Week of May 3rd -8th

I decided that it’s stupid to have to scroll down and read backwards, so from now on, I’ll post oldest to newest, even if blogspot posts newest to oldest. Sorry for the confusion, but I think it’ll be easier to follow this way.


May 3, 2005

There’s been a ruffed grouse haunting one of the apple trees between the cabin and the garden. Twice last week I spooked her as I made my way down the path, the leafy mass exploding with wing beats. This evening I stepped out onto the deck to water my geraniums and here she came and landed in that same apple tree. I crept back as quietly as I could, slid the screen door open, and grabbed my binoculars. I focused the lens, and there she was, larger than life. Little crest atop her head, black broken bands on her plump breast. I watched her for a minute. Was she nesting? I could have sworn that grouse nested on the ground, even beneath snow in winter. Well, she settled in and went right to munching on the tender leaves. No, she wasn’t nesting, just noshing.

I’ve seen grouse before, but never this clearly. Usually you practically step on them and then they’re off in a flash of tanbrownwhite and you’re left there with your heart racing. I don’t know how hunters ever get a shot at them. Unless it’s when—like tonight—they seem oblivious. This one went right on having her apple leaf dinner even as I leaned over the deck flashing photo after photo. Here she is:





May 5, 2005

It started to rain just after I turned off the last lamp and settled in to sleep around midnight, and it’s still drizzling now at midmorning. I’m not sure if this bodes ill or well for my garden, which seems to be struggling. The mildew or mold or whatever it is continues to wreak havoc, and I feel like a Civil War doctor every time I march in and amputate the dying leaves and branches. The soil is clayey and clumpy, and I’m not entirely sure if the plants are getting too much or not enough water. The days have been sunny and hot, so I’ve been watering in the morning and at night, but maybe I’m watering too much, and that’s why everything looks so unproductive. I can only guess the effect of this latest rain. I keep waiting for everything to just pop, but so far only my peppers and tomatillo seem happy.

The gray rain, the drops falling from the eaves, a fire in the wood stove and a pot of coffee warming atop it—these things breed poems. Here’s one I just finished:

One Fell Swoop


I park beneath the leaning tree,
having left the one-lane bridge

behind me. No one else around
for miles. Ridges point their teeth

toward the empty bowl of sky.
Inside, the wood stove pulses heat,

its straight black artery clogged
with plaque. I eat what I shouldn’t,

smoke my pipe, gaze into the dark
of the forest’s open eyes. This

place once teemed with Indians.
Every gift given is taken back.

I wait, I wait for the attack.


May 6, 2005

4:00 PM
My radio phone stopped working today. Suddenly, I get no dial tone or noise of any kind besides the tones for the numbers on the keypad. I don’t like having no way to call for help. It makes all the more frightening the prospect of a heart attack, a broken leg, a rattlesnake bite, a deep cut. I kept fiddling with the phone, but no luck, so I decided to drive up the road to a high elevation where I could get a signal on my cell phone. The DH road was a muddy mess after two days of rain and the BLM road was even worse given all the cars and trucks coming out to see the crazy castle, which goes up for auction tomorrow. I drove through drizzle and deep fog, and after a half-hour drive up, I finally got two bars on the cell, through fog and all, and called the company that handles the radio phone. The guy was of little help. He said he’d try calling me, and that if it rang but I couldn’t answer, then it was a problem on my end. If it was a problem on their end, he’d get to work on it. Well, I’ve been back at the cabin for almost an hour, and the phone hasn’t rung. Did he try to call me? I don’t know. While I had cell reception, I also called Bradley and left a message with him asking that he try calling me tonight. If I get no call, I’ll assume my phone is broken. And if that’s the case, I’ll take it out with me when I go to GP on Monday to pick up the Omega proof. I was going to track the package and see if it arrived by Saturday morning, but if the phone doesn’t work, I can’t call, and I don’t want to travel the muddy roads again. Monday it’ll have to be. The one serendipitous occurrence in all of this was that as I was driving out I passed two vehicles going in. One car had a young couple in it. The other, a lone young man. It occurred to me that they’re probably caretaking at the castle and showing the place to potential bidders. They’re also probably behind the gunshots I’ve been hearing off and on for the last week or two. After I made my calls and turned around, I encountered another car. This time it was an older couple. I stopped and chatted with them. Them seemed like good people. Yes, they’d been up at the castle. No, they wouldn’t be bidding. Too rich for their blood. Yes, there’s some young folks caretaking the place. Go have a look. I couldn’t resist. I was dying to see the inside of the place. So I drove on in. There were three or four cars, and when I pulled up, a kid no older than twenty-five, dressed in camo pants and a hooded sweatshirt, walked up to my car. “Here to see the place?” he asked. I told him I was. Another guy, tall and late twenties, stood with a camera taking a picture of his wife or girlfriend and their baby. I doubted they’d be bidding on the place, too, from the look of them. The kid ushered me inside. The place wasn’t as nice as I’d imagined it would be, but it was something. The bullet-proof windows, tiny slats really, were covered with steel, so there wasn’t much light inside. The bedroom was nice, with recessed dressers and shelves. There was a full-sized, pink-tiled Jacuzzi bath. A couple of the rooms looked as though they’d never been used at all. I climbed the ladder up to the turret, which had the same thin windows for shooting out of. The kid told me there were a couple of tunnel exits, but I declined going in them. I’d seen enough. I chatted briefly with the gaggle hanging outside the door. They’d noticed my New York tags and thought I’d come all the way from New York to buy the stupid castle out in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t disabuse them of the notion. It was fun to pretend I was a millionaire. I said to the kid in camo, “So, caretaking out here—now you’ll be able to say you’ve lived in a castle, even if it was for only a couple of weeks.” The kid laughed. “Actually, we’re staying in a tent at Marial.” That was nice to know. They’d probably shot off their guns just before heading back to their tents for the evening, after all the potential bidders had left. Soggy weather to be sleeping in a tent. I hope they’re getting paid well.

