FLOUNDER

August 1, 2011-Monday

We started the new week by rising at 9.

Outside it was cloudy and 51.

Coffee and Chai tea were enjoyed while we surfed the web then the writer forsook the web to make some notes.

Later we had cold cereal and fresh blueberries for breakfast.

Onie was so busy yesterday she didn’t get to fill the fresh water tank as she usually does when the driver is draining the holding tanks so we took on a full one hundred gallons this morning.

With water on board we took our showers before the writer set to work to finish week nine.

With week nine completed he went outside to clean the patio while Onie stayed in and cleaned the kitchen.

With a clean kitchen to work in we got out more fish to can. It was still frozen so it was set out to thaw.

The flounder Onie caught the other day was taken to the fish cleaning table where it was fileted while Onie prepared a dressing for it.

Finished with the flounder the driver prepared two canners and hooked up Kurt’s burner. All would be ready when the fish thawed, was stuffed in jars, seasoned and capped. It would just be a matter of loading the canners and starting a fire under them.

At last it was time to fish. The fisherman managed to land one out of four and after stringing it he went back to get the editor to come to the grate and try her hand. She lost one and landed one. Now there were two on the stringer.

By this time in the season one would think the back, shoulders, elbows, wrists, arms, legs and hips would be used to the motions necessary to accomplish the Kenai flip and jerk and perhaps one would be right. However this late in the season those same places protest fairly early in the fishing when there are few fish being caught. It is amazing how one can be hurting in places one isn’t usually even aware of when the catch is slow. On the other hand once one catches a fish the aches and pains vanish with the first tug on the line. Today the aches and pains seemed to be in the forefront as the hooking and catching was going very slow.

With the two fish strung the couple went back to the coach where the writer made notes and the navigator stuffed jars with the fish that had thawed.

With a few notes jotted down the writer went to the river to filet the fish we had caught.

A cold north wind blew down the collar of the writer as he dressed the fish. The wind had shifted to the north yesterday and today it had been cold and cloudy since the couple rose.

With the two fish dressed the writer decided to give the river one more chance to give up another fish. It was a stingy river on this day but it did eventually give up one more fish. It too was fileted.

The sonar counter indicated that 17,000 fish came in yesterday. The writer feels if that number is correct then he, the writer, can walk on water. In past years when the counter said 17,000 fish the writer, and several other folks, could catch six fish in an hour and a half. The fishermen haven’t lost their touch so much as the sonar, or the people running it, are making false reports. Several locals believe the numbers are being skewed due to political influences.

With the dressed fish he headed back to the coach where he helped Onie load the canners and get them started.

Then he fished a little more.

Onie made a salad and stuffed and baked the flounder.

That brought the writer back from the river.

Inside the coach he answered a phone call from Becky and invited her and Kurt down for flounder. She said they may come down.

Inside with Onie it was warm and toasty. Outside it was cold and cloudy. In addition, the no-seeums were coming out, which means wearing long white socks is a must. The writer was bitten a few days ago and the areas were still sore, red and swollen.

Kurt and Becky did come down and we tried the flounder. The vote was unanimous; the creation Onie had served up was delicious.

Kurt and Becky stayed a while, to visit.

When they left, we finished supper then watched GSN while keeping an eye on the canners.

By 9:30 Onie was ready to call it a day and snuggled down in bed and slept.

The writer stayed up to tend a canner. When 10:30 came he ventured outside and turned off the burner.

Back inside he made notes and watched GSN until 12 when he switched to Tru TV. He continued watching and writing until two when he went to bed.

As his head hit the pillow the rain began falling, again.

DEAF EARS

August 2, 2011-Tuesday

It rained all night and was 55 at 3:30.

Onie was up at 7 to have coffee and check her email before dressing for gym.

The writer was stirring by 8:30 just as Onie was leaving for the gym. He made himself a cup of Chai tea and sat down at his laptop to check email and enews before writing on week ten.

In a little while he had breakfast and worked a crossword.

