby mountain pass was closed to all traffic. Fortunately, Dad and Alma, who were on their way here for a visit, passed through it yesterday without delay. They arrived on their way home after an eight-thousand mile road trip around the United States. We were their first and last stops as they made a huge look-around America. 

Dampness, gray skies, and a chill in the air make staying inside quite appealing. The pellet stove keeps the house cozy and warm. A basket of yarn sits by my chair, and I've been enjoying crochet during breaks from chores throughout the day. My teacup has been filled with Ambessa Choco Nut Black Tea sweetened with a touch of stevia and a splash of soymilk. Crock pots have been filled with soups: potato; vegetable with sauerkraut and spinach; and lima bean with carrots and celery. The bread baker has been busy too, providing ambient heat in the kitchen. The dogs cuddle up to cushions in the armchairs in the family room and sleep the afternoons away. Such simplicity. Such luxury. So many blessings.

How have you been on these November days?

The Homestead Cabin

The hills are alive with wildflowers and lush, green growth. And recently they harbored. . .

. . .tasks that needed done and a man who was willing to do them! A few seasons ago, a very large tree fell on one of the mountain wood sheds, crushing it to smithereens.  (The wood shed was behind this homestead cabin). Last summer Brent, Rylan, and Grandpa worked hard to disentangle the shed from the trunk and branches. They sawed up the tree, hauled it to a more remote place on the property (it was too dead to use for firewood), and hauled the wood shed, piece by piece, into a large pile in a space in front of the homestead cabin so it could dry out. The homestead cabin is very old and empty on a corner of the land, but it is a place I love. It's quaint craftsman style and faded red paint invite the heart. It could only benefit from the removal of debris.

So armed with tools, Brent set to work to burn the old shed. A season had given it time enough to dry out. It was ready to burn. Since I love old things, I had a hard time watching the old "barn wood" going into the burn pile, but it was too extensive a task to remove old nails, hinges, and fasteners and to take it apart piece by piece to haul back home for crafty projects. The wood was beautifully aged.

The pick-up tailgate provided a ring-side seat of all the action.

And the fire burned. . .

. . .to a pile of beautiful embers. All that were missing were the hot dogs for roasting!

Next, the man has plans to mow the meadow surrounding homestead cabin.  It still remains, but without a wood shed behind it. It's time that it looked a bit more loved and cared for. Sometimes it is hard to know if it should be left looking as though abandoned, or if it should look much loved. Ruffian's tend to like to break into it, sometimes building a fire on the concrete floor or simply curious as to what is inside. After fixing and re-fixing the broken front door after break-ins, Brent has solved the problem by nailing the door shut and then covering a window (which someone broke out) with a hinged wooden covering. If anyone wants inside, all they have to do is open the shutter and look right in. The window is large enough, they can crawl in if they want to! This solution has seemed to solve the problem. It seems no one has entered since it has been made accessible to all.

A little red barn beside the cabin is quiet and quaint. Worn wooden stalls and a creaky ladder to the loft above reveal years of use. I'm sure interesting stories could be told from years gone by. It sits quiet now, although several summers past a twelve-year-old girl got lost in the mountains overnight and used it's shelter overnight for protection and security. We could see the outline of twigs and grasses that she used to create a nature-crafted bed on the dirt floor. When she was found, her mother left a note of thankfulness for the shelter (and drum of water we'd left nearby). I'm so happy it was there for her. I carefully saved the outline of her little fabricated bed as a reminder for the remainder of the summer.

A hard days work (and observation by me and my good book) warranted a seat on the observation log on the point where we enjoyed some good cups of tea. The man is making plans for his next trip to the mountain. Work, work, work is his motto. It brings him much joy.

Dear Diary in England

A note from Aunt Cella includes passages from her diary that are a simple delight to read!  She and Uncle Mike routinely have "porch teas" on their sunny Arizona porch where they reread diaries of the past forty-plus years.  I think you would enjoy reading some of her diary passages too.  At the end of this one she shares a recipe for her favorite Buttermilk Pie.  Grab yourself a cuppa tea and enjoy the read.

