AN OFFER

August 15, 2011-Monday

Another bright warm sunny day greeted us as we started our thirteenth week away from Lake Road.

Onie worked on another week to post while the writer tried once again to finalize payment for an upcoming cruise. A new rule has entered the life of the writer: if a company or individual automatically sends him to voice mail they will not be receiving a second call from him. With payment finally made the writer talked to his friend Bill. Bill and his wife are going to Hawaii, Thursday, and asked the writer and navigator to join them. On such short notice it is very unlikely the couple will be making the trip even though Hawaii is a nice, if expensive, place to visit.

Later there was freshly cooked steel cut oats for breakfast. Then Onie cleaned the kitchen and showered while the writer reviewed the completed week and jotted down these few lines.

Then it was his turn to shower and dress.

Outside the sunny skies were giving way to gathering clouds that would probably deliver rain before the day was over. Temperatures inside and outside the coach were equalized at seventy two.

Both of us surfed the web until Onie left to go to town.

The writer went to fish.

The Alaska Department of Fish and Game stopped counting the red run two days ago so we have no idea how many fish are in the river. We do know, according to sonar estimates, that the total run exceeded one and a half million, far above the desired nine hundred fifty thousand. The statement that the Kenai River is the most studied salmon river in the world may be a fact but that doesn’t say anything about what the ADFG knows and doesn’t know about the salmon. The writer is certain that a lot less is known about the life and times of the Sockeye, red, salmon than is known. The ADFG readily admits they have no idea where the fish go when they leave the river and where they spend the next three to five years before they return. They only know that they go into the Pacific Ocean where they are a favorite food for seals, Orca whales, big halibut and who knows what else. Like the weather, we have spent a lot of time and money studying them but don’t know a whole lot more than we did a hundred years ago. What we do know for certain is what we knew back then; they are fish, they are spawned in fresh water, spend most of their life in saltwater, come back to where they were spawned, die after spawning and when caught on their return trip they are very good to eat.

That vast reservoir of knowledge did not speed the catch for the writer for it took the next three hours to catch three fish. During that time he did hook a couple that got off but overall it was a test of back and arm muscles as well as patience.

When the navigator returned the writer became a fish processor and fileted and skinned his catch. Onie finished the task by cutting the fish for canning and deep fat cooking, coconut salmon.

While they were finishing up the clouds that had been building, in the east, began dropping rain on them.

With rain now falling at a steady pace she took refuge in the coach, had a snack and began watching TV.

The batteries in the coach need servicing on a regular basis and it was time and past time for that to happen so the writer got a flashlight, it is dark in the battery compartment, some distilled water and a bottle with a good spout on it and prepared to take care of the chore.

All day he had been smelling wood smoke from a fire somewhere distant and wanted a campfire of his own. So before starting on the batteries he started his campfire. Even in the rain the fire was soon blazing sending up a spiral of smoke in the evening air that permeated the air surrounding the coach with that wonderful odor of campfire.

Sitting under the shelter of the canopy he watched the fire blaze and when the rain slackened he stood next to it, warming.

With the fire blazing, in the fire ring, he opened the battery compartment and began servicing the batteries. When he chilled he warmed next to the fire before returning to his chore.

The rain fell, sometime in large heavy drops and at other times it was barely a mist. During the time of the mist the writer sat next to the fire, feeding it with fresh, dry wood.

When the smoke could no longer keep the mosquitoes and white socks at bay the writer decided to desert the campfire for the bug-less interior of the coach. Before doing so he took a last look at the river.

The moon was rising over the trees on the far side of the river and presented a beautiful sight. The writer got the camera and tried to capture the scene.

In the warm, dry and bug free coach at eleven the writer found the editor was already asleep.

He sat at his laptop making notes, writing and playing games.

Outside it was a damp, rainy 55 but inside it was a toasty, dry 65.

When the new day was two hours old the writer joined the editor in bed.

Outside the rain still fell on a camp that was quiet.

