It could be winter in Coldspring
but here it is just late summer. This
morning it was thirty one at five and thirty seven at seven. The sky was clear and the sun shone brightly.
Onie greeted the day at nine and
the writer followed shortly thereafter.
Onie was having coffee while the
writer sat at his laptop and made notes for Sunday and today.
When we went out to get the paper
we noticed we had some fresh corn waiting for us.
Onie fixed breakfast and tea
while the writer printed some crosswords.
The crosswords were solved while we dined.
After breakfast Onie headed off
to Freddies while the writer worked on the overhead
reinstalling the TV and trim.
When Onie returned the writer
helped her unload her purchases as well as some items we would be transporting
back to Texas, for friends. Those items
were placed in the shed with others that were being accumulated there.
Watermelons kept in bins outside
stores here are cold enough to eat. Onie
brought one home and we sat down to eat half of it. It was a small melon.
For the spaghetti supper tonight
Onie had volunteered to make a salad.
After the watermelon she started on it.
The writer returned to his work
on the overhead.
Kurt and Becky walked down from
their house and stopped by to visit.
While Onie and Becky visited Kurt helped with the overhead installing
two screws that are very hard for the writer to reach but are not too difficult
for someone who is a lefty. Kurt is a
lefty.
We stopped our labors at five for
a few snacks.
At six we headed up to Mike and
Marguerite’s for more snacks.
It was sunny and breezy when we
arrived.
A small group was there. It consisted of Mike, Marguerite, Jay, Kay, Chelcie, Dixie and Mikes daughter,
her grandson and her man.
We started supper at six
thirty. Mike had been working on his
secret spaghetti sauce for two days.
Tonight it was very good. The
group dined in comfort until the wind began picking up and clouds began moving
in. With the clouds and wind came the
cold.
Soon it was very cold with the
wind chill. By eight the writer was
ready to go home.
At the house we watched TV in the
front of the coach and then went to bed to watch in the comfort and warmth of
the bed in the back.
Sleep found us at nine thirty
when we had warmed up.
Onie was up at seven for her
coffee and a snack.
The writer saw fit to join her at
eight when he surfed the web.
Onie left at eight thirty for
Zumba. The writer continued on his
electronic surf board until he began making notes. His Chai tea was at hand.
He paused to make tea before
having more Chai and a blueberry scone. Then he made more notes, checked his
email, read enews, checked the national hurricane
forecasting center and wrote and talked to Michael at First Baptist Church
Coldspring.
By the time he had accomplished
all of that Onie was home.
It was still cold and overcast
with occasional sprinkles. The heater
had been running almost continually.
With Onie in the coach we had a
snack, sorted clothes and then got ready to take them to the laundry. With the clothes in the laundry room and in
the washers we went back to the coach where we watched GSN. Later we went back to get the clothes in the
dryers before returning to the coach to watch more GSN. After a while it was back to get the clothes
from dryers and take them to coach to fold.
After the folding was done the
writer talked to David Matthew.
Near the end of the call Kurt and
Becky came down to visit.
He worked on the overhead
again. We are almost finished.
When the work was at a stopping
place we visited for a while before they headed home.
Alone again we ate supper and
watched GSN. We believe GSN is at least
as informative and a whole lot more truthful than most network TV.
After supper the writer made
notes while Onie boned some chicken. She
had cooked the last of our free range chickens.
We had eaten the backs, necks and wings for supper, as we worked
crosswords, and she was boning the rest to use at a later time.
Outside it was cold and
drizzling.
Inside the heater was still
running.
Although it was only six the
light was fading.
Supper was followed by a movie at
six thirty and another one at eight.
Rain started falling, in earnest,
at nine. It had drizzled off and on most
of the day but at nine the drizzle ended and the heavy rain fell.
A rap at our door, louder than
the rain, at nine let us know we had company.
The writer answered the door. It
was Chelcie.
He had come
by with more fresh vegetables.
After the movies we went to sleep
at ten thirty.
Outside a light rain fell through
fifty degree air.
