Itinerary

The Itinerary for The 2009 PNW Roadtrip

Car Occupants: Saren, Bernd, Lola, and Reiko.

Schedule:

Thursday, Nov. 5
7:00-8:00 Leave Blackfoot. (Don’t forget to change the car battery on the way out!) Correction: Leave at 9:27 am.
12:00 Lunch with Alicia in Boise.
Drive to (hopefully) Snoqualmie Pass, camp either in Yurt or other site.
Correction: Camp in Edgewick Inn, North Bend, WA -- past Snoqualmie Summit.

Friday, Nov. 6
Seattle
Pike Place Market
Stay in Mt. Vernon at Jello Mold Farm

Saturday, Nov. 7
More Seattle
Pike Place Brewery (?) Boundary Bay Brewery in Bellingham, WA
Dinner in Mt. Vernon [in memory of George, RIP]
Jello Mold Farm

Sunday, Nov. 8
Drive South on Pacific Coast Highway 101
Powell’s Book Store in Portland
Visit Corvallis (?)
Stay in a Yurt on South Beach, OR

Monday, Nov. 9
Corvallis, Eugene [or]
Coastal Drive, Beaches
Stay in Yurt, South Beach

Tuesday, Nov. 10
Eugene Wineries, ie Sweet Cheeks
Visit Corvallis; Block 15 Brewery, Dog Park
Camp outside of Eugene
Stay in Campus Inn, Eugene

Wednesday, Nov. 11
Drive East on Oregon Central Highway
Stay in Boise, ID

Thursday, Nov. 12
Boise time
Drive back to Blackfoot

October-->winter.

There is a long-standing joke that Idaho doesn't really have gradual transitions into seasons. I think i second that. Suddenly, it's cold and there are snowflakes falling, and that awful, howling wind of winter has been here the past couple days. Today, it would be considered autumn, if the past two days of winter hadn't torn away all the orange and yellow leaves.

I rescued a woodpecker from a friend's house the other evening. The poor thing was stunned and napping near a western window on his porch. His sister had been inquiring of him to shoot said woodpecker, seeing as it woke her up in the morning; but as it now sat on the porch, I offered to take it home. She got me a box, and my friend made a joke about how i was the local animal lover, and i scooped it up and took it home, where i put it in a bigger box. The next morning, it was stirring, so i opened the box outside and it flew away. I've identified it as most likely being a Northern Flicker, and she is now building a home in a Russian Olive tree just east of my kitchen window.



It's hunting season, so every day there are rifle shots from around the area that echo across the fields. I have had two groups of hunters ask me if they can hunt on (or around) my land, despite the no hunting signs i posted around the perimeter.

I have been a bit down and out with a cold of sorts. I finally asked my dad for his diagnosis, seeing as i felt extremely sluggish and congested and my temperature was 96°F, and he told me i had viral phrayngitis with purulent rhinorrhea. Somehow, it's funny that such a peculiar string of terms is more comforting than "Swine Flu." Ha. But basically, pharyngitis [swelling of the throat / throat infection] with purulent [pertaining to pus excretion, hence the green substance in my used Kleenexes] rhinorrhea [which just means a runny nose, or pertaining to the nose]. Simple, really. So far, i just have to wait it out. I broke down and took some Sudafed today.

I bet that's more than you ever wanted to know about my cold season, eh?

Turning up the thermostat.

Sorry for the delay in updates. My laptop has gone the way of the world, and my world kind of got a wave of change.

Work at Bindweed has slowed dramatically (as winter will do to a flower farm), and I began the search for a winter job. The Department of Labor told me that I was overqualified for everything they had available, and even if I wanted to do it, it would probably require a commute out of town. I told them I would keep looking. I may have scored a job at the hospital (thanks to my dad's stellar reputation as a nice doctor) doing rounds to check on patients. We will see next week.

---

The greenhouse has the first crop of greens up. I flagged out the rest of the plots and this morning I met with Ralph to flag out a plot for ranunculus that i'll grow for Bindweed to sell next spring.

---

I've been working in a welding shop down the road, building bridges for my dad's new pivot irrigation system to cross the canal on. It's rather rigorous work, and I come home with ringing in my ears and a sore back. Yesterday, I managed to take a nick out of my pointer finger with the grinder. I say it's a good thing I haven't been using the MIG welder, or i'd be melted. It's interesting working in the shop. The guy whose letting us do all this--and doing the welding--is a 70-some-old man who has lived there for as long as i can remember. He's smart and witty, and can weld beautifully, even with his misshapen fingers that i'm glad to hear he was born with and didn't acquire during his years in the welding shop. He recently rebuilt a 1936 V8 Ford pickup, and it's the most beautiful rebuild i have even seen. Yesterday, a friend of his came over, and after his friend has discussed a medical issue with my dad, they launched into speaking about the state of the country. No one brought up party lines or names of politicians, and no one placed blame on anyone specifically, but they were amazed at direction the country had taken: bailouts to already rich CEOs, troops still in Afghanistan and Iraq, the expectation that we could save everyone from everything, all while not expecting to do any manual labor. After a while, the older gentleman turned to me and said, "Young lady, you sure have been quiet, and it's all up to you to figure all this shit out!" I laughed, and he shook his head.