Outside it was still raining.

After breakfast more notes were made as well as a little more writing before Onie got home at 11:30.

The rain was continuing in the 60 degree weather.

There was more writing taking place and then we worked crosswords.

Working yet another crossword Onie had her breakfast.

Outside it was still raining.

Twenty one thousand fish came in yesterday. We should be able to catch some.

The rain finally quit but it was still very cloudy and there was little if any wind.

On the web the writer found the market doesn’t like debt hike or economic news any more than he does.

One of the really neat things about most of the folks that are elected to go the DC to represent the people is that once in DC they lose their hearing. The people, through interviews, letters, emails and polls said overwhelmingly “don’t increase the national debt”. Once more input from the electorate fell on deaf ears again proving the old adage “It is hard to teach old dogs new tricks”. It seems that once the elected reach the hallowed halls of Congress and the White House they become superior beings who know best for the poor stupid souls that voted for them. Not spending more than one takes in is sometimes a hard lesson to learn for Mr. and Mrs. Average Joe but it seems it is an impossible lesson for DC pols. The only answer is to get rid of the old deaf dogs in DC and get some new puppies with good hearing that have learned their obedience lessons. Politicians, like dogs, who cannot or will not obey their masters, the electorate, need to be replaced and the sooner the better. The American public cannot afford any more of the old leadership that doesn’t lead and actually impedes growth and prosperity. No individual, family or country ever spent its way to prosperity.

When a country is headed by a president that doesn’t do anything but talk and spend money and who has no economic plans except to spend more money than the country has, like the profligate spending family, it is headed for economic disaster if not bankruptcy. This is a lesson that even the most liberal, liberal has to learn on a personal basis. Most of the current folks in DC are like a teenager with a credit card when mom and pop are paying the bills. Since the teenager doesn’t have to pay the bill there is no responsible spending. In this case the irresponsible teens are the elected people who want to continue spending even though we can’t pay the bill. The time has come to cut them off and cut up the credit cards they have been using. The message now and in the future should be no more debt and if you vote for more debt you will be among the 9.2+% that are out of work in our country, no ifs, no ands and no buts.

Thourghly disgusted with the clowns in DC the writer headed off to shower, dress and go fish with Onie.

Low rainfall and snowfall led to less runoff in the Kenai drainage this year and the river had never reached its normal level. Right now it is about 6-8 inches below normal and the level is falling again. One has to wonder how the low water levels will affect the spawn.

Today we reached a high of 61 amid the rain.

When the afternoon was growing long and the shadows began to lengthen the writer began cleaning the fish he and Onie had caught. Onie fished on and added one more to the stringer before the fileting was done.

Mike and Marguerite picked us up at 7 and we headed to St. Elias where the writer and Onie shared a salad and pizza.

We figured there would be no crowd at the restaurant since it was Tuesday night but we figured wrong and the place was packed.

We were back at 10 when we put the fish on ice in our cooler.

A few notes were jotted down before we got ready for bed.

Outside a cold north wind was blowing as it had been now for two days but the skies were clearing.

When we tumbled into bed at 10:30 to watch GSN it was 55 outside.

FOUR CANNERS OR IS IT THREE?

August 3, 2011-Wednesday

Our internal alarm clocks woke us at 8:30 or perhaps it was the need to visit a fire hydrant. Either way we woke to cloudy skies that were delivering rain through 50 degree air.

We had our Chai tea and coffee as we planned our day before we took our showers.

Onie started stuffing jars while I emptied old water from and cleaned canners and got them ready to go again.

With Onie was still stuffing jars the writer went to fish with Mike.

The river was on a little rise due to rain. After a few casts the writer went back to check on Onie and see how the jar stuffing was coming.

She had breakfast ready; eggs, bacon, English muffin and figs.

Eating breakfast we discussed how long it had been raining and cold. The north wind that had been blowing all night, waking me up with the awning flapping, continued to whistle about our rig. During the night I had thought about putting the awning up but there is too much stuff under it that needed to be kept dry so it was left up.