THEN THERE WAS ONE

August 16, 2011-Tuesday

Wherever and whenever in the world it is August 16^th it is my sister, Martha’s, birthday. While the writer has another sister and two brothers and they are all special Martha holds a place in his heart held by no other human being. Once there were two but now there is only one. His friend Joe Hathaway, the other one, died last year. What is it that sets her apart? The writer can’t ever remember a time when a cross word was ever exchanged between them. Like Joe, there have been times when time and distance separated us but never have we been separated by harsh words. For this reason there is a special place in my heart for her. The writer hopes this day will be special for her and that she dwells on all the good that has befallen her. She, like the rest of us, has had her share, and perhaps more, of difficult and trying times and surely more will come but for today perhaps she can dwell on, be thankful for and be happy for all the good, great and wonderful things that have come to pass in her short life. For the curious, she is somewhat younger than me but past the spring chicken age.

It was her birthday when we woke this morning.

Onie had her coffee and surfed the web, had a snack and got ready to go to Zumba and the gym. She has been faithful about working out this summer and having her friend, Kay, go with her has been good support. Onie drove.

They left under a sky unclouded with the sun bright and shining.

The writer sat at his laptop and wrote these few lines while he sipped his Chai tea, waiting for the Jasmine tea to steep.

Before rising he pondered the offer that had come their way yesterday, an all-expense paid trip, from Houston, to Hawaii. It was a wonderful offer but had some serious hitches. They had to be in Houston within seventy two hours, ready to go. That presented a serious logistical problem. Then there was the fact that the clothes hanging in their closets were for temperatures that equal those in the winter, in Texas. Having been to Hawaii they knew the weather would be much warmer and the only thing they had with them that would be appropriate for the weather was underwear and bathing suits. To further complicate matters the trip would be one where they would be staying at and going to the nicest places and while that would present wonderful experiences it also raised the question, once again, about appropriate apparel. No appropriate summer wear was to be had anywhere in Alaska and trying to get it together in twenty four hours, or less, in Houston assuming we could get a flight, seemed almost humanly impossible. Then there were other questions relating to the coach and the trip home, which will start in less than a month. Even flying direct from Anchorage to Hawaii only answered one part of the problem. Due to the short notice we had no other option but to graciously decline.

Onie was back from Zumba and went to take a nap.

When she awoke she defrosted and cleaned the fridge before we went to fish. Our efforts were rewarded with nada.

Onie was still tired so it was back to bed for another nap.

The writer took the toad and headed off to the post office, the bank, Trustworthy, Safeway and Napa before returning home at six ten.

We were a few minutes late getting to Jay and Kay’s for supper. She served salad, shrimp and scallops from the barby, new potatoes and pineapple upside down cake for desert.

We played one game of Skip-Bo which the guys won.

We were back in our coach at ten.

Onie tweaked the website so the pictures for week ten would appear.

By eleven we were in bed.

PARTY TIME

August 17, 2011-Wednesday

Eight thirty had not passed before we were up.

The overnight low had been forty four. It was a little warmer now under mostly cloudy skies.

We had our coffee and Chai tea and the writer sat down to make a few notes.

Onie fixed the pictures in week ten and worked on week eleven.

We took a break for breakfast and showers and to get dressed before the writer and editor went to the laundry to do three loads of clothes.

With three washers running Onie stayed, with her laptop, while the writer headed back to the coach to notes and to read the paper.

Shortly he headed back to help Onie fold.

They were back in the coach with their clean clothes at one thirty.

The car had been loaded earlier with their canner, cooker and a bottle of propane. Now they headed up to Mike and Marguerite’s to help with canning. M&M don’t have a canner, burner or large propane tank.

Soon after we arrived at the cabin Kay came up to help, as well.

It was decided that with two canners things would go much faster as when one finished it could be removed from the burner and the next one, already loaded, could be put in place. While that one came up to temp, then pressure and then to the ninety minutes required to complete the process the first one could cool, be unloaded and reloaded so it would be ready to go back on the burner.

Mike and I went down to Kay’s to get one of her canners. She has two. We do too, the only thing is one of ours is at Lake Road.

The ladies cut salmon and stuffed jars, added salt and vinegar, wiped the rims and put the lids and rings on then Mike and the writer loaded the canner and got it started.