"I sure would like to survive another 20 years, though i know i won't; but it would be interesting to see how things turn out." Max, the welder, retorted, "I don't think you'll need to wait 20 years..." The friend turned back to me.

"Have you learned to use that welder yet, young lady?"

---

As far as loneliness goes, I simply must have inquired of the universe at the right moment, because two weeks ago I went home from a bar with a German mechanical engineer from Spudnik, thinking it would end in the morning. In his words, "I woke up and looked at you, and you smiled at me, and I didn't want to leave. I felt like I had known you forever." He's stuck around, and now his host family is a little confused, methinks, as to where he disappeared to. Even though it was fast (his parents flew in and I ended up spending the week with them, too) and a bit unexpected, it's been fun and lovely, and I've had a few people tell me that we glow and spread this pixie dust of romance everywhere we go. I think that's going a little far, but, hey, what can i say about that?

Who knows what will happen in 6 weeks when he leaves. I am looking online and pricing out roundtrip tickets to Germany to visit. He is applying for a full-time position at Spudnik. More about that later.

Here's a post i started last month, but never finished.

9/15/09

If I have learned one major thing about farming for profit, it is that you have to be brutal.

You have to know when to yank rows of flowers, and there's no time for letting them sit pretty in the ground. A few months back, I had a row of sweet peas in the greenhouse that no one wanted me to pull out. They wanted more flowers, more seeds, and more time. As soon as a day came where no one was around, I yanked the row, taking advice from Ralph.

Ralph knows when a row of flowers has to go. There's other plants to put in, and no time to let them go to seed. He sends me out to pull out a row of burgundy and white snapdragons, and I revel in yanking up on the plastic netting around them, the velvet and silky heads scattering to make a carpet of flowers. He sends me to pull out a bed of feverfew, and my hands smell musty and herbal for hours. Today, he sends me out to the last row of lisianthus, where I falter for a moment. I take my scissors from my back pocket and cut some of the sinuous buds and tender flowers for a bouquet on my table. I put the bunch in water and turn back to the bed, filled with a destructive resolve. I take to the plants as Shiva, tearing at the succulent stems, ripping roots from the soft ground, piling the deracinated plants in scattered stacks over the ground. Finished, I stand, and spread the plant bodies for compost. I am tempted to do Nataraj's dance; but I don't know where to start or what kind of energy i will need for my next task, so i defer. And, let's face it, I don't have four arms.

Walrus & Carpenter.

I guess what it boils down to is that life is pretty weird.

I mean, sometimes we just end up seeing all the people we thought we would never see again, all in one day.

And sometimes, we see things that are just simply amazing, like an older gentleman wearing a fedora, driving a kiwi green Saab convertible in a funeral procession, singing at the top of his lungs, his mustache quivering in the breeze.

And sometimes, it might just be that we are the weird ones for someone else's weird reality.

Yesterday i took myself to the Walrus & Carpenter bookstore in downtown Pocatello. I walked up to the door, passing who i discovered was the owner seated out on a chair on the sidewalk next to fresh concrete.

"Hi," I said, "You must be--"

"Hi," he returned. I stepped back to make better eye contact with him.

"I am looking for--"

"Oh no!" he said urgently, albeit quietly. "Don't step there..." I had stepped back onto a patch of fresh concrete. I leapt forward, apologizing.

"That's okay," he said with a strained smile, leading me through the door. "What do you need?"

"The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera," I said, my face still flushed from embarrassment.

"Oh yes, right here--oh. Oh, i'm sorry, I'm out. How awful."

"Oh," I said, captivated by the haphazard menagerie of books. "I'll just look around." He excused himself to go back outside, and i wandered the shelves. I found a novel someone had recommended, and picked it up. After wandering for some time, I began to return to the front desk, and he came back inside.

"Seven dollars, please." He smiled at me, adjusting his glasses. "Yeah, you know, it's a good thing. That concrete was just waiting for a beautiful woman to come and step in it. Now I will always remember that." I felt my face flush again, and I ducked my head, thanking him.