After breakfast it was back to fish with Mike. We each caught a fish before it was time to go back to load a couple of canners and start them.

It was still raining and cold.

Onie needed to get more fish from the shed fridge to the cleaning table so the writer became the lift and tote man. At the cleaning table she trimmed and cut fish to can.

While she worked the writer played, fishing. He caught one more.

Twenty thousand eight hundred five reds came in yesterday according to sonar. The writer has determined to never believe political driven technology. Sonar or voting machines, you fix ‘em, they cheat ‘em. The ADFG needs big numbers in the river to justify satisfying the commercial fisheries voting bloc, who are all residents, as opposed to being truthful with the sport fishermen, many of whom are non-voting outsiders.

Onie got the jars ready for a third canner as the writer talked to Jim Johnson, on the phone.

Then he went to fish and managed to land a 3rd fish. According to his and Mike’s calculations that meant there were still twenty eight thousand eight hundred reds left to be caught, from yesterday’s fish.

Back at the coach the writer loaded and started the third canner. He took out the camera and photographed some of the beautiful flowers around the campground and Onie sitting in new campground chairs.

One of the many flower boxes in camp.

Beautiful flower bed in front of lodge.

Just past the entrance to the campground.

New chairs with side table and a lined cooler bag on the other side. Julie picked these up at Costco.
They’re very light weight and popular in camp.

Becky came down to invite us to dinner tonight at 6. She is having most of the camp up for dinner as she is cleaning out her freezer in anticipation of going home for a few days/weeks, on Sunday.

After the canner was started it was back to fishing, in the rain. The north wind continued to whip down the river driving the cold rain before it. The writer had been fishing now for 4 hours and only had 3 fish to show for his efforts. Fishing would have to pick up to be slow.

With only forty five minutes left before supper on the hill the fisherman began cleaning his fish. They had been very slow in coming. He only lost 3 during the four hours of fishing. Either somebody is lying about the sonar or it is defective. It was installed this year and was supposed to be more accurate than the one it replaced. With the old one the writer could catch six fish in an hour and half when the count was twenty one thousand. It seems to him the sonar count is all about politics and not about fish.

He was in the coach at 5:30 and the rain stopped.

Onie had started the fourth canner of the day.

The fisherman cleaned up and dressed for dinner so he could ride in the same car with Onie.

As it turned out she stayed at the coach a little while to wait for the canner to come up to pressure to be ready for a ninety minute run. The writer rode up to the house with Dixie and Kris, in Dixie’s truck.

The wind and rain, when it falls, makes it hard to regulate the heat from the burner and get the canner right.

At Kurt’s, Frank, Inger, Dennis, Sandy, Kris, Dixie, Mike, Marguerite and the writer gathered for snacks. Onie got to the house at 6:30.

Supper was served at seven.

The writer excused himself at eight thirty to go down to turn off the canner. When he arrived at the coach the fire was out and the pressure was gone, oops! The canner was cool. Apparently the wind and rain had proved too much for the flame.

The writer went back up to the house where the aggregation visited until ten. On the way home the writer broke the news to Onie about the canner.

The jars would have to be put on ice, for the night, and on the morrow opened, new lids applied and then put back in the canner to reseal. Oh My! All of Onie’s hard work on the fourth canner would have to be repeated but there was no other way to save the fish.

Onie was tired and went to bed at 10:30. Kris had stopped at our rig when we came back down and she and the writer sat outside and visited until eleven when the mosquitoes and white socks chased them to their respective rigs.

The writer checked the jars in the canner. They were still too hot to be covered with ice so he went in to watch GSN until twelve when he went out to check on them again. They were still too hot so he went in and played Solitaire for half an hour before going back out at twelve thirty.

The jars were cool. He put them in the cooler and put ice on them then went back in and made notes and wrote until two.

The rain had stopped. The clouds had fled. The wind still blew from the north. It was cold and clear.

