Sunday, September 29, 2013
Episode 8
Notes From the North IF Episode 8
It occurred to me today walking to the Speedy Mart (our replacement for the missing Seven Elevens) that the sky here is - (are you ready?) - 50 shades of grey! It snowed here early in the morning on the 27th September; snowed but did not stick in our yard, except, for a time, on our toolshed. The snow did stick on the foothills around us. Nevertheless, as I walked bundled in layer after layer of clothing, I saw the native children running around in shirtsleeves and in at least one case, shorts!
Has my blood thinned so much during my life beside the mighty Pacific, and thickened so very little despite our having been here a month? The answers must be, yes and yes. This snowfall, such a trauma and shock to me was literally nothing to these children. I will observe them closely so that I know when real winter has arrived; they must sometime break out winter coats, mittens, scarves and so on.
We are seeing signs everywhere for haunted houses, spook houses, haunted mansions - the harbingers of Halloween. I had briefly thought that this pagan revelry might be minimized here in such a Godly place, but no. I suppose that it has become a holiday almost as secular as Christmas - that celebration of consumption, that orgy of consumerism. Costumes, spook houses, trick or treating, I suddenly realize that with all the neighbors, all the children, we had better be ready with candy on the night set aside for begging. Surely hordes of glittering princesses, sheet-swathed ghosts, black-clad and warty witches, legions of tiny spider-men, diminutive Hulks, scampering little soldiers and the whole panoply of costumed beggars will troop down our block, under the watchful and indulgent eyes of their parents, filling bags with tooth-rotting prizes, and we had best be ready for it. By golly - we need at least a jack-o-lantern, maybe some artfully deployed cobwebs, perhaps even a tombstone? We had better be ready with costumes ourselves.
And cold on the heels of Halloween will be winter, real winter, not the gentle almost comical dusting of snow we got the other day, but cold enough to freeze the ground down 2 feet (so we have been told), cold enough to draw armies of skiers and snow boarders to the nearby "champagne snow", certainly cold enough to at last stop our lawn from getting even longer.
The repairs to our water main have left their mark. There remains, despite their earnest promises to return and tidy up, a 40 foot long, 2 foot wide snake of humped dirt, broken in several places where the little backhoe rolled over it. In addition, dirt was broadcast over the lawn in generous portions, muddy dirt full of clay that clings with the slightest opportunity to everything it touches. I have 2 pairs of shoes laying sole up, encouraging the adhesive soil to dry with the hope that it might someday be coaxed loose. I avoid the backyard and the sideyard where the trench was dug, as the soil in some paces lurks under the nodding fronds of grass, waiting for any host to come so it can wed itself to anything touching it.
I have noticed that our yard has it's own cat - white with black splotches - or is it black with white swaths? The cat spends much of the day in our yard, under the bushes around the edge of the yard, leisurely hunting the birds who also use our yard. I finally decided that since our yard is one of the few without a dog or dogs, the rest of nature sees it as a protected reserve. The cat has condescended to let us live here - after the first days of furtive scrutiny it is becoming bolder. In the evening it sits on our back deck and watches us through the sliding glass doors. A human zoological exhibit? Fair enough. It tolerates us being in the yard with it, but any motion which it interprets as an approach sends it teleporting away with that sudden instantaneity which is the province of the housecat everywhere.
D has gotten his benefit package from his employer, and careful scrutiny of the domestic partner benefit requirements shows that I will not be eligible. Obamacare here I come! I will report on my expriences with that furiously contested program when and if it begins and when and if I enroll.
Stay tuned for more episodes of NFTNIF!
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Episode 7
Notes From the North IF Episode 7
Summer is gone - the Autumnal Equinox and Harvest Moon are behind us. Our days have run the gamut from bitterly cold and dismally gray to innocently warm, sunny and clear - as though the weather itself is confused, or the battlefield of contending seasons and influences. We have experienced both the ghosts of summer in 70+ degree weather and the chilly fingers of wind that are harbingers of a bitter winter ahead. Birds still abound, and flies, both seemingly utterly insensible of what lies ahead. Oh, some of the birds must know what awaits us, but many of them I am informed will winter along the Snake River, enduring what we endure with only their frail bones and plumage to stand in for our central heating and double-paned glass windows.