It rained all night. The low had been forty eight.
When the writer ventured to the
front of the coach at eight he noticed lots of water standing on the drive and
yard. Apparently the ground was unable
to absorb any more moisture.
He fixed a Chai tea and settled
down to make some notes and write, surf web, look at the hurricane forecast and
at the Coldspring forecast.
While he was surfing David
Matthew called regarding our conversation yesterday. It seems the old man, read “writer”, is
gaining a little insight in his dotage and is able to offer some sage advice,
when the moon is right. He is thankful
he is still able to make complete sentences without leaving his participles
dangling. If you understood the last
sentence you graduated from high school prior to nineteen seventy when they
stopped teaching, anything.
Breakfast consisted of an egg,
bacon, biscuits, lemon curd and figs accompanied by two crosswords for the
writer and editor, each.
Outside heavy rain continued
falling. It looked like we were to be
blessed with more rain.
After breakfast the writer did
the unthinkable and cleaned the kitchen.
The heater ran constantly.
It was still just fifty one
outside.
We had a plethora of vegetables
and Onie began working on them.
She and the writer paused to take
showers, make the bed and dress.
Outside the rain had let up some
but returned with a vengeance at two when it was still a chilly fifty two.
It had just been half-light all
day and seemed more like winter than summer.
A redeeming factor for weather was the fact that there was no wind.
An afternoon email brought news
that grandson, Andrew and his beautiful lady, Gretchen, will marry in
March. We couldn’t be more pleased with
the choice they have both made. If ever
a match was made in heaven this must be it.
We are thrilled for them and look forward to seeing the knot tied,
tight.
With an abundance of carrots,
from Chelcie, and onions from Sidney, we decided it
was time to work on pickling carrots and onions.
Outside the rain continued.
When the carrots and onions were
ready to be stuffed into jars the writer turned his attention to work on the
overhead, just a little. To do more he
needed material that Kurt is bringing down.
Onie vacuumed and cleaned while I
noted and wrote before heading off to Soldotna for supplies.
When the writer returned Kurt and
Becky were at the coach. He brought the
supplies to continue work on the overhead.
The writer applied some super glue to a weak area and then joined the
other three for snacks and visiting.
Becky invited us up to the house
for snacks and steak sandwiches and Skip Bo.
After they were gone Onie
gathered a couple of snacks and we joined them at their house.
The snacks were good, the steak
sandwiches delicious and the company even better.
After supper it was the boys
against the girls. Each pairing won one
even though it seemed the girls got an inordinate amount of Skip-Bos. Even using a
spy glass the author was unable to determine exactly when and how the cards had
been marked to allow the ladies to extract a Skip-Bo whenever and wherever in
the game they needed one. There could be
no other explanation for their ability to extract Skip-Bos
in such a timely and fortuitous manner.
The couple occupying the Marlin
made their way home at ten thirty.
A light rain was falling through
a fifty degree atmosphere.
Onie was soon in bed.
The writer stayed up. He was perplexed and at his wits end as to
how the ladies had been able to perform such slight
of hand as to permit them to win even one game.
He and his partner had used all the tricks known to modern man to bests
the females and yet they, the females, had managed to somehow scam a game. It looked like it would be a sleepless night
as he, the writer, tried to figure out what scheme had been devised to deliver
a defeat to the men’s team.
No closer to an answer than when
he began his mental inquiries he decided to call it a night at one.
Outside the rain had subsided to
a drizzle. It was forty seven.
Can it really be September 1,
2011? It seems we just got here. Truly life is exactly like a roll of toilet
paper; the closer one gets to the end the faster it goes. It seems we must be just a few sheets away
from the cardboard roller.
When the writer got up at six
thirty he thought the cardboard roller might be just around the corner, say
about seven. He had slept a restless
four and half hours but it was time to rise and shine. He rose and tried to glisten if not shine.
Clothes that had been laid out
last night were pulled on while he sipped a cup of Chai tea. On the counter, water in the tea pot heated
while he fixed the tea ball and got out an insulated mug and thermos bottle.