POST TURTLE

August 4, 2011-Thursday

Onie seems to like getting up at 7:15, having her coffee and a snack before going off to the gym and Zumba, at 8:30.

The author slept until 10:30 when it was 65 and mostly cloudy with a few drops of rain falling now and then.

He had his Chai tea, read the paper and enews, checked his email, made some notes and wrote a bit before Onie got back.

She got home a little later than usual as she had stopped to shop at Freddies. When we had her purchases in, she retired to the bedroom for a nap.

The writer finally got around to having breakfast and tea as well as working a crossword.

The few drops that fell earlier turned to rain at one and dropped the temp to fifty nine.

More notes were made and he checked the fish count. The sonar reported 10,000.

The writer/fisherman was fed up with what he perceived to be erroneous counts so he wrote the ADFG to lodge his complaint. He doesn’t expect a reply from some nameless political hack who answers to no one except those who pay him/her.

One has to just love the efficiency with which our government functions. Elected officials and their toadies live insulated lives that barely resemble those of the people they are supposed to serve. If the average citizen carried out his job functions like those employed by the government he would be gone in a day, or less. Laws are made, rules are promulgated and fees imposed all in the name of public service when in fact many are designed only to insure the continued electability or employment of those on the government payrolls. When bad things happen to good people like today, when many had their savings wiped out with a 500+ plunge on Wall Street, courtesy of the U.S. governing body and a bumbling inept toad of a president those same elected officials can do nothing but point fingers and lay blame elsewhere. But lest we seek to put the blame on a hapless toad let us place the blame where it belongs, on those uninformed beguiled individuals who made him a post turtle to begin with.

Nothing seems to be so frustrating, to the writer, as the political mess the country is in and the mindset of the people who put her there. The sense of entitlement and the desire to have someone else responsible for every misdeed, food, clothing and shelter leads the writer to believe we have become a nation of children of every age. With that unflattering thought of the American public in general and many folks in particular he went to the grate to fish.

Fishing seems to bring everything into perspective while bringing home some basic truths. One needs to work if one wants to eat. The work may be desirable or considered onerous and while some parts may be fun or even entertaining other parts may be slimy, bloody and not too much fun. If one is not persistent in their work their efforts may fail and they may not have anything to eat while if they are patient, learn their trade and pursue it with a vengeance they will have plenty and can even share with those less fortunate. Those who refuse to work will go hungry and perish, in the natural scheme of things, and will not be able to pass their lazy traits on to offspring.

Beings as simple as fish are imbued with this instinct and strive to find something to eat, shelter from strong currents and a safe friendly place to raise young. Those failing in these basic attributes have their genes deleted from the living. Fish are too simple to devise methods to allow the slovenly laziness of some to be perpetuated and multiplied thus pulling down the entire species. It seems only humans permit those least productive to be the most prolific reproducers, as a rule, and thus bring down whole societies as they become an increasingly unaffordable burden to the productive members of that society. One only need look at the great civilizations of history to see the mistake repeated over and over. Reliance on government for basic needs by a large portion of society brings down even the strongest of governments and civilizations.

Fishing for two hours in a river that was still rising helped the writer sort out these thoughts and many more as he realized, once again, that a basic difference between ants and people, other than the fact that people have souls, is that people can write and ants can’t.

Mulling over these thoughts the writer caught four fish, kept one and released the others. In the process he lost several.

The sonar counter indicated ten thousand reds came in yesterday but today they were somewhere other than at our grate.

With a cold wind blowing mist on and around the fisherman he repaired to the coach to help Onie with the canner then returned to fishing. Where the catching had been slow earlier it now became nonexistent while the mist turned to rain and began dragging down the temp.

The high which was 65 was now giving way to lower numbers.

A respite was provided to the fisherman when Kurt and Becky came down to return some things and bring yard sale stuff Becky had washed for Onie.

Under the protection of the awning we visited for an hour or so as the rain continued.

By eight thirty the temp had fallen to fifty three and with the humidity felt much colder.

The canner that had been started earlier was turned off at nine thirty before the fisherman went to clean his catch.

