Spring Creek

The 16th of July we went to Spring Creek camping with the McMaster/McCumber clan. It was a great trip with excellant weather, good food, and lots of Solo and shootin' (Bull & bullets.) Speaking of Solo, Sam had a Spread Misere and broke up one game. (I could pay and had chips left over.) The rest of the game, she... Did I mention that Sam had a Spread Misere?
Ryan & Eva have a new baby boy, Joseph. Kendal & Lisa have the cutest Basset Hound pup, Holly. Holly is short for Hollywood. She and the baby were the stars of the show.


Breakfast Emma & Holly


Chatter

Claudia & Mom

'Cumber group

Mom & kids


Pround g-grandma

G-grandma 2

Settin in the shade

Jammin

Just fiddlin around



Lisa

The dancers

Worn out

Brotherly love (part 2)

The next day found me strangely uninterested in fishing, so I suggested we get the .22s and go shoot ground squirrels preferably somewhere up in the hills and far away from the river.
We drove to one of our favorite shooting spots, an old homestead on Pleasant Hill. There we parked at the old building site, crossed a fence, and hunted up the draw to the south where we spent the next couple of hours happily terrorizing sage rats. Terrorizing may be too strong a word, but I am fairly certain we did manage to frighten a few.
Inevitably, hunger and/or dwindling ammunition caused us to decide it was time to go back home. Lyle was leading the way when we came to the barbed-wire fence. Since it wasn’t a very tall fence, he simply pushed the top wire down with one hand (The other was engaged in carrying his rifle.) and swung his right leg over the fence. As his foot was descending, he glanced down and noticed that he was about to land squarely on a rattlesnake. Unable to let go of the wire with the pointed barbs scarcely an inch from a rather sensitive area and unwilling to let go of the rifle, he vainly attempted to reverse his course. As he was teetering on the fence, the snake decided it wasn’t happy with the thought of a giant foot landing on it and began looking for an escape route. I don’t recall exactly how long this entertaining scene went on; Lyle teetering back and forth while the snake ran (crawled, slithered, whatever) in circles, but eventually, the snake made his escape and Lyle safely dismounted.
Having witnessed all of the proceeding, I asked with grave, brotherly concern, “Does that dance have a name?”

Brotherly love (part 1)

If any of you are interested, I’ve decided its time to share some of my recollections of me and my brother’s youthful adventures (more properly misadventures) growing up in Eastern Oregon. In attempting to compile and record the above mentioned adventures, I find it quite remarkable that the ones I most vividly recall all involve either pain or fear, in fact, usually extreme pain and/or absolute terror.
The one I’ll start with really occurred when we were old enough to be considered grown up in most societies. Happily, in Eastern Oregon most of us are granted at least 10 additional years of childhood and in some cases far more than that. In fact, I know of one individual totally escaping the onerous responsibilities of adulthood for his entire life.
One late winter or early spring, we were up home for a visit. Lyle and I decided that there may still be some Steelhead in the river so we went down to do a little fishing. One of our favorite spots at the time was an irrigation dam on the river a mile or so from town. When we reached the dam, we found that someone had put rip-rap on the bank below the dam to prevent erosion. This was no ordinary rip-rap, this was RIP-RAP. I mean, these rocks were the size of small cars and probably weighed more. Lyle decided wisely that discretion was the better part of valor and went on down stream to fish below the rocks. I was not about to let a few rocks keep me from my favorite spot and so carefully climbed down the rocks to the edge of the water. There I smugly planted myself to fish, my feet a scant inch above the flow and my back leaning comfortably against a mammoth boulder. I had hardly cast when I felt the rock that was taller than me, even longer, and who knows how thick, MOVE. Without hesitation, I leapt as far as I could into the stream. There, neck deep in the icy flow, I watched as the entire bank of rock came crashing into the river exactly where I had been standing.
Lyle, having witnessed all of the preceding, asked with grave, brotherly concern, “A little cold for a swim isn’t it?”

Note to self

Aluminum Sulfate, dumb a.., not Ammonium Sulfate.

What my Hydrangea looks like:


What I want it to look like:


I knew what to use, I just didn't look closely enough at the bag. Worse, I can't even think of some way to blame it on Sam. (Sigh)