Back at the coach the writer called to check on our friend who had been in the hospital. He also talked to Kurt. He and Becky will be returning on the twenty eighth of this month. They have their tickets bought. He will email me the itinerary so we can pick them up.

The writer reviewed some pictures then went back up to the cabin to help load the next canner.

Marguerite with the last of five cases processed.

Kay and Onie enjoy a break.

Marguerite, Onie and Mike after first batch is unloaded.

Success. Jar is sealed.

The day was wearing on and appetites were growing so Mike put some pizzas in the oven. Shortly the canning crew was dining.

Kay and Marguerite

The writer and Mike.

With the routine, previously described, working like it should more jars were stuffed and loaded into canners which were then put on the cooker.

With the last canner loaded, but not on the cooker, the writer and editor headed home at ten thirty.

As they were leaving a canner had been put on the cooker but it would be about two and a half hours before the last one would go on. Mike was going to stay up and tend the canners. When the last one came off there would have been five cases of fish processed and canned. Like last year we will be transporting them back to Texas as Mike and his bride fly.

In the Marlin Onie and Pawpaw put clean sheets on their bed, put on the covers and turned on the electric blanket. The electric blanket had become a mainstay in the bedroom.

Between the clean sheets the couple watched GSN.

Outside it was cool and cloudy.

FEAST BEYOND COMPARE

August 18, 2011-Thursday

Dedicated to being more fit at the end of the summer than she was at the beginning Onie was up at seven fifteen for her coffee, to check email, to dress and then head off to Zumba and the gym. She went by herself as Kay has a knee that has been bothering her.

The writer crawled out of the warm bed at nine, had his Chai tea, read his email, enews, looked at the market, (ouch again), made the bed and wrote.

Onie was home at noon. She had stopped at Freddies after the gym.

She started cooking for tonight when we will have some folks over.

The writer continued at his laptop until they both stopped for breakfast at twelve thirty.

Outside the sky was overcast and the thermometer was resting on a comfortable seventy. Not a leaf stirred in the windless atmosphere. The wind had been out of the north for three days and one wondered if it was going to continue until next summer.

After breakfast Onie started getting ready for this evening preparing coconut salmon and beer batter halibut. A package of venison/feral hog sausage was taken out of the freezer. At the right time it would go on the grill. She was also making salmon salad so the writer chopped onions and bell pepper for her. After the chopping chore was over he retrieved some things from the shed, paper goods and plastic eating utensils, for the cook and arranged some things on the picnic table.

No longer needed, helping in the kitchen or stepping and fetching the writer went out to fish.

It was spitting rain and the wind was blowing out of the north again.

The thermometer said it was sixty three but it felt like forty three with the wind and rain.

After fifty casts, with fingers turning blue, the fisherman went in to make notes and warm up.

While there he helped Onie a little more.

Warmed a little he went back out and hooked one but it got off. Still casting he bumped a few and then caught a buck which Mike netted for him.

The wind was still from the north and the sky was still spitting rain but it didn’t feel quite so cold now.

More casting took place with more bumps. Slowly swimming upstream there were two mottled reds. From the looks of their bodies the writer feared they would not last to spawn unless their destination was very close. Each fish stopped behind the same rocks, to rest, and they looked like they were following a trail as they swam next to the grate. The writer could have picked either or both out of the river with the help of a net.

Watching these two reds making their death march the writer kept flipping and jerking with the result that he hooked a tail dancing silver. Oh the acrobatics the silver displayed before he was finally brought close enough to the grate that the writer, holding his rod in one hand and a net in the other, was able to land him. For a silver he wasn’t that big a fish only weighing eight or nine pounds but it was the first silver of any size caught off the grate. He was fresh, really fresh. He still had sea lice on him.

A check of the time showed it was five fifteen. Our guests were due to arrive between five thirty and six. It was time to stop and clean fish and help Onie some more. We had to get ready for the doings.

The rain came harder as I cleaned the fish. The evening was shaping up to be a wet one.

With the filets in the fridge in the shed the writer was back to help Onie with more preparations. As she handed it out to him, he got more stuff out on the tables and started the grill for the sausage.