Supper, salad and black bean tacos, was on the table at ten fifteen.

Outside the drizzling rain fell through the 52 degree air. It was almost dark.

Supper was a short affair and both driver and navigator were asleep at ten thirty.

THREE AND THREE

August 5, 2011-Friday

It was clear and 39 at 6.

We were up at 8 having our coffee and tea. Outside it was a comfortable 43.

After breakfast Onie dressed and left for her yard sale duties. This involves driving around with friends, looking for yard sale signs, following the signs to a particular house then going through a myriad of things looking for that one special thing even though one doesn’t know what that special thing might be. When the “thing” is discovered it is examined, shown to the accompanying friends, considered and re-examined and then a preliminary decision is made about whether or not it is; a-useful, b-serviceable, c-fairly priced, d-can be had for less and d-is it needed. If all the answers are yes it may or may not be purchased depending on the time of day, the phase of the moon, which way the wind is blowing, can it easily carried on an airplane or transported in the basement of the coach, does anyone have anything remotely resembling it and is it or could it be fun to have.

All of this is very interesting and fun to the participants but the writer thinks that an overriding consideration of whether or not to yard sale depends on where the group will lunch. After all, yard sales are a social activity and lunching at an intimate little place with a menu that caters to a lady’s taste has to rank very high on things to do.

(The above two paragraphs represents the writer’s observations and opinions about yard sale activities and in no way is meant to be an accurate of truthful representation of actual facts. A factual and unemotional account may be obtained by consulting a participant.)

With the coach to himself the writer showered and dressed.

Kurt came by at 10. We went to winterize Earl’s rig. When that was done we went up and put the small boat away, in the woods.

While he mowed the yard, I got some lumber and battery powered saws to cut shelves for the shed and to work on the overhead in the coach.

Back at the campground the writer fished a few minutes. The river was now higher than all summer due to lots of rain up river. This makes fishing easier, for the writer. He was optimistic about catching fish as 10, 000 came in yesterday. When no fish appeared on his line he left to make some notes.

He noted it was sunny with some clouds and windy at two when the temp was sitting on sixty five.

Notes made he went outside again to clean the smoker and put it away for the summer then it was back to the grate where he hooked one that broke off under the grate.

Back at the coach site he straightened up the patio and went to the laundry to start a load of wash. Mike came down to start a load of clothes, also. Marguerite had gone to the yard sales also. He came to the coach to visit. Then Kurt, another yard sale bachelor, came back down to visit. When our neighbor Frank, saw the testosterone gathering he joined the group.

With a lively discussion going on about how to solve the world problems and those closer to home, the writer excused himself to go start another load of clothes and put the first load in a dryer.

Walking back to the coach the writer noticed how it was still sunny but turning blustery. Even with the wind out of south it was cold.

Joining back in the discussion the writer opined how many of the world’s problems could be solved by applying the board of education to the seat of learning for many teenagers and their younger counterparts. In addition wayward adults could be brought to bay by hitting them where it hurts the most, in their wallets. We have too many scofflaws simply because a two hundred dollar fine is meaningless to them. A fine, for traffic violations, of one to ten thousand dollars with a mandatory loss of license for ninety days, for first conviction, would go a long way toward stopping these inconsiderate over aged children. Their parents failed them by not teaching them to obey the laws of the land but that can be corrected when the consequences of bad immature actions is met with punishment designed to be meaningful and not merely bothersome.

Having presented an obvious fix for this problem that baffles our elected elite the writer went back to fold the first load of clothes out of the dryer and start another.

He circumvented the convocation, of great minds, and went back to the river to fish a little, with no success.

He went back to visit with the guys.