The Diary.  It's August 4, l970 (Aunt Cella is 7 months pregnant)   "Lovely rest all by ourselves in this big open lot under a shade tree near York.  Beautiful sunny but cool day again.  We both exercised on a tiny road, & then drove into York.  Found it a delightful place, esp. the old narrow winding streets near the Cathedral.  Walked up the famous Shambles Street, a quaint little touristy-charming walking lane with no cars & bosomy overhanging 2nd stories on the houses & shops, so crooked they nearly touched on the tops.  Found a sweet little beamed & wall-papered Shambles Restaurant, & having just cottage cheese & peaches for breakfast (& no dinner the night before because I was both resting & punishing my stomach for eating  a big breakfast & then apple pie with cream yesterday afternoon),  I was hungry!  We enjoyed a delightful but cheap lunch (85 cents each) including everything! Soup, rolls, full delicious entree plate (mine was chicken fricassee with Yorkshire pudding & Mike's was steak pie & both were delicious), coffee & dessert!  Wow, never such a bargain again I'm afraid. (some lovely camp sites are 50 cents for the night with facilities.)  Anyway, "Dessert was gooseberry & apple tart in custard sauce which needed sweetening--but 85 cents!!!  After touring the famous cathedral, now being restored & nearly impassable in places, but a beautiful creation, we strolled back through a quaint area till I spotted a winsome old timbered 2 story restaurant, standing amid the stalls of the open market.  This place, the Tudor Rose, was delightfully old & beamed & we enjoyed an orange squash on the 2nd floor.  Anything to get into these places was our motto!  How we sacrificed & suffered! Drove then right on towards the Lakes District & Beatrix Potter country, passing through a town where we stopped for.......let me guess, yes 3 (THREE!) soft ice creams each!  And absolutely bereft of our long-used alibi that eating something was just an excuse to get into these places--shameless.  We then crossed the Pennines, the rocky backbone of central England via small grey stoned farming towns.  This Pennine area is much akin to Scotland, wild, brooding, craggy, green, & lovely.  Found a campsite among the many available, high on a hill & commanding a wonderful view.  Enjoyed the outlook immensely & also the price of 50 cents!"  

* * *

Aunt Cella comments that "the diary goes on & on.  I have notebooks full of those 30 years of traveling.  I'm so glad I've got them".

She ends her note to me with this:  "Now is there room for a recipe?  Lemon-Buttermilk Pie    3 eggs, 1 & 3/4 c sugar, 4 big rounded tbsp. flour, 1 stick butter or margarine melted,  l c buttermilk, juice & rind of 2 lemons or more ( I use about 4 because we both love strong & tart lemon taste, but then of course you should increase the flour amount).  Pour into unbaked pie shell & bake for about 1 hour at 350.  Take out even if a bit soupy in the middle.  Will set.  Yum, yum." 

*The photo shows Aunt Cella preparing a "porch tea" in January.  Only in Arizona!

Time & a Perfect Day

When sharing time with friends, it is always interesting to observe what decisions people make regarding use of their recreational time.  "What shall we do today?" is a question asked each morning.  Responses vary and a melding of ideas occurs.  Tradition (things done or places visited on other trips) decrees that some things simply must happen.  Individuals new to the group come with their own, unique ideas.  Answers range from walking the beach (a must for each visit to the ocean) to shopping in the quaint little town nearby.  Favorite bookstores must be visited, fudge or caramel corn purchased in tiny candy shops, and trinkets examined in stores where shopkeepers work to vend the most unique things they can find.  Seagulls and sea lions beg be fed.  And it is always entertaining that fishing boats observed.  No matter what the activity, relaxation occurs (yes, even with shopping).  Lively conversation over a cup of tea and an afternoon nap cap off the days activities.  A perfect day.  