9:00 AM
Another drizzly morning, the canyon shrouded in fog and mist. I’m hoping to finish the short story today. I worked on it for about six hours yesterday, and it’s almost done. I know how it’s going to end. I left off last night at page 30, and it’s pretty tight, so not much revision will be necessary. Wish me luck with the ending.

As I said in yesterday’s blog entry, this is poetry weather. Process: Insert coffee, yogurt, granola, banana bread grilled with butter, and orange juice. Out comes this:

Full of Blood, and Irrelevant


If memory had fingers, it would wring
from me each forgettable day we shared.

The double-date drive to Plum Island
in the pouring rain, windows fogged

like shower glass. I’d listen now to your
every laugh. That Sunday morning,

March, repairing a botched crossword
while our clothes rolled in the laundromat’s

mechanical song. What shirt were you
wearing? How long was your hair then?

A year in retrospect is a checked list
written in disappearing ink, clutched

in a tight fist. Pick up shampoo. Take out
trash. Replace washer in kitchen sink.

How many hours did we pass together?
How many games did we play?

Given the chance to do it over, would we
do it the same way? And if memory

did have fingers and those fingers formed
a fist, would those times shine out,

red as rubies, full of blood, and irrelevant?


May 7, 2005

Shortly after I wrote yesterday’s entry, my radio phone rang, and it was Marge letting me know the Omega proof had arrived in GP. After I hung up with her, the phone was working fine. I don’t know if the folks at the phone company fixed it, or if I just needed someone to call to reset the thing somehow. In any case, it’s working again. I heard from Jim this afternoon, who called to say he’d mailed me two more episodes of Deadwood on DVD. Sweet. You have no idea what a treat that is for me out here. I’ll make popcorn, and it’ll be like the movies. I also was able to call Jim back, when the stupid phone cut out after ten minutes. This is one of the annoying features about this radio phone. Because I’m on a party line with a half-dozen other people on the river, the calls are limited to ten minutes. I suppose it makes sense; you don’t want someone hogging the line all night. “So, how’s your papa’s horses?”

It’s been a rainy few days, but the clouds finally blew away and stayed away for most of the afternoon. The drizzle came back an hour after I hung my laundry on the line. Go figger. I was hoping for a weekend of warm, sunny days to dry out the muddy road. It’s in rough shape from all the people coming out to look at the castle, which must have sold at today’s auction. But there was enough sun today that I got to walk the perimeter of all the meadows (except the pond area) and pull up or lop saplings. This is one of my chores. If it’s not done, the forest creeps in a little every year. It took me several hours. Saw some dog ticks, but flicked them off. I must have yanked out a thousand fir trees. Lots of poison oak, but I was careful. And I washed with Tecnu afterward. My other big chore for the day was weedwhacking the garden. I mowed it three weeks ago, and it was already getting high again. While the grass and weeds grow, my vegetables continue to languish. Maybe it’s the weather or the soil. The strawberries are bearing lots of green fruit, though, after my intense weeding and mulching. I hope to make some strawberry jam. The garden fence is working well. No shorts yet. Needle in the green, Mr. Bear ain’t been seen; needle in the red, on garden he’s fed. I think I’ve zapped a bear twice in the night. I found two of the bear licks knocked off the fence. Hmmm.

