Suzy Says

On Sunday morning, I went over to Megan’s house. I was pleased to see a big pile of wood in the driveway:

Jonathan and I had ordered a cord of wood for Megan and Rob for Christmas, and it had been delivered just a couple of days earlier. It wouldn’t fit in their stockings, and it couldn’t be a surprise, but I think they were glad to get it. They suffered through last winter without wood, so I wanted to make sure they would be comfortable this winter. And you can’t wait until Christmas to order wood – it should be ordered in August. I ordered in September and they were already backordered.

It’s been unseasonably warm this week, so they haven’t needed the wood just yet and it has given Rob time to stack it in the shed. I had put away the fans in a fit of optimism last week, and had to haul them out again when I discovered it was 80 degrees in my house when I got home from work. I may be one heat wave away from moving to Alaska.

I hadn’t gone over there to inspect the wood, though. Megan and I were off to see the first ballet of the new season, Le Corsaire. Based on a poem by Lord Byron, it featured pirates, a harem, a pasha, anda dramatic shipwreck. The costumes and sets were beautiful:

and of course the dancing was wonderful.

We are glad that the ballet was saved after last season’s alarming announcement that the theater might not be able to afford showing the ballets this year. Some generous donors stepped forward to underwrite the expense, and the season was saved. I was able to assist in choosing the program for this year, which I enjoyed very much. We will see Romeo & Juliet, The Flames of Paris, and Coppelia. Still no Sleeping Beauty, but maybe next season.

A YEAR AGO: What do you know? We were at the ballet.

FIVE YEARS AGO: On the other hand, the Giants had won the World Series, whereas this season they were terrible. Rebuilding mode, right?

Sometimes I wonder how many people actually live in Hooterville. The official population is 168, due to the lack of enthusiasm for responding to the last census. Many people move to Hooterville to escape the World and the Man, and are displeased when either or both trespass in their place of refuge.

This reluctance to participate led an unwise and unwary census worker to knock on my sister’s door before noon, which is like knocking on most people’s door at 2 am. Megan greeted this intrusion into her few hours of sleep with a lack of enthusiasm that made the census avoiders look like rabid fans. The census taker soon saw the error of her ways in trying to strongarm Megan into anything and fled whence she came. I doubt if she’ll ever be back.

In the meantime, our actual population remains a mystery, and even Hootervillians like myself don’t know how many houses and people live down the dirt roads that branch off the Ridge. Mine alone has five houses. But I do know that Hooterville is full of hidden wonders, like the collection of doors and accessories just down the Ridge, and also a hidden garden.

The hidden garden is also a nursery, laid out in lovely “rooms” among the redwoods. I was delighted to see an actual lawn:

I immediately wanted to take off my shoes and walk on it in my bare feet. I can’t remember the last time I walked barefoot on grass, though it was probably at Dad’s house in Wimbledon. My stepmother was always horrified at this behavior, since she associated bare feet with being poverty-stricken instead of lawn-loving. I always wore shoes in their house, even though I never do at home, even in winter.

I loved the look of this industrial metal fountain in the midst of a structured looking, almost formal garden:

And the little archways giving way to sunny vistas:

I don’t know what this plant is, but it’s interesting looking:

I like outer space looking plants. There were banks of natural looking plants and flowers, too:

Plenty of inspiration to be found there, even for an underachieving gardener like Self. I have not done much with my garden this year, though things have done pretty well with my more or less benign neglect.

The fuchsias are flourishing (say that three times fast):

Whatever this plant is, it’s doing nicely in its wine barrel:

I managed to save the orchard cactus, which looked like it was dying, but is now almost outgrowing its basket:

Rob moved the purple honeysuckle from the side of the house to the front, where I am training it to cover the lattice which is supposed to hide the garbage and recycling cans (at left):

I may finally get my fantasy of vines covering the lattice with flowers. The jasmine I planted for that purpose grew up instead of across, so I’m hoping the honeysuckle will fill in that part. Time will tell.

A YEAR AGO: Making cider by hand from our own apples. A dream come true!