Their attention had shifted to national politics. The way they had figured things out it shouldn’t be too complicated to run the country. The government and those who govern only needed a few simple rules; 1-live within your means, 2-all laws apply equally to everyone, the governed and those who govern, no special benefits for anyone; 3-if those who govern cheat, lie or steal they will be sent to their eternal reward, be it what it may, 4-those who are physically able and don’t work don’t eat, 5-only people who pay taxes and receive no government assistance, of any kind, including being on public payrolls of any kind, may vote, 6-laws passed by the Congress are not reviewable by any court including the Supreme Court except for Constitutional issues, 7-public employees shall never make more than 10% less than taxpayers in like jobs, 8-presidential salary shall be 10% less than the average salary for small business owners who employ 100 or fewer people, 9- senators shall make 20% less than the president, 10-representatives, the elected officials who are supposed to be the voice of “everyman” shall make 10% less that the average blue collar wage, 11-if you are in our country illegally you will be dealt with as though you were an illegal in your own country, ie: if illegals in your country are incarcerated for life at hard labor that will be your fate, 12-there will be no unionization or collective bargaining agreements of any individual or organization that is in the public domain or contracts with anybody in the public domain.

While it was agreed this was not the answer to every problem all agreed it was a good start.

We probably could have solved a lot more problems except for the fact that the yard sale wives returned home at six thirty.

The discussion group broke up to help their wives with the newly acquired treasures.

Just as the writer had been shown the last of the new treasures, some for him and he has many which he too treasures, Becky came down to invite us up for “wings”.

We showed up on the hill sometime later. After some obligatory visiting and a libation or two we sat down to three kinds of wings, three kinds of cheese, boneless pork ribs, pickled wild asparagus and other good viands.

Somewhere along the line the writer excused himself to go down to fold the second load of clothes before going back to visit.

He and Onie went home at 9 and got the last load of clothes from the laundry. We visited while we folded them then went to bed at 9:30 to watch TV.

We slept at 10:30.

Outside the rig there was a clear sky through which a light wind sung.

RESCUE JAR

August 6, 2011-Saturday

The clear sky remained all night and the light wind had gone to bed when darkness set in. Yes, it is getting dark here. With the clear sky and lack of wind a light frost settled over the campground lending a white sheen to things in the early morning sun. It was 6:30.

By the time the writer rose at 9 the temp had already climbed to 51 but the sun had given way to an overcast sky though there was still no wind.

The writer sat at his laptop and made notes and sipped Chai tea.

Kurt knew the writer was going to put another row of shelves in his shed so when he, Kurt, was in town he had picked up brackets for the writer. At 9:30 he came by and dropped them off.

The writer told him fish would be brought up for him to drop off at White River, as we had promised. The writer said he would also wash the toad while he is there.

Onie got up and had her first cup of coffee.

Still seated at the laptop the writer continued making notes and surfing the web. The web was extremely slow and frustrating and was soon deserted in favor of more notes.

Onie worked a crossword and then made biscuits for breakfast. Sausage and a Rescue Jar of figs rounded out our meal.

We got a real kick out of opening the box with our rescue jars of figs. Once we ran out up here and
Brother E.C. and Sister Patty had to ship an emergency supply. Whole wheat biscuits would not be
the same without this topping.

After breakfast we cleaned canners and got ours ready to start again, when the jars are ready. Onie washed Becky’s canner and got it ready for her to store. I disconnected our propane bottle from Kurt’s burner and put the burner in the car with the canner, took fish out of the freezer for Kurt to take to White River then drove up to the house.

Onie was left stuffing jars.

At the house Kurt and the writer put the fish in a transport box he had in the freezer. He had already put some fish in the box and when we added ours the box was full. With that part of the chores done we vacuumed Onie’s car and he vacuum sealed some fish tails for Onie. Then it was time to wash the car cleaning the door jambs and sills. When we were finished the writer took the car down to the coach. He drove slow to keep off the dust that might soon be settled by the light sprinkle that was falling.

Onie was ready to wash a load of clothes so the writer carried a load of wash up to the lodge for her then he walked to the river.

The water was finally over the grate a little. It should have been there two or three weeks ago but lack of heavy snow and light spring rains combined to keep it low.