"There's a show at the Bistro tonight, have your boyfriends bring you," he said as i went out the door.

"Thanks," I repeated.

I don't know if the bookstore owner knew that i was bottomed out on confidence, but i felt a little more lift in my step as i walked away. Weird, yes? Now he will always remember it was my Sketcher mary janes that made the goofy swirls in his otherwise perfect new concrete. Sad--and yet, funny, to be that perhaps beautiful but moreso ridiculously awkward woman who steps in fresh concrete on accident.

A new farmer's ego.

I have found that, as a new farmer, my ego can tend to be a little fragile. This is to say, I find myself assuaged by information and advice, and while most of the time it is welcomed, sometimes it can be rather disheartening.

Sometimes it is not the type of advice, but how it is relayed. For instance, if someone purports that another greenhouse is beautiful/amazing/productive/etc, and that i can learn a lot from them, it is hard to not take it as a statement illustrating my lack of said descriptions.

Often, it is the advice itself that is disheartening. A neighbor and known--well, jerk--approached me about a "sure-fire, money making deal" he wanted me to try. He wanted me to grow an acre of anaheim chilis, roast them, and sell them like he saw vendors do in Colorado. I didn't want to pick the peppers--he said to hire migrant workers; i don't have to pay minimum wage. I asked why he doesn't do it himself--he said that his best soil already has his best grass on it, and he doesn't want to mess that up. He didn't even believe me that peppers take 75 days to reach maturity once you get them in the ground. He said he'd look it up.

Mr. Shoemaker, who owns the U-Pick and produce shop south of me, tells me (wrongly) which demographics like which vegetables. Often, his story changes, and when i venture to point out the descrepancies, he says, "You'll learn, maybe, someday." Today, when i brought produce for him to sell for me, he asked me to set a price for my really hot peppers--insisted i know how to set my price-- and wouldn't give a starting point (i had no idea what to charge). I said the first number that came to my head.

"$6 a pound." He gave me a look that made my stomach flip. "Too high? Too low?" I asked.

"Double what i charge for mine. Won't do it."

"$2.50, then," I said, dejected and embarrassed by the look he was giving me. "Sorry."

"All I've done is spend money today," he mumbles, and names off the large monetary amounts he's spent before me. He writes the check to me for $15, saying he doesn't know if they will sell. I have doubts, too, since they didn't believe me earlier how hot the peppers were until the migrant boy in the shop bit into one and tears came pouring out his eyes. But the damage had been done--i had been wrong yet again and scorned for it. I kept smiling because the migrant boy was laughing still, repeating, "Demasiado caliente!"

I suppose I should be beyond taking any of this personally. I suppose I should be able to move on. But it's frustrating already being discounted (or so it feels) in other aspects of my life. I'm surrounded by, "Are you not returning to school this fall?", "Are you dating anyone yet?", "What's your plan for real life?"

I guess I should say, I have news for you. I already got my bachelor's degree; I graduated cum laude. No, I'm not dating anyone, and I'm completely fine with that because I don't need a partner to show how successful or likeable I am. And, well, this is "real life" for me, and I'm figuring things out. If you think I can do better, give me genuine help, not just a critique. If you think i'm doing a good job, thanks, and thanks for your help.

[Most of all, I think my saving grace has been working at Bindweed, because there i can see what good planning and hard work can do for a farming operation. And i get good advice and learn useful skills. And that, my friend, is a pretty darn good "real life," if you ask me. ]

I want to wash my hands of this wierdness.

a) I got my prescription filled for 5 months worth of insulin. As i held the little baggy in my hand, i had this eerie realization that i held $500 worth of liquid in my hand. Then i was kind of angry and sad all at once. But, i grow tired of my medical rants.

b) A young man that has been hanging around our property doing odd jobs has reached an inexcusable point of awkwardness. He has very awful social skills, and tends to be reticent (as do i in uncomfortable situations). I told him i liked his Toyota Tacoma once when he was working on my dad's new shop. Since then, he has bought me cheap flowers when i was sick with my UTI. He has asked me out on dates, which i have refused continually. He came to my house this morning while i was staining my deck stairs and started to help me. He apologized for his last interaction with me, when he just showed up and told me he wanted me to help him buy truck accessories, and i said that i didn't feel well. When he asked what i was up to today, I sharply said, "I have to listen to CarTalk on Saturday mornings," and we were silent for 45 minutes. Then i thanked him, and took the paint brushes, and as i walked away he asked me if i was busy tonight. "Yes," i said. "Very likely." I took a shower and when i got out, he was working on the fence near my bedroom window. I was fuming, and extremely uncomfortable.
Last night, I got home from a potluck party and tripped over a 12 pack of beer in the middle of my living room. I found out he had left it there for me. I am freaked out he was in my house without me knowing. My parents have both said things to him, i.e., "Sara's the kind of person who needs a lot of space from peers," "Sara just exited a relationship and has sworn off dating for a while," etc. He just doesn't get it, and it seems he is infatuated, and I don't get why. He doesn't even know me.
I decided today that I had to send a clear message, that my nonverbal cues and my tactics to avoid him weren't working. I put the 12 pack in his truck and left a note that said, "J-----, I can't accept the beer. Thanks anyway." I would want to be told my advances weren't welcome; and i should hope he gets the message.