Chuck, LaVon and Lenore came down around six followed by Jay and Kay and then Mike and Marguerite.

The rain came harder.

Under the Marlin awning Onie was cooking beer batter halibut and then coconut salmon. Already on the table were salmon salad, artichoke dip, black bean salsa, pineapple hot pepper spread and guacamole. In addition there was a generous assortment of chips and crackers.

Chuck and LaVon brought a veggie tray. Lenore brought honey butter with seeded bread and Mike and Marguerite brought a bottle of wine. Jay and Kay contributed a desert made of chocolate brownies, strawberry glaze, fresh strawberries and whipped cream topped with drizzled chocolate. When it was all laid out it was a feast beyond compare. And in addition the sausage warmed on the grill.

We don’t know for certain but the camp must be full of Baptists as all of the social events seem to revolve around food.

The rain fell steadily and in good quantity but folks stayed under the canopy over the picnic table and under the coach awning. Everyone stayed dry as they ate their fill and then ate some more.

Around nine the writer ventured out in the rain to start a campfire. It just seemed a gathering like this needed a campfire.

Folks stayed and visited until about ten when the respective parties said goodnight.

We cleaned up and went in at ten thirty.

By eleven we were in bed.

Outside a heavy rain was falling and it was forty nine degrees.

LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION
and PERSONA NON GRATA

August 19, 2011-Friday

Plans to work outside today seemed to be washed away by the rain that fell all night. Sometime it fell hard and sometime gentle but fall it did.

When we woke at seven thirty it was raining hard and fifty one.

Onie had her coffee and showered getting ready to go to yard sales. If there are any, they will have to have the garage sales inside with the way the rain has been coming down.

The writer had his Chai tea and made notes while Onie was dressing.

Kay called to see if they were still on for yard sales. The writer told her Onie was ready and waiting.

As Onie waited the rain tapered off but it was still coming down.

Realtors like to tell buyers and sellers that only three things matter when it comes to property, location, location and location. Why can’t some of this rain be falling in a location where it is really needed? In Texas there is not an acre that couldn’t use a good rain.

With Marguerite driving, she, Kay and Onie left at ten. The writer thinks manicures and pedicures might make more sense today than yard sales which are going to be as rare as hen’s teeth.

Notes were made, the paper read, breakfast eaten, tea brewed and drank while a few computer games were played.

Then the writer showered and dressed.

Outside it seemed the rain would never slacken or end as it came down in torrents, blown by a cold north wind.

Inside the coach the electric heater ran almost constantly to keep out the outside fifty-three degree chill.

More writing took place.

Perhaps due to the weather the writer could never access the web so he had no idea if the stock market was falling as fast and heavy as the rain in Sterling.

Cummins says our engine should be run for at least half an hour each month. The driver has been kind of lax in this area so far this summer as he has been busy fishing, cleaning fish, smoking fish, helping with canning, making notes, expanding notes into stories, giving his unsolicited opinion on various subjects and solving national and world problems. Today it seemed fishing was out due to the continuing rain so there would be no fish cleaning. All the fish that was going to be smoked this summer had already been in and out of the smoker. Canning was done. Notes were up to date. Stories for last week were almost completed. His opinions would have to wait for warmer drier weather to hatch, and without the internet, he had no idea of what world and national leaders needed help with to solve their problems. That left only one thing to do. Run the Cummins for half an hour. He did. It had fired right up even though it was cold and damp and for the first few minutes it ran a little rough. When it got near normal operating temp it smoothed right out. Half an hour later it was put back to rest to wait for September 12^th when it will start pushing us south.

By golly it looked like the rain would never quit nor would the temp ever rise. Past three o’clock the rain was still falling and the temp hadn’t managed to get past the 53 degree mark. The reason the writer isn’t worried about a flood is because of a rainbow a couple of days ago plus the fact Texas is dry enough to soak up several feet of rain before any starts to run off or cause a flood.

At four thirty the writer was completely caught up with his story writing.