Last night Onie had put some
things in the soft sided lunch bag. Now
the writer added some cold biscuits and an orange.
Seven o’clock found him moving
toward the door and then to the car where he checked to be sure he had all the
gear he needed for a day of halibut fishing.
He drove to Kurt’s where Kurt was
waiting on his drive.
With Kurt and his gear in the car
the pair headed to Homer.
It was another bright clear
morning, not unlike when the writer and Onie had gone to fish with Mark.
Off to the right, across the bay,
the mountains stood silently, basking in the early morning sun. Their snow covered peaks glistened. The ring of fire volcanoes dominated the range,
dwarfing their neighbors.
Talk, when there was any, was of
the prospects of the fishing to be taking place.
Everything in the Homer small
boat harbor floats and that includes all the piers and wharfs. Access is gained by a long hinged ramp. This morning the incline on the ramp was near
forty five degrees. It was a big tide
fall day.
The boat curtains were wet with
dew as they were removed, folded and stored in the cuddy
cabin. Gear was stored and secured. Looking at the water on the way down told
both of us that it would be a rocky trip out to Pogie
Point or Flat Island.
We had no illusions that we could
get out to the Barren Islands as the marine forecast indicated six foot seas
and gale force winds.
Heading almost due west we
motored toward Pogie.
Each movement of the boat forward took us into building seas. Half an hour of running had not yet brought
us to the four mile buoy and the waves were increasing. Looking further out to sea we could see
bigger waves. After a little more
running west we decided to reverse course and try fishing in Katchemak Bay.
Running with the waves we made much better time and made the ten mile
run in short order.
Once again the waters of Katchemak Bay resembled those of a placid lake and with the
sun beaming down on us we felt all was right with the world.
With the twin one thirty Hondas
idling we rigged two halibut poles and cut some bait then began testing the
waters for fish.
Apparently we were in the wrong
place at the right time since we couldn’t even lose a bait. We moved.
Then we moved again. Then again. Over the
period of a couple or three hours the writer got three bites, none of them
being halibut, while Kurt got none.
Feeling like we were wasting our
time, even though we were enjoying the scenery, we decided to try once more to
get out to Pogie.
Each time we go to Pogie we catch fish. They aren’t always big but they have always
been plentiful.
The run out of Katchemak Bay was quick and smooth but as soon as we passed
the Spit the waves began to build.
Again we never saw the four mile
buoy as the seas were every bit as rough, if not rougher, than they had been
earlier.
After some discussion we decided
to run to Tutka Bay and fish there in some protected
waters. Angling over the waves was a bit
better than meeting them head on and after a while we were at the mouth of the
bay.
The electronic chart showed a
large rock pile just inside the bay. We
stopped there hoping to catch some rock fish.
We didn’t. We caught small
halibut, a flounder and a golden sole.
The writer also caught four sculpins. Sculpins are proof
that God loves all kinds of things since the writer is sure he would never make
anything he didn’t like and Sculpins are undoubtedly
some of the most unlovely fish one can imagine.
With three halibut fileted and in
the box along with the flounder and sole we headed for harbor.
As the fuel tank was being filled
the writer/deckhand prepared the boat for the slip. Bumpers were put overboard
and land lines were laced through cleats and the bow line was secured.
Tied up in the slip, gear was
unloaded and the writer took some to the car.
The tide was in now and the hinged ramp was at a very comfortable
fifteen degree angle, the least the writer had ever seen it.
With the gear, he had taken up,
in the car he went to see if he could find a couple dozen oysters that could be
shucked and eaten on the way home. He
missed making the connection by five minutes so he went looking elsewhere. He found some but they were either very spendy or very small.
He passed on them and went back to the boat to help Kurt finish
buttoning her up.
The last of the gear was taken to
the car and then we drove to Captain Pattie’s, a waterfront restaurant, where
we had some oysters on the half shell along with a seafood sampler plate.
Then it was time to head home.