Last time this happened, it was with a graduate student at OSU. I got a ride home from him once when my bike broke down after class, and then he began showing up at my apartment; once at night in a hooded cape, and he began to tell me how much of a goddess i was and how beautiful and perfect i was. I left that situation shaken, truly uncomfortable. I started hiding whenever i saw him; would cower in the corner of my front room and wait until i was sure he had left when he came to my apartment. Finally, someone else told him off. I don't know what i was scared of when i couldn't bring myself to say, "Hey, this is really uncomfortable. Please stop." But i never did with him. I just expect people should know in situations. And i don't want to risk a violent reaction, no matter how small the chances. But I have to learn to do it. And i think i did better today, but we'll see.

Note: The 12 pk was given to my dad, which, in turn, was given back to me. I'm not sure J----- got the message.

Stories of which i am a part.

Seriously, this month has been crazy, and i haven't had near the time to write about all the crazy things that have gone on.

1. Lola, my Staffordshire Bull Terrier, killed two chickens and maimed a third, which led to a ridiculously humorous (after the fact) interaction among me, the maimed chicken I had trouble letting go of, and my heretofore chilly and indifferent neighbors. Somehow, hugging a chicken while it shits on you as you stand, apologizing, in your sweatpants and frilly camisole in front of someone who is trying to explain it is not their chicken you are gripping with such fervor can be turned into a bonding moment, which, in my case, ended with: "Look at you! You're covered in chicken shit--bless your heart! Give me a hug!" Odd, but lovely.

2. K and I restructured our relationship. That is, basically, we resolved there was not any progression (well, there was regression) in our connection and that we just better call it what it is. It's interesting to note that sometimes, when one ends a 'romantic' relationship, she can feel less lonely than when she was in it, esp. when said relationship was sadly unfulfilling in most respects.

3. I am still fighting with my insurance company, now over a few things. A) the pump they said they would pay for, and B) my contraceptives. I had to go to the GYN for a follow-up on my crazy UTI, and i got a refill on my NuvaRing. I had only ever gotten contraceptives while i was in Oregon before today, and in Corvallis it was paid for by an organization which covered the entire cost of students' contraceptives. Today, I walked up to the pharmacy window, and after a discussion with the tech about how my dad was not the [insert adjective here to describe cocky, boozing, dimwit family practitioner MD] Dr. Tom Call, but the Dr. Gary Call that was the first anesthesiologist and now the lead quality control officer at the hospital, I was faced with a bill for my NuvaRing that was full cost and had the daunting "DENIED" next to the name of my insurance.
Needless to say, i was furious. I called Blue Cross and waited on the line for an obscene amount of time, hung up, waited a few hours, and then called again; finally got through to a rep, told her my info, and was told that my policy does not cover contraceptives.
"Are you kidding me?"
"No," she said. "Unless they are deemed medically necessary."
"I don't want to get pregnant," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "And, I have a condition which would guarantee a high-risk pregnancy. Does that deem it medically necessary?"
"I don't make the decision," she said cheerily. "You're going to have to have your doctor write a letter of medical necessity, after which it may be approved."
If you don't understand how scary this is, either watch the movie Sicko, or read Blue Cross's clause on the phrase "medical necessity." Basically, I am going to research all of the horrible things that can go wrong with bearing a child while having diabetes (ectopic pregnancy, insulin resistance and other complications, increased chances of miscarriage, and macrosomia to name a few) in order to defend my choice. It's kind of a painful process, knowing my sister did an amazing job being pregnant with my niece (my sister has type 1 diabetes, too), and didn't have any complications we can detect. Basically, I'm upset because i have to fight so hard for my medical decisions i have the opportunity to make, and that even though i pay over $500/month in insurance premiums and have a $2000 deductible to meet, I have to still, somehow, fight for basic things, like an insulin pump or birth control.

Anyone who says we don't need the kind of health reform Obama is putting forth would be wise not to voice their opinions near me; I have been known to get quite angry about all this.