FIVE YEARS AGO: Audrey and I get check-ups.

There has not been as much progress on the trenching project as I personally would enjoy.

Every day when I get home from work, I hope that there will be new developments, but alas, the trenches remain as trenchy as ever. On the bright side, the giant machinery has been located, making parking easier, but there are giant holes and trenches all around my house, making backing up, especially with gangsta dark tinted windows, a little on the perilous side. The whole thing has way too much Calamity Suzy potential for my comfort.

Though it was also the perfect venue for storing the potatoes my siblings grew this summer for future eating over the winter. We assembled everything we needed:

and Megan and I brought a couple of chairs outside to get to work. First, you have to sort through the potatoes: store, use now, or compost. One of the down sides of the fingerling potatoes is their habit of growing into balloon animals, as you can see above. Some of the balloons break off and can lead to rot. Also, it’s harder to store them, since they stick up quite a bit and need to have a full layer of sand above and below them in order to stave off eyes and wrinkliness.

I sorted, while Megan layered them with sand. Clyde supervised, and as you know, he really excels at that. Any project he is involved in comes out really well, like the bathroom remodel.

When we were done, we schlepped the heavy buckets into the studio and stashed them for future meals. It will be nice to go and dig out our own potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner.

A YEAR AGO: A little Roadside America.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Hello, winter!

People are beginning to return to their homes if they still have them, and the long cleaning process is starting. Much of what remains is toxic and will have to be removed by CalFire. Rain is expected later this week and the fires may be out by Friday. I used to love the smell of woodsmoke, but now it horrifies me. People always think earthquakes are the dangerous thing about living in California, but it’s really wildfires.

My friends in Redwood Valley all survived, though one lost her house and everything in it. They are beginning the lengthy clean up and recovery process. The one person I know who lived in Santa Rosa until last month would have been evacuated. He and his family are in Anaheim for a year, since he is working on a project for Disney. And they were evacuated in the Anaheim fires. They are all OK, though.

After such a terrible week, it seemed like a good time to do some celebrating. And what better way to start than a party for a cat at a bookstore?

The Great Catsby arrived 5 years ago and has been ruling the bookstore with a disdainful paw ever since. He is a very handsome cat:

And perhaps being the guest of honor had a good effect on his usual grumpiness, since he tolerated the attention and mingled with his guests, waving his tail and accepting pets and compliments.

There was a wheel to spin for prizes:

I won some notecards and Megan won a cat sticker. Someone had already won the grand prize of feeding Catsby a can of tuna by the time we got there (as you can see to the left of the wheel), but we could still color in Catsby ears to wear on our heads, decorate cupcakes, and buy books.

After the party, we stopped by a local inn for a drink. We parked next to a beautiful, shiny, vintage black El Camino, and I mentioned to Megan how much I love those cars, despite their lack of practicality. I will almost always choose form over function. We also noticed that the lights were on, so we notified the hostess and she started asking the bar’s patrons if the car was there. A well-dressed gentleman sitting next to us turned out to be the owner, and he ran out to turn off the lights and then toasted us with his martini on his return.

We had blackberry martinis:

They were made of vodka, fresh blackberries, lemon juice, and Chambord, garnished with three fresh blackberries. It was a nice end to a crazy week. You can imagine how busy Megan was at work this past week with the fires, and she worked an extra shift.

The next day, I went to a friend’s 70th birthday party on the beach at Big River. Big River is just south of the Village and the beach is where the river empties into the ocean. Big River’s name refers to the size of the redwoods that grow on its shores rather than the river itself. And yes, there is a Little River, the next town south of Mendocino. There the soil is acidic and hard, as it is at our house, and there the redwoods are much smaller, hence Little River and the Pygmy Forest.

I expected it to be cold and windy, but was pleasantly surprised to find it warm and sunny. Some of the kids were even swimming in the river! There were lots of people and lots of food, and it was nice to be together and celebrate after this dark week.