The ever-changing kaleidoscopic clouds give us what we lost when we departed from the coast - the skyscape is our ocean now - mightier by far than any body of water lapping our little planet. The sky is in fact what gave to the ocean it's palette of colors even in San Diego - aquamarine, emerald, orange and pink, dizzying blue and plum, rose and ocher - only now we experience it without reflection or intermediary. I had forgotten how much variety the sky can evince - cotton and slate, granite and fleece, wispy, ponderous, all-encompassing. Our lawn seems as unmoved by the relentless advances of seasonal metamorphosis as ever; I long daily for goats or some ruminant to curb it's indescribable verdancy.
However, I can report, that in two days of heroic labor the uncle of our landlady and even moreso his sturdy helper have at last staunched the hemorrhage of water. By my calculations 224,640 gallons of purified water have been returned to the earth since we arrived - God alone knows how much before we got here.
When they arrived Monday to survey the job, it seemed that they were going to have to rip up our extensive driveway, drill through the wall and perform other messy and extensive modifications. They chucked all that in favor of a new plan.
It turns out that this house once occupied a different location, and some local disaster necessitated it's removal to the site it now occupies. This meant that the utility connections were kludges - making no sense at all except for that circumstance. The newest arrangement has adhered to that tradition. Instead of breaking up the concrete, they brought in a baby backhoe (which was so cute and so useful I instantly conceived a desire to possess it or one like it) and trenched along the side of the house, along the back and under our deck. There was just barely room to operate under our deck to the requisite depth to allow them to drill a new orifice admitting the new water main. This was then mated untidily but snugly to the existing water infrastructure. the final connection was consecrated today and water service is restored.
May I for a moment relate what it is like to be unable to flush the toilet, or wash your hands or anything else? Water is like breath - only appreciated in it's absence. As I used to tell myself - never to for a day let the beauty of San Diego go unacknowledged, so will I now daily offer a hosannah to the availability of clean water - a commodity unavailable to too many of our fellow humans.
We did learn that the contents of a trench, once abstracted from it are greater than the trenches' capacity when one attempts to restore them. In other words - we have heaps of dirt where once only immortal and vigorous lawn once reigned. Dustin is going to plant tulip bulbs tomorrow when our utility myrmidons have restored it to the best of their ability. I only wish they had treated the rest of our never-to-be-sufficiently damned lawn the same - then I could have a sensible, extensive garden instead of a useless, voluptuous emerald carpet. I watch our neighbors stolidly mowing their own lawns every 3 or 4 days, stoically riding or walking behind their fume-spewing mowers. I think a lawn is a fine hobby for a widower or someone released from hard labor, or suffering from delusions which would be ameliorated by sisyphean toil, or someone seeking a zen release from the real world of profitable activity - but it is surely no good for me, or the environment, or those millions of others who could be shredding paper or doing anything at all which has a beginning, an end and accomplishes something substantive in between.
I had occasion to walk about a mile along the country road which is 2 blocks from our house, and I am ashamed to say that I have not seen litter of that sort of variety and abundance since the crying Indian commercial in 1970. This reaffirms my belief that we have time-warped back to 1965 when we moved here. On the brighter side I did retrieve a rather large plant pot which we will store for use next spring. I walked further than I intended - telling myself that this must be only at the intersection, it must be limited to the last segment of the highway in town, but it continued with no slackening out of sight beyond the point at which I turned back. OK - there were no shopping carts, decapitated bodies or corpses of large animals such as anyone might stumble across in Balboa Park, but it took my breath away to see so much trash discarded so haphazardly along the canal and fields with their dumbly nodding fields of corn.
Perhaps the volcanic origins of this landscape have contributed to a longer-range view of litter than is the norm - in a hundred thousand years, maybe as few as thirty thousand, the Yellowstone super-volcano will explode, rendering all the litter (and much of North American civilization) moot by covering it with basaltic magma and reducing all organic components to incandescent ash. BUT - in the meantime - is it only I who sees the trash? Am I the only one it bothers? Can the entire ecology movement, the whole of the revolution in human thinking have actually passed by Idaho Falls? AND - may I add, superfluously for those who have been reading carefully, this sort of litter would NEVER be permitted on any of these pristine, fast-growing, high-maintenance and low utility lawns!
Tonight I am making spaghetti squash casserole for dinner to celebrate the end of our water flowing, endlessly flowing.
Tune in for the next episode of Notes From the North!