Sea Quest

The winter has been long, gray, and chilly.  News of a sunny week-end at the beach was welcome as we turned our wheels toward the beach.  The great Pacific did not disappoint!  Waves and sunshine mixed with the fellowship of family and friends created a lovely meld of activities inside and outdoors.  A pleasant surprise, miniature daffodils blooming beside the rental house, added an extra touch of cheer!

Beach Buddies

"Don't grow up too quickly, lest you forget how much you love the beach."

- Michelle Held -

An Authentic Irish Tea

"An Authentic Irish Tea"


by Aunt Cella, posted by permission
Originally written October, 1969/a true story
Part 3 of 4

An old peasant lady appeared in black dress and stockings, and at the sight of another human being, I nearly broke down in weeping.  Struggling for control, I told her I must be lost (although I suspected that she already suspected that).  I told her the boats were leaving soon (there was only one a day), but this horse insisted on coming here.  She then dropped her little bombshell --- the horse belonged there and was merely coming home --- with an unwilling visitor!  She later admitted it was not the first time it had happened.  The horse and I had been on the trail for four solid, er, liquid hours!  She led me inside her home (which I was than anxious to see despite my distressing situation) to an open peat fireplace with an old black kettle hanging over it, and then began stripping off my soggy clothes.  I sat by the fire with this kindly soul bustling about, putting warm clothes on me, getting hot tea, trying to hurry with three huge dogs, and a red-haired Irish grand baby, and a flock of baby turkeys all under foot.  I couldn't believe my eyes and wanted to laugh and cry both, at this unreal situation.  I watched bemusedly while one little turkey jumped into the rim and then into a large pail sitting on the kitchen floor.  Hearing noise, the lady of the house rushed over to the pail in time to pull out a half-drowned little turk from what was obviously a pail of water.  Calamities!  It was a wild scene.  She shoved them all under a basket and then proceeded to cut a homemade raisin loaf for my tea without benefit of hand washing of any sort between turkeys and bread.  I may have winced, but I wouldn't have refused her hospitality for anything.  It tasted delicious and was served on her best china.  She commented that I "seemed to fit in very nicely here in this country" probably because I was petting her dogs that were running in and out, and trying strenuously to see everything I could while just trying to appear as if I had grown up with peat fires and turkeys drowning themselves in the center of the kitchen floor!  When I told her I was from California she was very surprised and said she thought I was one of the local Irish girls from "up North".  I concluded that I must be fitting in very well indeed.  My Yankee twang was mistaken for an Irish brogue...!

To be continued.

An Unforgettable Horseback Ride through Killarney Countryside

"An Unforgettable Horseback Ride through Killarney Countryside"

by Aunt Cella, posted by permission
Originally written October, 1969/a true story
part 2 of 4

The strangest tea I will ever have in my life occurred in Ireland, which, by the way, is green, friendly, progressive, and lots of fun.  In the wild, rugged, southern Killarney Lake country, Mike and I took an all day trek, making a complete circle, first by pony cart, then by horseback, and later by boat, which circled us back to the starting point again in the evening.  Not being so lucky weather-wise in Ireland (where are all those green shamrocks?), we had rain most of the six days we were there.  This memorable day was no exception, but we wanted to take this trip badly enough to do it in the pouring rain.  We had another lady and a foolhardy couple from California with us and a little sort-of-girl-guide.  We set off in high spirits, which sank lower and lower as we got colder and wetter.  Transferring from the pony-trap after an hour, we found the horses typical nags, and cantankerous to boot!  However, I felt somewhat smug and self-assured, since I was almost raised on a horse.  After two hours on horseback and getting into deep, wild mountains, we were stiff and frozen.  Our sack lunch became a mass of mush, vitamin pills in my purse ran red all over, our clothes were sodden, and our limbs were paralyzed with cold.  Our little-girl-guide reassured us by telling us we only had three hours left to go!  We saw an isolated house that offered tea, and gratefully groaned off our horses and dripped inside, running rivulets on her kitchen floor, and apologizing between chattering teeth.  We gulped hot tea with Irish soda bread, and stayed as long as we dared.  Again, we struggled aboard our plugs, who would not do anything they did not feel like doing. 

