A Funny Thing Happened On the Way To...

Photo by J. Bertsch It was up and out this morning, to Starbucks - then HWY 50 to Lake Tahoe; lovely drive. It's really only this past year I got into my head that Tahoe is not that far from my house; hour and a little bit. Along the way we stopped time to time to stare at scenery.


by J. Bertsch

Our first stop was lakeside at some historic log cabins that once housed the rich and fab, but now house the Tallac Museum. Joann walked down to the Lake Tahoe shore to dig her feet into the sand and take photos.


Joann hiked down to the lake for some photos

In their hay day, the Baldwin cabins were private cabins

Joann's lake-side Photo
gorgeous, isn't it? photo by J. Bertsch

The cabins blend in nicely with the Ponderosa Pines that surround them.
Now it was time for a drive north to see Emerald Bay. But first we had this conversation:

Claire: "Want to see where Don and I saw the black bear back in April?"

Joann: "But's the bear's probably gone, don't 'cha think?"

Claire: "Uh... yeah, see your point. Guess we should make our own memories."

So, we drove about a 1/4 mile, and there, dead center of the road, staring at us - a HUMONGOUS Black Bear!

I did what I sometimes do when stunned - I froze. Stopped the car, but could not grab my small digital camera which was right there. Joann turned on her camera. We stared at the Black Bear, The Black Bear stared back at us, then galumphed off into the shrubbery and away into the woods.

We shrieked, whooped, high-fived and spent at least a half hour lamenting our failure to photograph the bruin. Still can't believe how I missed such an easy shot (and the bear couldn't believe it missed out on two succulent women for brunch). Bugger! Oh well. We now had out own Lake Tahoe memory of a Black Bear - incidentally, not a mile from where I saw a brown Black Bear last May. The photo on the left is a Black Bear I 'shot' in Canada.

Still carrying on about 'our' Black Bear, it was north to Emerald Bay. The wind roared through the pines, and it was hang on to your hat or get a shot of it flying over to the Nevada shore.


Emerald Bay

Joann's photo of the tea party castle on the Emerald Bay island (in photo above)
is so cute it doesn't even look real photo by J. Bertsch

Face of "Just-Saw-a-Bear-woman". photo by J. Bertsch
The rest of the day we drove up to Tahoe City for lunch at a Thai Restaurant. Then on to Norstar, where Joann's family spent a wonderful winter holiday a while back. After that I wanted to check out Martis Creek - a well known birding spot in Placer County. Might just get my Great Grey Owl there one of these days.

Joann got an Autumn look the cabin she's
enjoyed during winter vacation with her family

Martis Creek scenery - sagebrush and a little water

I scored the only shot of a Mountain Bluebird I've ever taken

It was a long, long day of driving and sniggering in the car over silly insider jokes. When we got back to my house I cooked up a chicken with some of my garden rosemary (one of the few herbs growing just now). Came out A-OK. Also baked up a yam and totally destroyed several ramakins of creme brule - uh! Every time I want to show off my cooking for anyone, I get excited and forget steps. So the creme brule tastes fine, but the texture is rubbish. Oh well! Oy are we worn out. When you're over 50, even a long day of fun kinda kicks your arse.

Kayla's #1 Grandmother is Up for a Visit

Joan is in Northern California visiting her first grandchild, McKayla, born last week. I get custody of the new grandmother for a few days. We decided to visit Robin out on the Meridian Ranch. For a nice look see at Robin's Jacob's sheep and I wanted another look at her chickens - yes, I've got chickens-on-the-brain.


Robin greets us on the new entrance at her Meridian Ranch Studio
I was worried a bit about keeping Robin, the busiest woman in Vacaville from her work. Happily, Robin said she has planned to try her hand at making 'wooly pets' for a class she is thinking of teaching. Joann and I immediately volunteered to be guinea pig students so Robin can see how it would be to teach a class making the fuzzies. Wooly pets are little kits for making animals, birds, bugs and such by sculpting raw dyed wool.


Starting our impromptu lesson wool sculpting lesson
The toys are neat, enough wool to make at least a couple of pets per box. The idea is to 'felt' the wool by prodding it with a sharp needle against a foam pad. Uh... soon I, the perpetual klutz was bleeding. Of course that was only to give Robin a heads up that she will need to have a box of bandages on hand when she teaches class.


Robin demos prodding, poking and stabbing innocent
widdle fuzz balls. Great therapy for working on personal issues
Here's some finished bunnies made with the kit. Joann's bun is on the right, the others are Robin's doings.


Quorum of Wooly Bunnies
To commemorate our work, we took them outside for a photo session


Robin's birds hang from the sage, Joann's bun-bun and
my Red Fox in front. Pretty, neh?
Class ended with Joann's first visit to the Ranch. I, being spoiled was given a tour or Robin's flock of mixed laying hens - a five toed Dorking, white laced Wyandots and Poof-legged Cochins, an Americana, and a very friendly Buff Orpington who came over straightaway so Robin could hold her for some petting time. Who knew there were such sweet chickens around? An admirable group of egg layers!