We visited discussing the fine
fish we had caught and those that we hadn’t caught along with remembrances of
trips past and thoughts of trips to come.
It was just during such a conversation that we heard a loud pop and then
experienced a jolting ride.
The right front tire had decided
to cash in its’ chips. It had suddenly
developed a huge hole, aka a blowout.
Stopped on the side of the road
with the emergency flashers going we unloaded the gear from the Subaru and got
out the spare tire. We were ready to
change tires and be back on the road.
There was only one small problem to be overcome before we could change
the tire. We had no jack. It was in the coach being used to support the
overhead while it was being repaired.
Just off the road way there was a house.
The writer walked there and explained the situation to the young lady of
the house and asked to borrow a jack.
Her teenaged son got one and went with the writer, back to the car. The young man operated the jack and soon the
spare was on the car and ready to roll.
We thanked the young man with a handshake and a little cash, loaded the
expired tire and tools along with our gear and were back on the road.
In Soldotna we stopped for fuel,
Onie would need a full tank for yard sales tomorrow, then
headed on to Kurt’s where we unloaded his gear and the fish.
Back at the coach the writer took
a few things in with him.
Onie was in bed watching TV. The writer explained about the blow out and
the fact that the old tire had to be secured before she used the car
tomorrow. The writer assured her it
would be taken care of in time for her to get to the yard sales.
Then he sat down to have a bite
of supper.
Later he wrote some, surfed the web some and played a few games before going to
bed at one.
Rain fell during the night and
sprinkles continued when we rose at eight.
Onie cooked cereal for us and
made me a pot of tea.
She was getting ready to yard
sale.
The writer dressed, got the jack
from inside the coach and went outside to put the Subaru medallion on the right
front hub and store the ruined tire and tools.
Onie will have room for yard sale
items with the tire and tools stored properly.
She and Dixie were in the car at
nine thirty headed to pick up Kay and Becky.
The writer settled in with a cup
of Chai tea and began checking email, enews and
weather.
The sprinkles turned to rain.
Eating breakfast the writer read
papers for three days and worked two crosswords then it was time to begin work.
He checked the water connections
one more time, they were all dry, then put the panel back on inside the
cupboard.
Another visual and hands on check
was made of the overhead repair. Feeling
all had been done that he could do to secure the overhead he connected the
speaker and mounted it then secured the grill cover.
The switch on our electric fly
swatter had stuck in the on position.
Onie had taken the handle apart to try to fix the switch but hadn’t had
much success. Now the writer/repairman took up that job. A bit of tinkering here and a little pressure
there and before too long the switch was working again. He reassembled the handle, installed new
batteries, put the swatter in its case and headed to the next chore.
That chore was gathering up tools
and taking them to the shed and putting them in the tool boxes.
The rain that had been falling
stopped.
While the rain fell there had
been no wind. Now the wind blew from the
south, gusting and shaking the Marlin on her jacks.
The little vacuum was used to
clean the dash and floor around it where wood chips had fallen while the
overhead was being worked on. The
ceiling, which is also carpet, was vacuumed as well.
Dirty dishes filled the sink so
they were washed and put to dry before the countertops were wiped down and
dried.
Outside the wind had dried the canopy. It was time to take it down. The legs were shortened and the top removed,
folded and placed in the storage bag.
The tie down stakes were pulled up, cleaned and stored. Screws that had held down the legs were
removed and stored then the frame was ready to be collapsed for storage. Just as the writer was entering that stage,
Kurt came down and lent a hand. Folded
up, the frame was put in the storage bag with the rest of the canopy and the
bag was put it in the shed.
Not yet done for the day the
writer rode up to the house with Kurt to borrow the four-wheeler. He rode it back down in a drizzle to get the
honey wagon and macerator. Then he began
the task of emptying the holding tanks.
He paused long enough to wash out the tub. It had water standing in it. Fresh water was running into the holding tank
while the black and gray tanks were being emptied. With the holding tanks empty the honey wagon
was taken and flushed before it was put away.
Accumulated trash was taken out
and inside the coach was straightened up.