In the meantime, the country was frighteningly beautiful, with deep gullies, broad rocky valleys, and treeless craggy mountains --- what a fantastic trip in good weather!  After two more frozen hours, Mike and I approached the summit (we were ahead) and looked into desolate virgin territory beyond.  My tendency was to go left, because it look like we might meet our boats there.  But my horse was going right whether I consented or not, and trusting the sure-direction instincts of a horse, Mike and I went right.  After a while, Mike wasn't so sure, so turned his horse back to the crossroads, but mine would not go.  I kept assuming the others would come (since my horse insisted this was the right road) but, hill after hill, I kept looking back.  No horses appeared, and soon the crossroad was far behind me.  Gradually I decided this must be the wrong way, and tried again to turn around.  I tried to go into the lane of an isolated house, I tried to stop. . .I tried everything, but that broken-down horse was impossible.  When I tried to let the horse know who was in charge, he promptly backed me right down a bank into a ravine.  Then, for the first time I was frightened, because I knew that I could not handle that horse.  I began (in growing terror) to contemplate spending the night out in the wilds of Killarney and likely freezing to death.  I had no idea where we were headed, but it certainly wasn't toward human habitation.  These were very bad moments.  Spying an inhabited old cottage, I decided to stop, even if I had to leap off the horse, but surprisingly she was willing and I lumbered off, hallowing to the occupants. . .

To be continued.

Photo credit/Creative Commons:  Tony Hisgett

I Left My Heart in England

 "I Left My Heart in England"

by Aunt Cella, posted by permission
Originally written October, 1969/a true story
Part 1 of 4

I left my heart in England this time.  And have left pieces of it in nearly every country we've visited.  But with England it went deep.  It's simply my kind of quaintness, countryside, people...and my language.  We were actually passing through England on our way to Ireland, having "done" England "last" summer, or so we thought.  But it's a big mistake.  One should not ignore present joys in the hopes of greater, later.  Neither, is a country ever really "done" --- most of us just scratch the surface.  We were blessed for nine days with classically beautiful weather, a little nicety not often enjoyed in the British Isles.  Loved rugged Wales, but the southern counties of Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall stretching to the very tip of Land's End, are dearest to the heart of every Briton, and were sheer joy, joy, to us.  We loved the high hedges, the hidden "smuggler's cove" beaches, the cottage rambled with roses, old inns with low oaken beams, cozy fireplaces, hanging copper ware and pewter, peaceful villages, and always decency, charm, refinement.  It's such a "civilized" country!  As travelers, we felt a graciousness here not encountered since leaving Japan.  One is never a customer, but a guest to be treated with grave respect.  I discovered early how enchanting their old homes and tea houses were, so having a passion for this sort of thing, devised a system for getting into at least three a day.  Morning beverage, lunch at noon, and afternoon tea, which is promptly at 4:00.  All England pivots on the "Tea at 4:00" schedule. . .even if the house is burning, you must not rush out without having tea first!  We had Devonshire clotted cream with fresh strawberries, rhubarb pudding, deep-dish English apple pie, high tea, low tea, cream tea, country tea, lunch in a 12th century manor house, and scones, scones, scones.  We are talking of another trip. . .

To be continued.

Photo:  afternoon tea at Aunt Cella's on a sunny winter day 

A Sip of Tea

 

"Meanwhile, let us have a sip of tea. The afternoon glow is brightening the bamboos, the fountains are bubbling with delight, the soughing of the pines is heard in our kettle. Let us dream of evanescence, and linger in the beautiful foolishness of things." Heather Marek

A Nature Hunt

Autumn is a great season for participating in nature activities with children.  The weather is cool, yet crisp and pleasant.  Foliage is turning shades of orange, red, and brown.  Flowers are going to seed, creating pods and seed packets that are interesting to touch and see.  It is a fantastic season to explore nature with children.  