The knowledge that 11,000 fish came in yesterday was a big tug on the writer to become the fisherman but he resisted and instead started work on another shelf for the shed.

Kurt and Becky came down and dropped by the coach. They were making the rounds of their friends in camp. Becky had made Fireweed jelly yesterday and she was giving each of her friends a jar. Onie got her jar. When they stopped at our rig she also dropped off a sweat shirt I had left in the small boat as well as candle sconces that Onie wanted.

Kurt helped me in the shed while the girls visited.

Sprinkles had fallen off and on during the day and now Dennis asked to borrow our canopy for the chili supper tonight as it looks like rain is likely. Glad to accommodate Kurt helped me get the canopy out of the shed. He carried it over to Dennis’ where we put it up before going back to the shed to continue work on the shelf. The battery for my drill died so when Becky said so long to Onie, she will be back in a couple of weeks, the writer rode up to the house with Kurt and Becky to borrow one of his drills.

On the ride to the house Becky gave me a jar of jelly for La Von as she had been unable to find La Von in camp.

By the time we got to the house the sprinkles had turned to rain and Kurt insisted on taking me back down to the coach even though I assured him I wouldn’t melt if I got wet.

Back down work continued on the shelf. The writer got up a couple of brackets then cut plywood to fit. Rain continued coming down as the work progressed and standing outside to make cuts I got wetter than I knew.

Onie announced the arrival of six thirty, the appointed time for the chili supper. Work on the shelves stopped and we walked the short distance to Dennis and Sandy’s in heavy rain.

She served a good chili with rice and lots of chopped onions. It was very cold with the rain and as he ate the writer’s fingers turned numb. He went back to coach at 8 to get a dry shirt but his hands were so numb he had to stay in the coach to warm up so he could operate buttons. While he was warming son David called. While they were visiting Onie came back. She too was cold. We decided to stay in.

She watched a movie on TV while the writer looked at the web and sent email to some friends. He sent one to let the folks at White River know that Kurt and Becky will be there soon. They will leave sometime tomorrow morning to begin the drive out. Forsaking the web the writer made notes and wrote.

By ten o’clock the falling rain had dropped the temp to forty seven.

Onie’s movie was over but she watched more TV as the writer played Solitaire and Free Cell until 10:30 when he returned to writing until eleven when he joined Onie in bed.

Together they watched Forensic Files half an hour.

The rain which had let up for a little while began falling again, in earnest, and drummed on the roof as the couple fell asleep.

NADA

August 7, 2011-Sunday

The rain continued off and on during the night splatting on the coach in huge cold drops or just whispering its arrival but however it arrived, it came, and with the falling rain the thermometer fell too. At four thirty it was 48 degrees and that certainly wasn’t the low.

By the time we rose at 8:30 the sun was shining but its brilliance was soon masked by gathering clouds.

Marguerite called and asked for a ride to church. We were glad to pick her up.

Coffee and Chai tea were had while Jasmine tea brewed. The Jasmine tea was to go with the hot cereal we had for breakfast.

After breakfast the writer hustled off to shower. Onie dressed while he was gone. When he got back he had to dress in a hurry and go pick up Marguerite. The trio got to church with a few minutes to spare.

Back home at 12:30, Tim ran a little over but no one complained, we changed clothes, snacked and then fished. Nada.

Twenty two thousand were reported as coming in yesterday.

The grate was forsaken to work on the shelves and Onie went inside to work on canned jars, washing and wrapping them.

The writer tried the fish, again. Once more, nada.

Kurt called. They were in Tok and will be in White River tonight. They will call again when they get to the lower forty eight. The writer wished them safe travel and God’s speed.

After the call he went back to finish the shelves.

Gumbo that had been simmering for quite some time was ready to be sampled. Both the cook and writer agreed it was fit for human consumption; in fact it was downright tasty, yummy.

Back at the grate the writer fished again making 200 casts which produced nothing.

He went back in for gumbo, avocado and tomato.

After supper it was time for TV.

Outside at 8:30 it was sunny and cool, 59.