A YEAR AGO: Storms and Halloween décor, at work and at home. ‘Tis the season.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Lots of unexpected gifts.

It’s been hard to think of anything but the fires.

I listened to the radio at work for updates all week, and actually started reading the news again for the first time in 11 months. Interestingly, my displaced friend Alison was the best source of local fire news with her Facebook posts. I watched in horror as more and more people were evacuated, my heart aching for those who lost everything, some even their lives.

Firefighters have come from Nevada, Oregon, Washington, and southern California to join our local forces in fighting this disaster. I saw the Oakland hills fires when I lived in San Francisco and never thought I’d see anything worse than that, but these fires are officially the worst in California’s recorded history.

Our community swung into action to assist evacuees, donating money, collecting food and necessities, and setting up emergency shelters for humans, pets, and livestock. My boss negotiated with pharmacies to replace evacuees’ medications lost in the fires and donated medical supplies. Our sheriff was outstanding as always. We faced this together and did our best to help our neighbors. Our strong and caring community is one of the things I love most about living here. As others put it, “The love in the air is thicker than the smoke”.

Fortunately for us on the coast, the air has been clear for the past three days, as the wind came in from the ocean and cleared out the smoke. It remains a heavy pall inland and in the Bay Area, which is getting smoke from fires in all three counties. The usually clean (by city standards) air in San Francisco is now as bad as Beijing’s, again a record for the worst ever recorded.

To cap it all off, there was a 4.0 earthquake on Friday afternoon. Guess where the epicenter was? Yes, Redwood Valley, also the epicenter for our County’s fires. Alison was at her house surveying the damage and said it felt like it was right in her backyard. Why not?

When I came home that evening, I was greeted by Mark’s herd of dogs and clucking chickens outside the house, and by my two beloved cats inside. I felt so incredibly lucky to be alive, breathing clean air, with food for dinner and my friends and family safe and sound.

When I stumbled out of bed in the early morning darkness, I could smell wood smoke through the screen door on the balcony. I thought it was too early and too warm for Megan or Mark to be having a fire in their houses, but I remembered how warm they both like their houses and thought no more about it until I went out to the car.

Wednesday was covered in ash and soot. The moon was a bright, eerie orange. I began to feel nervous. It took a while to get enough ash off the windshield to see enough to drive, and I saw soot and ash dancing in the headlights. This was not good.

Arriving at work, I put on the radio as I always do, and learned that fires had broken out overnight in Santa Rosa and inland Mendocino County, as close as Willits, which is only 32 miles from Fort Bragg, where I work. My friend Alison had to evacuate her house inland with just her dog, her husband, and a couple of his favorite guitars (he is an award-winning guitarist) in the middle of the night. It appears that these blazes were caused by power lines blown over in the high winds, causing sparks, which caught in the tinder dry grass and brush, and was then spread by the same high winds that caused them.

My boss was slated to fly to LA for a conference that day. Highways were closed and flights, including hers, were cancelled. All the phone circuits were busy, so I had to somehow change her hotel reservation and rebook her flight for later in the week. I got her the last seat on the Wednesday flight and we are hoping for the best*.

Even inside the clinic, my mouth was gritty and my eyes were sore from the smoke. Megan arrived to tell me that the hospital’s ambulances had been out all night helping to evacuate hospitals in the affected areas, and saying that she brought two days’ worth of clothes in case she is needed to work longer shifts. Every single fire fighter in our County is out there fighting the fires, whether in our own county or in our neighbors’, and I am proud of every single one of them.

Heading home, the sun cast a rosy pink glow over the ocean hours before it was due to set. It should have been beautiful, but it was horrifying. It reminded me of the sun in Oakhampton during the wildfires my brother fought so bravely, and I have to admit to being thankful that he had left the fire department a couple of years ago and was out of harm’s way for this one.

I left the cats in that day, and greeted them even more affectionately than usual. Living in a wood house in the middle of the woods gives a girl a healthy respect for, and fear of, fires. I looked around and thought, what would I save if I had 5 minutes, besides the kitties?