Here’s a fun game to do outside with children.  Use a word, such as CREATION, and have the children find or see an object from nature that starts with each letter found in that word.  For example ~

C = cattail

R = rabbit

E = egg shell

A = apple

T = tree

I = insect

O = olive leaf

N = nectar

The children can document their findings in a nature journal where they can draw, gather, write about, or photograph the items they found.  When one word is completed, move on to another like NATURE, WILDLIFE, or FOREST.

A Journey

It's a beautiful day for a drive.  What's on your agenda for the day?  
Enjoy autumn while it's here!

“People travel to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars – and they pass by themselves without wondering.”
~ St. Augustine ~
 
Proverbs 7:19 says "for the goodman is not at home, he is gone on a journey."

Indian Summer

Has Indian summer arrived where you live?  The gap of time between summer and autumn is one of my favorite times of the year.  Pleasant temperatures, vibrant colors, and shirt-sleeve weather make this the perfect time of year for exploring nature, far and near.  From Mt. Rainier to cabin meadow, pleasant ventures create happy family times.  Emily Dickinson also found this to be a most pleasant time of year.  Her verse applies, below...

INDIAN SUMMER

by Emily Dickinson

These are the days when birds come back,
A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June, --
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief,

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf!

Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,

Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!

A Doggy Day

Although my thoughts are that spring is reluctant to arrive, Coco and Tia love simple things like a walk along the river on a chilly March day.  Their noses lead them here and there, and they become both entertainer to those around and best friends of the other.  Always in competition for attention, they are quick to respond to a whistle or call, but otherwise traverse double the distance of the human masters they walk with.  Hours of exploration tire them out and they are happy to come home to sleep on the sofa which offers gracious hospitality!  What spoiled dogs they are!

Out Where the West Begins

 

Out Where the West Begins

Out where the handclasp’s a little stronger,
Out where the smile dwells a little longer,
    That’s where the West begins;
Out where the sun is a little brighter,
Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter,
Where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter,
    That’s where the West begins.

Out where the skies are a trifle bluer,
Out where friendship’s a little truer,
    That’s where the West begins;
Out where a fresher breeze is blowing,
Where there’s laughter in every streamlet flowing,
Where there’s more of reaping and less of sowing,
    That’s where the West begins;

Out where the world is in the making,
Where fewer hearts in despair are aching,
    That’s where the West begins;
Where there’s more of singing and less of sighing,
Where there’s more of giving and less of buying,
And a man makes friends without half trying —
    That’s where the West begins.

Out where the West Begins, 1917

Arthur Chapman

Cousin TR on the ranch, checking cattle in the canyon.

Soto Brothers & Renaud

Thirty-some years ago, when on a date with my now husband, I passed through the front doors of this old general store.  Upon entering the double doors, it was easy for me to pretend that it was 1894 and that I was on a trip to town for flour, sugar, salt, dry goods, and tea.  Creaky wooden floors, worn and scuffed by dozens of cowboy boots and high-top shoes, formed the base for displays encased in glass and topped with worn, wooden counter-tops.  Oak barrels filled with ice and jars of soda pop stood by door and counter.  Shelves filled with staples for the kitchen, dry goods and trims, candles and lamp oil, and more were out of reach, making one depend upon the clerk to assist in finding exactly what was needed.  Farm implements, lumber, and mining supplies filled the corners and the yard.  A general store, this Soto Brothers & Renaud merchantile met the needs of many in this once busy ghost town.  Gold no longer brings people to the mine on the hillside across the street, but a myriad of visitors still grace its steps and stoop, seeking the opportunity to step back for a moment in time.  

