Beach souvenirs...

Beach combing with a camera is way better than hauling home smelly shells, chunks of seaweed encrusted driftwood, soggy feathers and other treasures of flotsom that kids like to keep in boxes under their bed - remember those boxes of rocks?

Dusk on the coast - a magic time.

Driftwood is wonderful stimulus for the imagination...with or without occupants.

Arrgh, mateys, this is MY log!

Preening is an occupational necessity especially for water birds. Pretty is as pretty does... "HEY! No comments on the knobby knees!" Don't you just LOVE how his little flat feet bend over the rock!

Betcha can't name this bird. And it isn't "Seagull".

Evening reflections, safe harbor...

There are birds in this photo, honest. It's like "Find Waldo", only it's "Find Turnstones." There are nine, if you want to challenge yourself.

There are little compositions of nature at every step...

This guy was supervising the wood cutting project, subject of the previous post.

Texture and color - line and light - finding subjects and composing photos isn't hard in the awesome world of nature around us.

Firewood warms twice

There is nothing more comforting than backing up to a woodstove or fireplace with a nice blaze going. Better than a hot water bottle between cold sheets; better than a warm tubby with aqua bath salts; better than hot chocolate...well, maybe if the chocolate is dark Scharffen Berger, with a dollop of REAL whipped cream, sprinkled with Madgascar cinnamon. But even that would taste better, if it were in a mug being held in a hand belonging to the body backed up to the cozy fire source. Yep, that would do it.
I should warn you: this post is by way of an experiment. It has a ton of photos, with little explanation. You know the saying...a picture is worth a thousand words. By the time you get to the end, you will thank me for restraining my usual verbage.
To set the scene(s), while visiting home on the Oregon coast during February, I had the unusual good fortune to have both my camera in hand and my brother cutting wood down at the boat ramp. He hauls in huge logs after storms have floated them down the rivers into the bay - and he doesn't always wait for the storm to blow out. Very nerve racking to watch his little boat behaving like a combination bulldozer and bucking broc, with 8 foot waves breaking overhead. This log wranglilng is a competitive pastime for many who live on Tillamook Bay. The logs are branded and tied off while the woodcutters fetch more logs. A good storm can really clog up the little harbor with tied off logs. As with cow wrangling, there is even log rustling - that's another story.
Mom and I sat out the rain squalls in the van, snapping shots out the windows. When the rain let up a bit, I braved the elements for more closeup shots. Sure brought back a lot of memories. We always had a fireplace, there was always wood to cut, haul, split and stack. Best of all, to burn! Many family outings involved trips up into the nearby Coast Range to cut firewood. Lots of work, but good times, good memories.
Mom still lives in the same house we were all raised in, the fireplace now has a more efficient insert, and it still can warm your buns very nicely!
On with the show.

One of a logger's best tools - a peavey. It's used to move and roll the logs.

This section of log was the last 20 feet of a fifty-footer that he hauled across the bay and pulled up onto the ramp. He estimated he cut at least 5 cords from this grand old log. By the growth rings, it was about 350 years old when it went down, somewhere up in the hills.

Straight grain fir - a joy to split. It lets go with a clean "pop", you can really split a lot of this wood - it's almost addictive as you get into the rythm of the ax and woodgrain.

See, he's warming up, the coat is off now! That wood cutting warmth begins long before the stove.
As the log lightened, it began to swing around and roll over. Out came the big jack, to put it back in place, stablized with some blocks of wood.

A good sharp splitting maul is worth it's weight.

As is a good sharp chain - if it's spitting out sawdust, you're making good time through the wood.

A friend showed up to help split a few rounds. That's really the fun part!

I hope you've enjoyed this woodsplitting adventure. And if you're ever in town, there's always a few rounds to split, haul and stack...if you're real handy at it, you can even come on up to the house and burn a few chunks in the fireplace. It will warm you up where you need it the most, especially if its a nice coast drizzly day!

The hot chocolate is in the cupboard to the left of the stove.

Old fashioned Oven Joy

Certain things speak "home" to your heart - maybe a scent, or a particular flower, or an OLD POT...
My mom has had this copper-colored roasting pan for about as long as I can remember (which varies day to day - as I told my daughter this morning, I could hide my own Easter eggs...) So it was no big surprise, when I was staying a few weeks with mom in February, that we dug out this lovely old roaster when we had the occasion to cook a nice roast beef dinner for my brother.

Notice that fork? Notice it has no handle? It's been around as long as the pot. Let's just say, my mom is FRUGAL...but I have to say, making a roast in that pot just wouldn't work without using that fork. Really.

In case you were wondering: brown the beef in a hot skillet, with lots of salt, pepper, and Mrs. Dash; put in roasting pot; lightly brown some carrots and onion halves in the same pan you cooked the beef, throw into the pot; add some garlic cloves and sprigs of rosemary and thyme; pour in about 2 cups of beef broth used to deglaze the frying pan, be sure to get all those little brown bits, they are very important. Cover and bake at 275 for at least 1 hour per pound of meat. Fork tender and full of flavor, guaranteed. Make a pot of mashed 'taters to spoon the juice over. I don't recommend making gravy from the pan juices - you'll more than likely make yourself sick, slurping up a cup of brown steaming gravy poured over the mashies and meat. Experience speaking.


I forgot to take a picture of the roast after it came out of the oven. Or the huge pot of mashies that we made to go with it. We were too busy eating it.

Mom and I made a scrumptious apple pie to finish off the roast dinner. I made the crust, she made the apples - right out of her freezer, all ready to go into the pie pan. I'd hint she cheated, except that she had to peel, cut and mix, and bag the apples to go into the freezer for just such an event, in the first place. Anyway, it was a yummy pie. And of course we made cinnamon piecrust sticks with the left-over dough. Hot and crispy, to go with our pot of afternoon tea.

Oh, the pie. I didn't get a picture of it, either - we ate the whole thing. But take my word, it was gorgeous! Cinnamon and sparkly sugar all over the top, apple-y steam wafting out of the slits in the golden brown crust...OK, I'll stop torturing you. And myself.
I don't know why, but once I pick up a fork, it sort of puts the camera out of my mind.

Leprechauns...in a Mexican restaurant

On March 17 the aroma of corned beef and cabbage bumped into us as we parked at the little "hometown" joint Mel has been patronizing since he was a teenager (as he tells it, he had a burger, fries and coke everyday while he was going to highschool, and now lo these many - many - MANY years later he STILL is going there for his lunch of burger, fries and coke). Only now it is owned by a nice Mexican gentleman. But I hasten to add, it is not a Mexican restaurant, not a chimichanga in sight. On this particular evening, St. Patrick's Day, a couple of Swiss accordian players were imported, by the Mexican owner, to entertain the mostly Portuguese crowd - with good 'ol Irish songs. Figure that one out....

Friend Judy....
and her husband, host Mel.
Now here's a true Leprechaun...we call him "Skip". His lovely Irish maiden has a great sense of fun...good thing...she's been married to him for about 55 years.

Joyce and Ken provided my ride from Sacramento airport - they were part of the surprise, too!
Mel's mom, Carmel - 84 years young and a real Portuguese doll! At barely 5 feet tall, she is a fun little firecracker and a sweet, gracious lady. She fixed sopas for us for dinner one night, so I can cross that one off the"try it - you'll like" list - it's wonderfully tender, flavorful Portuguese beef served with thick slices of hearty bread soaked in the beefy cooking juice. I 'bout foundered on that bread...