I feel nervous, scared, sad, and guilty all at once. My thoughts are with all of those affected by and fighting the fires.

*Update: It was cancelled. Maybe Thursday? Maybe the whole trip should be cancelled.

[Later:] The whole trip was cancelled.

A YEAR AGO: A walk in the cemetery with some notable ghosts.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Power outages, dragging furniture around, and no water. You know, the usual.

Here’s the latest from the ever-eccentric local message boards:

Are you, or someone you know, comfortable around parrots with an attitude? We are looking for someone to care for Lucy, our Blue Front Amazon, while we travel. We’ll be gone weeks at a time, too long for her to be confined to her cage. Her wings are clipped so she doesn’t fly but she has been known to jump off her cage when startled. Because of the cage’s seed guards she can’t climb back up and needs to be rescued from the floor.

If she senses your fear she will bite, but if you know birds and are confident she’ll let you handle her. If this sounds like a job for you let me know and we’ll set up a meet and greet to see how it goes. We’ll be traveling a lot in the future so we’d like to find her a real birdy buddy if possible.

Is there an avian Tinder?

My friend has lots of blooms on her kiwi plants, but she says the male seems to be impotent. Does anyone have a male plant that she could get a branch from to use for pollinating, so she can fool her females?

Or maybe kiwi Viagra?

Any Goat Sitters Out There? We’re looking for someone to take care of our two goats, one cat and several chickens for times when we’ll be gone. We would appreciate recommendations from anyone out there.

Goat Butcher: Looking for one – thanks for replying directly to my email.

Maybe they gave up on finding a goat sitter.

Is anyone missing their horses? some arrived in my yard today

Apparently good horse sitters are also hard to find.

In search of worms. Yes, worms. Looking for red wiggler (Eisenia fetida) for a worm composter.

This post immediately reminded me of the immortal jingle from WKRP in Cincinnati.

A YEAR AGO: Rio bought her compound. You will be glad to hear that A and her husband finally moved into the apartment they were attempting to buy – about 7 months after this post. Whew!

FIVE YEARS AGO: Our beloved friend Paul was visiting and our beloved Schatzi was still with us.

‘Memba Mark’s winter trenching project? It has reared its ugly head again.

It was a sunny Sunday, and I was watching hummingbirds buzzing around the garden and two yellow butterflies chasing each other while I drank coffee out of my delightful kitty mug:

when the peace of the morning was shattered by Audrey bringing a protesting chipmunk into the house by its tail. I chased after her, yelling at her to drop it, which she did, to the surprise of all involved. The chipmunk wasted no time in racing up a nearby tree, where he was chased by a surprisingly athletic Clyde. The chipmunk eluded him, however, and leaped from branch to branch, mocking the cats as he made his escape. It made me wonder what happens around the house when I am not there to see it.

I had hardly had a chance to get back in the house and resume reading Postsecret before the quiet was shattered yet again by large machinery, alarming both cats and Self.

Going outside, I discovered that Mark and his friends had resumed the trenching project right outside my house. While pleased with the prospect of having the wires that currently drape my house in a non picturesque style which also leaves them vulnerable to winter power outages, I was less delighted with the Dreadful Rauw and the fact that the water was off all day. Megan was, if anything, even less delighted about the water outage than I was, given that she was making pesto from the garden’s jungle of basil and had no way to wash it unless she packed it all up again and went back over there, which is what she ended up doing.

When the water came back on, I discovered that it was once again brown, and I once again found Mark’s assurance that it was clean dirt unreassuring. I had to wonder if showering or washing dishes in brown water resulted in actual cleanliness.

When they had knocked off for the day, I went out to inspect the results, beside the house:

and across from it:

The giant machine was left right outside my house:

making it more challenging than usual to get Wednesday in and out of there, and making me wonder how long it’s going to stay. I hope that Trenching Project 2.0 doesn’t get stalled for months the way the beta version did. Stay tuned for continuing trenching adventures!

A YEAR AGO: A look around the garden. It might be time for another one.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A loveley evening.