Outside the rain continued to come down in torrents. By the writer’s calculations it had been raining hard for over twenty four hours. He had hoped for a little respite from the rain as he had work to do outside as well as visions of big silvers swimming up river, unmolested by his hook. He would have to decide whether to dress for the rain and brave the cold or stay dry.

In the meantime he was hungry so he decided to stop to eat. Onie still wasn’t home so she must have found some indoor sales or opted to go to a day spa. When she got home the answer would be apparent.

It finally quit raining at five thirty and Onie got home at six.

In spite of the rain the ladies had managed to find several yard sales that had turned into garage sales. From the looks of what Onie unloaded she had a good time.

By the way, the temp finally managed to get up to fifty four before starting back down.

We looked at the new treasures and found that we can live on a clothes budget of one hundred dollars a year as long as Onie shops at yard sales in Alaska.

By seven the writer had decided to brave the north wind and try for another fish or two. In twenty minutes he had strung a male red, a buck, and was working on getting number two when he broke off. After re-rigging he resumed casting but apparently school had let out for the day and the fish were gone. Another hundred fifty casts were made in the sprinkles that were returning. He gathered his bucket and rod and headed for the shed to get the filet knife.

From across the river a young eagle watched. After we arrived in June we watched his parents build a nest. Then came the time for them to sit on the nest until the young hatched. Eagles usually lay two eggs. Both eggs hatch. As the young eaglets grow one becomes dominant and wants all the food brought to the nest so one day when it is strong enough it pushes the weaker one out of the nest, to its’ death. There are no weak eagles and no welfare among them. Now the dominant eagle is flying. Yesterday the author watched as he left the nest, amid much eagle talk presumably from his parents, and flew low over the river before landing in a low bush, to rest. A little later he flew back to the nest. The exercise was repeated. Today he was flying in the rain and when he went back to the nest there went up a cry of eagle talk. Soon he was flying from the nest once again. No longer permitted to stay in the nest very long he took a perch atop a spruce across the river from the coach.

Now as the writer cleaned his lone fish the eagle watched with his head tilted first one way and then another.

At eight the writer headed for the shed to store his fish and gear. The young eagle sat atop his tree and watched. He may have spent the last night in his home nest now finding himself persona non grata. Eagles have very small brains but they are smart enough to know that their young must leave the nest and learn to fend for themselves or next year there will be no room for another dominant eagle to learn to fly. Perhaps humans should take a lesson from the eagles and push their young to learn to live on their own and not to expect handouts or welfare.

In the coach it was warm and dry.

Onie watched a movie and the writer finished this story before joining her.

Outside the rain was falling once again and it was fifty three degrees.

LIBERTY

August 20, 2011-Saturday

With a heavy rain beating a steady drum roll on the top of the coach it was hard to get out of bed.

We finally managed at nine.

At least rain wasn’t falling inside the coach but after what seemed like incessant rain everything was damp and cold to the touch.

Trying to warm up we donned heavy robes and house shoes before making the long trek, five steps, to the Keurig where our coffee and Chai tea waited.

Sitting at the table we discussed our options for such a cold rainy day. One such option was to go back to bed. Another option would be to don rain gear and go out to work or play outside. That didn’t seem like a good idea and number one was looking better when our hunger took over.

We opted for breakfast.

Breakfast out of the way we decided to surf the web and prepare a birthday card for a little girl back home in Texas.

While we were doing the card the editor noticed the writer looked like an unkempt homeless person when it came to the hair hanging around his ears and neck. She thought it was time for a haircut.

The question was where to do a haircut. We didn’t want hair in the coach and the rain was still falling.

Perhaps the place to do the haircut would be in a shower room at the lodge. Then again if we were going to the lodge that was where the laundry room was and we did have a load of dirty clothes.

The plan was made and it didn’t include option one or two. The plan was to go to the lodge, start the load of clothes washing and then give the writer a haircut. After the haircut the writer would go back to the laundry and put the clean clothes in dryers, to dry.

Showers would be taken and then the dry clothes folded and taken back to the coach.

The plan was worked and the plan worked.