The Meridian Ranch 'Girls'
For a grand finale, Robin was cool enough to set Rusty out herding the Jacobs. Rusty is still learning but Robin took him to a competition earlier this year and Rusty did them proud - a blue ribbon! For a treat, Robin put Rusty through his paces for us. Show 'em how it's done Rusty!


All that fun, and Robin sent us back to Fair Oaks with a huge bag of home grown pomagranites - deep ruby red and delish.

Thanks for a great day Robin!

The True Tales of the WHOMPING Door and the Littlest Ghost

Happy Halloween. Today, for your haunting pleasure, I offer two real scenarios in the name of spooks, and things that do go bump in the night - sometimes in broad day-light. I'll start with the incident that, if you like, might be shrugged off, if you dare.

It was about a year ago. I would come home, leaving the garage and entering the living room through the garage door. I'd, naturally close the door behind me. After fifteen minutes or so - WHOOMP! The door would sound as if someone on the other side of the door had laid into it at a full run, hitting it with their shoulder. Loud. Really loud! And the point is - there was no one there.

It had begun - every I entered the house from the garage - a ten or fifteen minute delay, then - WHOMP! Every time it happened, I was totally unnerved.

EVIL WHOMPING DOOR...
Though the sound was loud enough to hear at the rear of my house, I found myself wondering if my imagination wasn't making the noise louder than it really was. So, when the door 'performed' during a visit of my friend Barbara one weekend, I felt some relief. I wasn't just imagining it all.

Still, I wanted a simple explanation about the door, that had excluded a ghost theory. There had to be some other sort of explanation for the door slamming that I could dredge up. I thought a bit, then told Barbara that every time I closed that door, it sat unbalanced in the door frame. Then, after about ten to fifteen minutes or so for the door to settle, making that godawaful noise, like Mr. T violently attempting to break into the room. I don't know if Barbara bought into my logical explanation, but I tried my best to believe my own explanation for my temperamental door.

Any Claire denial there? Uh... well, I admit, there were a couple of times my mind, if not my brain, was certain something was smashing itself against the door.

Eventually, after much thought, and several weeks of nervousness and fear of doors, I decided if, perhaps, the door's noise was the result of a ghost, poltergeist or some such, it certainly was not welcome in my house. I wasn't going to be freaked out by some stupid door in my own home.

The WHOOMPS ceased. Stopped cold. One day 'WHOOMP'. The next day I closed the door and heard naught but, you'll pardon the expression - dead silence.

When I look back on that event, I wonder, if the noise was caused by the door settling in the door frame, why did it stop so suddenly? For that matter why did it start so suddenly? I did no repairs or anything else to the door, but the noise is gone and good riddance.

But you know - in my garage, there hangs a large black and white portrait of my grouchy, paternal Grandfather. When the door was at it's noisy business, I had sometimes wondered if my Grandfather hadn't been pissed off at me - hanging him in the garage, and not the living room. Or, I sometimes thought, more likely he was miffed as I had stopped my on-line research into his life and ancestors. Had Gramps dropped hints wanting his fair share of attention?

Now here is another ghost story, the Halloween finale; another true story.

A few months ago, something threw me for an uneasy loop. At the home of a friend of mine, a horrible thing happened that resulted in the death of a five year old child. The child died, while snuggled down on my friend's living room couch. Totally avoidable death, totally devastating and I will leave that details of the incident at that.

Following the death of the little girl, who was had been known loving as 'the baby', things began to happen around my friend's home. She told me in email that from time to time, the cabinets in the kitchen, left closed, would be found later, open. There were noises for which no one could find a source. The television became particularly lively - changing channels and clicking on and off by itself. When the 'poltergeist' was very active, my friend and her significant other, would say 'the baby', was looking for attention.

Now when a friend tells me that sort of thing, scientific skeptic in my brain says 'don't believe it'. Contrarily, the area of my brain that totally trusts my friend says, 'I know she isn't lying.'

Jump forward several months. My friend and I visited with another friend, whom for sake of this story I will call Irene.

It was Spring and the three of us lolled around Irene's sitting room. We were ten hours by car from my home, and more than that from my friend. We enjoyed a nice meal and a lovely chat in my friend's living room.

CLICK!

I looked over at the television.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

The television was switching on and off, on and off, on its own accord - no one was touching any remotes. Shoot - Irene's TV was practically antique, there was no remote control. We all stared at the television, then looked uneasily at each other.

I looked wide eyed at my friend, and uneasily, we both smiled. Apparently 'the baby' had come with her to visit Irene's. Bored with the adult conversation, the baby apparently wanted some attention if not diversion.

We told the tale of the child to Irene, who having ghost incidents of her own happen in her house (of the sort that would make Stephan King wet himself) did not doubt who was playing with the TV knobs. Irene did not doubt the tale of the littlest ghost in the least - & for once, neither could I.