Although the Pearce General Store is no longer open to the public, I feel blessed that I was once able to visit it at a time when it was still a functioning general store.  Sharing a soda with Brent, we were able to share in a moment that took us back in history.  In surroundings such as this, it wasn't difficult to imagine we were living in the gold rush days.

Pearce General Store, Pearce, Arizona

Of Prickly Pears. . .

Winter in the desert is beautiful.  Although it is the season of rest, the first of February is when life again takes hold and signs of fresh, new life can be seen.  This year, abundant water has left washes and creeks flowing with water.  Water, mixed with the sunshine's warmth has caused signs of life that are not as visible in drier years.  Cacti are plump and enticing because of the moisture available to them.  The teddy bear cacti is especially appealing.  Dry ocatilla  is starting to leaf out, creating long sticks of green leaves.  The prickly pear cactus, so common, is beautiful in large clumps and clusters in the desert.  The desert rain has brought everything to life!

The prickly pear cactus in this picture reminds me of cousin Della, who harvests its inexpensive and abundant fruit from the desert around her ranch-house kitchen.  The prickly pears range are the fruit of the plant, appearing in colors of yellow and red.  When cooked, the prickly pear fruit makes a beautiful, rosy juice that Della cooks into delicious jelly that she shares with those she loves.  I always love it when she shares with our family!  Prickly pear juice also makes wonderful candy, soft and chewy.

Have you ever made prickly pear jelly?  Or eaten candy made from its rosy juice?

Hot Tea at Teakettle Junction

January is National Hot Tea Month, and of course a post in its honor is in order. Named thus by the Tea Association of the USA, its purpose is to promote the value of a hot cup of tea. The claimed health benefits of tea are many, ranging from an increased immune response to the reduction of heart disease and cancer. Thus, I am sipping on a hot cup of Snow Sprout tea as I write. To research the benefits of this herb, check out the Tea Association website.

Seeking to draw attention to this designated month, my mind skipped through a variety of things I could write about. Teapots, teacups, gawan porcelain bowls, and three-tiered trays all came to mind. But finding the obscure or unusual to celebrate this cozy past-time seemed important.

I decided to share with readers about a very interesting and out-of-the-way place in Death Valley, California. Located twenty miles from Ubehebe Crater, eighteen miles from Hunter Mountain, and six miles from Racetrack on a remote and rugged road is a junction named Teakettle. A hundred years ago, miners in search of wealth and adventure would pass this way and mark the junction by placing a teakettle in its spot. First one, then more teakettles have been added until it's become quite famous as a place to leave one's mark by adding a teakettle of one's own to the stash. Visitors leave a teakettle, signed and dated for others to see at this remote junction. It appears that teakettles serve a serious place in American history, even in remote desert places! If you decide to drive there and add a teakettle of your own, be sure to take a spare tire or two with you. The road is very rough and scattered with sharp and jagged rocks! A Death Valley mule might be a better, albeit slower mode of transportation!

A visit to this historic spot allows the imagination to travel back in time, wondering who passed this way before and what type of delicious hot tea they served around a campfire and with whom it was shared.

Happy National Hot Tea Month!

Traveling Teapot on a Picnic

Our family was invited to a picnic along the Columbia Gorge, and the traveling teapot went along. We met our friends at a beautiful park on the shores of the Columbia River and because it was somewhat breezy, had our picnic inside a restored and historic "Lock Tender" house. Cozy, warm, and comfortably appointed, we enjoyed a lunch of stacked taco salad with toppings, clusters of Interlaken grapes, hot tea, and cookies. Because it was a picnic, porcelain tea mugs accompanied the traveling teapot rather than teacups and saucers. Peppermint and chamomile teas were the choice of the day, and the story of the traveling teapot was told. After a leisurely lunch, the traveling teapot was packed back into a wicker hamper and packed away for its next adventure. While our family and friends hiked on a beautiful autumn day, the traveling teapot rested in the hamper, waiting for it's next teatime experience. How fun it must be to be a traveling teapot!

[Click on photo for close-up view]