Back in the coach at four o’clock the dynamic duo dressed to go to a concert at Sterling Baptist Church. Liberty Quartet, all men, was singing at five. We wanted to be there early to get good seats. While Onie put the finishing touches on her hair, and a salad she made for a camp function, the driver went to pick up Marguerite and Kay.

Back at the Marlin Onie scampered, umbrella over her head, from the protection of the awning to the car. Yes, it was still raining. A few short miles later they were at church and in their seats, second row from the front.

The concert started promptly at five and the guys sang for almost two hours that passed really fast. When the last song finished echoing through the church all in attendance were sorry it was over except perhaps for the singers.

The writer visited with one of the members before leaving and found out the group will be in Texas in March of 2012. Unless something unforeseen occurs Onie and Pawpaw will be seeing them again, perhaps in Coldspring.

Driving home in a light rain the ladies and Tom talked about the singing and how much they had enjoyed it.

At Castaway a Saturday function was taking place, hot dogs and hamburgers as well as potato salad and a wonderful veggie tray. Even though the event had started at six there was still plenty to eat when the concert goers joined the crowd under the canopies, out of the rain.

Finally in the coach, for the night, Onie dressed for bed and started a movie.

The writer put down the day’s events before joining her at ten thirty.

A light rain fell and it was cold.

SHEPHERD’S HOME

August 21, 2011-Sunday

The sun was trying to break through some low hanging clouds when we woke at eight thirty.

The rain had stopped sometime during the night but water still stood, all over the campground, giving testament to the fact that several inches of rain had fallen in the previous forty eight hours. The north wind that had driven the rain had also vanished but was expected to return before noon.

The heater ran inside the coach, warming it, as we had coffee and Chai tea, checked our email and read enews.

Hot cereal cooked on the stove.

After breakfast and the paper we dressed for church.

Marguerite picked us up at ten ‘til eleven.

We were seated in our pew before the service started.

Don Long, a pastor from Shepherd’s Home, a home for the intellectually challenged, showed a DVD about their work and spoke about their mission. They house, train, employ and have independent housing for the people there. Some of the people they reach have Downs and others have similar conditions that would keep them from living in the mainstream of society. In this setting they are employed, happy, church going individuals many of whom learn to live on their own, have their own bank accounts, pay their own bills and have a good social life. If the reader has any extra in their budget and would like to help this very worthwhile endeavor they may visit: www.shepherdsministries.org. Remember, one never stands so tall as when he stoops to help another.

After church we visited for a few minutes withTim and his wife before heading back to Castaway.

Overhead the sun shone brilliantly, something we hadn’t seen in days.

At the coach one could see that Jay had the honey wagon already hooked up to his truck. We had agreed yesterday to empty his tanks, Kris’s and ours.

The writer quickly changed clothes and made for Jay’s rig where he was already working.

After the tanks in all three rigs were emptied fresh water was put on board. It was after three.

Back at the Marlin Onie had been busy cleaning floors and taking her rugs to the laundry, to wash.

An ongoing project for the writer is the removal, cleaning and lubrication of all the basement door latches/locks. He continued. There are seventeen and the removal and replacement entails some gyrations that put cramps in the back of the writer so he does a few a day. Today he did five or a total of three doors.

While the latches were drying, in the hot afternoon sun, he walked to the grate with his rod and bucket. Two hundred casts later he walked back, empty handed.

Our neighbors from Florida, Carol and Frank Davis, are leaving tomorrow. This afternoon he came down to exchange contact information, get some suggestions on things to see on their way home and invite us to drop by their house if we are ever in the area.

With the latches reinstalled, and working better than new, the writer went in the Marlin to get a snack.

With a hunger that was somewhat satisfied the writer went back outside. With the sun shining so brightly and the temp hovering around sixty two it was hard to stay inside.

Mike had brought back our cooker/burner as well as the canner. It was on our patio. The writer put the canner back in its box and stored it in the shed then put the burner inside the shed, as well.

Onie had finished with her rugs and had them back on the floor before she went to the bedroom to watch a movie.

The writer made notes, played a couple games of Solitaire and surfed the web before joining her.

They watched GSN and then Tru TV before closing their eyes.

Another week in their summer adventure had come and gone.