With Onie home we looked at her
new things. She had gotten some great
buys. She had some things for Becky that
we are taking back for her.
With the viewing over the writer
rode the four wheeler up the hill and Onie drove the toad up to meet me at Kurt
and Becky’s.
At the house we looked at Becky’s
garage sale things. She had a lot of
things for Brett, her grandson, as well as things for herself and the house.
While we were looking Kurt put
out snacks including sushi. We snacked
and visited then played two games of Skip-Bo.
It was the boys against girls.
Each team won one.
We went home at ten.
Onie watched TV and then went to
sleep.
The writer played games before
going to sleep.
After a restful night’s sleep the
writer rose at half past seven.
He turned up the heater, it was
fifty nine inside, turned on his laptop, made a cup of Chai tea and sat down to
make notes for Thursday and Friday and start the story for today.
Outside the sun, still behind the
trees across the river, was trying to peek between the clouds. The river slipped by, headed towards the
inlet.
Nothing was stirring in camp and
the trees stood motionless in the still, cool, forty eight degree, air.
The sound of the Gaither Vocal
Band came through the four speakers.
Everything was in place for
another great day in Sterling, on the Kenai, Alaska.
Onie was stirring and came to
join the writer as the sun broke through the clouds.
After a cup of coffee, Onie put
breakfast on the table. Crosswords were
worked while we ate. Crosswords become
more difficult as the week progresses and the ones we worked this morning
required collaboration. Early in the
week we each breeze through the puzzles as we feel like they are almost fill in the blanks.
After breakfast we visited about
events in camp and the prospects of spending the winter of 2012-13 here in
Sterling then it was time to start our day.
The sun’s victory over the clouds
was short lived and by ten o’clock the skies were gray with no trace of the
sun.
Onie showered and dressed and
began work in the kitchen.
The writer continued working on
stories and notes.
Jay dropped by for a short visit.
Later Kurt and Becky came
by. They were on their way to some yard
sales. Onie opted to go along.
With the time when we pull up
stakes and head south fast approaching it was time to stop the mail forwarding
from our home post office. The writer
called them and asked them to stop the forwarding order as of today. He will pick up the accumulated mail when he
returns to Coldspring in about a month.
The writer wrote a little more
before heading off to the lodge for a good long shower.
A light rain fell.
After a good long hot shower the
writer helped Sandy, who had just arrived in camp, raise her awning.
Back at the coach he wrote a
little more before Kurt, Becky and Onie got back. Onie had a few more treasures.
Kay and Jay came by to bring a
few things for us to ferry home to Texas for them. The items joined others in the shed. When the things we are to take for Kurt and
Becky are in hand we can start planning our packing. Packing the car will take place a week from
today. The following Monday it will be
ready to roll.
Onie refilled her pill cases
before she began preparing some grilling vegetables for tonight.
The writer wrote.
Around five the couple loaded the
car with a couple of small tables, the small charcoal grill and charcoal, the
grilling basket, vegetables to be grilled
and the steaks then headed to Kurt and Becky’s.
Tonight Kurt and Becky were
hosting steak night. Originally it had
been planned for Don and Julie’s but with rain threatening all involved thought
it would be better to have it in a warm dry place.
At the house Onie and Pawpaw
unloaded the car and began helping in the preparations for the event. Kurt had moved the trucks out of the garage
and cleaned it. He had moved his patio
table and chairs inside the garage. The
foursome moved his picnic table in as well.
Inside the house, tables were arranged to seat ten people. In all seating was available for twenty four
people.
Six thirty saw the first folks
arriving with their steaks and something to drink.
The writer went out and started
the charcoal in his grill.
Kurt and Becky were providing
baked potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, sautéed mushrooms and bread while we
contributed some vegetables. Others contributed
too with Chelcie bringing a tray of fresh
vegetables. He had grown them in his
garden. For the last few weeks we
haven’t had to buy any vegetables as Chelcie has kept
us well supplied.
By seven o’clock most of the
folks had arrived and the gas grills were lit.