For dinner tonight I got adventurous with the leftovers and made a meat pie. It was scrumptious! I made a homemade tart crust. Meanwhile I chopped up the remaining roast I made the other day, and mixed it together with sweet corn, onions, garlic, asiago cheese, and the au jus from the roast. I rolled out the tart dough, cut it square, and added the filling, sealing up the edges. It came out like a big burrito, only crunchy and buttery on the outside. The corn added a sweetness that went perfectly with the rest. I ate the whole thing. For dessert: two slices of watermelon, my first of the year. I’m getting hungry again just thinking about it.

Last night I finished the short story I’ve been working on. I titled it “The Blue Tent.” I think it’s the best story I’ve ever written. I want to tweak it a bit more, and then I’ll send it out somewhere.

It’s 11:35 PM, and suddenly pouring rain. My clothes are still on the line. An extra rinse cycle, I guess. So much for the road drying out. The sound of the drops on the roof and skylights does make for cozy sleeping, though.

Good night, faithful readers.


May 8, 2005

Another typical May day in the Pacific Northwest. I woke to rain, and then it cleared in the afternoon. But, of course, a few more showers came through. Again, I spent the morning composing a poem. I’m liking this routine. Here’s the poem:

Citizen of the Lone World


The underclothes I hung on the line to dry
drip now, sad wet flags
of my private country.

Mist inches across the meadow like a ship.
Cliff swallows convey their joy
or hunger through the fog.

I reside inside—the house, my head, that place
I go where the path
is unknowable

and there is no return but for the useless map
I’m left with. My dog,
asleep at my feet,

tramps through his own gray territories.
He, too, feels no need
to be found.

When I’ve wandered far enough, I will surrender,
I will return. There is always
a blue door.


I’ve had crosswords on the brain again, after a recent email from the crossword editor at the L.A. Times. He wrote to say there was a problem with the puzzle of mine he’d accepted last summer, and he wanted me to fix it. He was hoping to run the puzzle at the end of May, and still might if I can get it repaired soon. I wrote him back explaining my situation: no Internet. He said to send it whenever I could. Well, I got home and, alas, I don’t have the latest version of the file on my laptop. I’m going to have to get him to send me the file, and then I can try to repair it. Apparently the problem was that I had a crossover: I used ACADEMYAWARD and ACADEMIC. I didn’t catch this flaw, either. We were both negligent. He had a couple of other words he suggested I change, too. So, I have this bit of work ahead of me.

In the meantime, I revisited a 70-word themeless puzzle I started back in the fall. I’m in the process of writing clues for that one. There are a few for which I need the Internet. If there’s one thing that requires Internet access, it’s puzzle-making. Anyway, I hope to send that one out, too.

When the rain stopped, I fired up the generator, plugged in the laser printer, and printed three stories to send out, including the new one, “The Blue Tent.” I’m aiming high with that one and sending it to The New Yorker. It’s a crapshoot, but what the hey. I’m sending the other two to a magazine called American Short Fiction. I plan to put together some poetry submissions soon, too. I should also send out the latest chicken story, but I can’t think of a good venue. The Monitor doesn’t like anything with blood or death. And, they never responded to my last two essay submissions. I’ll keep thinking of a place to send it.

Went out to the garden this evening and took some photos. The plants look a little happier after three days of rain and this afternoon’s sun. The three cuke plants I was worried about have made a comeback. I only lost two.


Sharen will like that the garden is a lockdown facility, barbed wire and electrified fence!


I did some pruning of the wine grapes the other day. They’re leafing like mad.


This bed contains peppers, lettuce and basil. I also planted peas, but they haven’t come up yet. The photo makes it look small, but this bed is actually about 25- or 30-feet long.


One of the pepper plants.


A mesclun salad mix.


I’ll have strawberries soon!


One of about nine strawberry plants.


Beds, looking due south. The structure in the background is the old chicken coop, which isn’t being used.


I’m a complete failure as a naturalist, for this is another flower I can’t identify. Someone planted them in the garden, so it’s a perennial of some kind. “Hello, Mr. Bee!”


The new chicken coop, also a lockdown facility!


I’m hoping this will keep out the maniac chicken killer.


Speaking of the perp, that’s him on the deck, to the left, angry that I’m outside without him.


“Here’s your daddy!”