Soon several steaks were sizzling.
They were watched by their owners and were being removed as they reached
the desired level of doneness. Some were
barely dead while others more closely resembled charcoal than they did beef.
The writer started his and Onie’s steaks on the charcoal grill and the vegetables on a
gas grill. The steaks and veggies were
ready at just about the same time. As
the steaks were cooking Julie asked if she could put hers’ and Donnie’s over
the charcoal. Certainly was the
answer. They too like the taste of
charcoal broiled steaks better than those done on a propane fired grill.
In the house and garage folks sat
feasting on their steaks and the trimmings.
The food was good and the company
matched it so guests sat and visited long after their food was gone.
By ten folks were starting to
drift out of the house.
It had drizzled all evening and
it continued but the crowd, now well fed and warm, went down to camp to have a
campfire. It would be one of the last as
folks will start leaving, some everyday, after Labor Day.
By next week end there will only
be us, Dixie and Chelcie, and Don and Julie. The rest of the Castaway crowd will be gone,
not to enjoy another campfire together until sometime in June of ’12.
The writer and Onie stayed on at
Kurt and Becky’s to help with cleanup.
It was eleven when they got home.
By eleven thirty they were
asleep.
A light rain beat on the roof.
Rain fell during the night, not
steadily but at irregular intervals. The
cloud cover helped keep things warm and the low was only forty four.
Rising at nine we found the
thermometer had only managed a two degree climb.
Onie had coffee and worked on a
shopping list while the writer had Chai tea and checked for rain in
Coldspring. It appeared that if it came
it was sparse and didn’t amount to much.
However there was some good weather news for the area, it is going to
cool off some.
While we were doing the above the
clock of life fast forwarded an hour. We
had forty five minutes left to eat, shower and get ready for church. By not dilly dallying we walked out the door
on time and were seated in our pew when the first song began.
Many pews were empty. Many of the summer folk were gone. College students had returned to their
campuses and many families had taken advantage of the long weekend and gone to
visit friends and relatives.
The sound system was on the fritz
but it didn’t really matter as Tim was in fine voice when he delivered the
message.
Hazel Schofield had invited us to
lunch last Sunday, if the readers remember, but we were unable to go as we had
a previous commitment. We had taken a
rain check and now in the rain we drove to her house, next to Longmere Lake.
When we arrived, parked next to
her Subaru, and went into her log house she already had lunch ready. We visited and waited for the other guests,
Daryl and Wanda Kincaid and their son Nathan, Nat for short, to arrive.
When everyone was there a
blessing on the food was offered and then we began fixing our lunch, a real
treat for Texans long gone from home.
She had three different kinds of soft tortillas as well as crispy corn
ones and all the trimmings for real tacos.
Sitting at the table, looking out
at the lake and the late flowers, we ate and passed the time visiting. As the meal came to a close Hazel served hot
tea, a real delight to the writer, and the conversations continued until three
when we had to take our leave. We
thanked Hazel for her hospitality, said adieu to the Kincaids
and began the wet drive home.
At the Sterling Highway Onie
reminded the driver that she needed to go to Freddies. We went and she shopped for fresh vegetables
while we had a latte and Chai tea.
The rain that was so much needed
in Texas continued falling as we drove home.
At the house Onie began working
on a dish for the last event, tonight, that will include the majority of the
camp. The main course was to be
chicken. Of course there would be other
things and in abundance.
We made the short walk, in a
windblown drizzle, to Don and Julie’s somewhere around six thirty. Most of the crowd was already there huddled
under the awning of the coach or sitting on benches under canopies. The canopies had been enclosed, for the most
part, to break the wind and provide a warmer place to eat.
When the last of the crowd was
assembled a line formed and the last evening event was underway.
We stayed until the cold and damp
drove us in about eight thirty or nine. Onie’s desert, a peach cake, had been a big hit.
In the coach we snuggled under
the electric blanket which was turned on high.
Warm and tired we went to sleep
at eleven thirty.
Outside a light drizzle was
falling through a howling wind.