Summer is gone - the Autumnal Equinox and Harvest Moon are behind us. Our days have run the gamut from bitterly cold and dismally gray to innocently warm, sunny and clear - as though the weather itself is confused, or the battlefield of contending seasons and influences. We have experienced both the ghosts of summer in 70+ degree weather and the chilly fingers of wind that are harbingers of a bitter winter ahead. Birds still abound, and flies, both seemingly utterly insensible of what lies ahead. Oh, some of the birds must know what awaits us, but many of them I am informed will winter along the Snake River, enduring what we endure with only their frail bones and plumage to stand in for our central heating and double-paned glass windows.
The ever-changing kaleidoscopic clouds give us what we lost when we departed from the coast - the skyscape is our ocean now - mightier by far than any body of water lapping our little planet. The sky is in fact what gave to the ocean it's palette of colors even in San Diego - aquamarine, emerald, orange and pink, dizzying blue and plum, rose and ocher - only now we experience it without reflection or intermediary. I had forgotten how much variety the sky can evince - cotton and slate, granite and fleece, wispy, ponderous, all-encompassing. Our lawn seems as unmoved by the relentless advances of seasonal metamorphosis as ever; I long daily for goats or some ruminant to curb it's indescribable verdancy.
However, I can report, that in two days of heroic labor the uncle of our landlady and even moreso his sturdy helper have at last staunched the hemorrhage of water. By my calculations 224,640 gallons of purified water have been returned to the earth since we arrived - God alone knows how much before we got here.
When they arrived Monday to survey the job, it seemed that they were going to have to rip up our extensive driveway, drill through the wall and perform other messy and extensive modifications. They chucked all that in favor of a new plan.
It turns out that this house once occupied a different location, and some local disaster necessitated it's removal to the site it now occupies. This meant that the utility connections were kludges - making no sense at all except for that circumstance. The newest arrangement has adhered to that tradition. Instead of breaking up the concrete, they brought in a baby backhoe (which was so cute and so useful I instantly conceived a desire to possess it or one like it) and trenched along the side of the house, along the back and under our deck. There was just barely room to operate under our deck to the requisite depth to allow them to drill a new orifice admitting the new water main. This was then mated untidily but snugly to the existing water infrastructure. the final connection was consecrated today and water service is restored.
May I for a moment relate what it is like to be unable to flush the toilet, or wash your hands or anything else? Water is like breath - only appreciated in it's absence. As I used to tell myself - never to for a day let the beauty of San Diego go unacknowledged, so will I now daily offer a hosannah to the availability of clean water - a commodity unavailable to too many of our fellow humans.
We did learn that the contents of a trench, once abstracted from it are greater than the trenches' capacity when one attempts to restore them. In other words - we have heaps of dirt where once only immortal and vigorous lawn once reigned. Dustin is going to plant tulip bulbs tomorrow when our utility myrmidons have restored it to the best of their ability. I only wish they had treated the rest of our never-to-be-sufficiently damned lawn the same - then I could have a sensible, extensive garden instead of a useless, voluptuous emerald carpet. I watch our neighbors stolidly mowing their own lawns every 3 or 4 days, stoically riding or walking behind their fume-spewing mowers. I think a lawn is a fine hobby for a widower or someone released from hard labor, or suffering from delusions which would be ameliorated by sisyphean toil, or someone seeking a zen release from the real world of profitable activity - but it is surely no good for me, or the environment, or those millions of others who could be shredding paper or doing anything at all which has a beginning, an end and accomplishes something substantive in between.
I had occasion to walk about a mile along the country road which is 2 blocks from our house, and I am ashamed to say that I have not seen litter of that sort of variety and abundance since the crying Indian commercial in 1970. This reaffirms my belief that we have time-warped back to 1965 when we moved here. On the brighter side I did retrieve a rather large plant pot which we will store for use next spring. I walked further than I intended - telling myself that this must be only at the intersection, it must be limited to the last segment of the highway in town, but it continued with no slackening out of sight beyond the point at which I turned back. OK - there were no shopping carts, decapitated bodies or corpses of large animals such as anyone might stumble across in Balboa Park, but it took my breath away to see so much trash discarded so haphazardly along the canal and fields with their dumbly nodding fields of corn.
Perhaps the volcanic origins of this landscape have contributed to a longer-range view of litter than is the norm - in a hundred thousand years, maybe as few as thirty thousand, the Yellowstone super-volcano will explode, rendering all the litter (and much of North American civilization) moot by covering it with basaltic magma and reducing all organic components to incandescent ash. BUT - in the meantime - is it only I who sees the trash? Am I the only one it bothers? Can the entire ecology movement, the whole of the revolution in human thinking have actually passed by Idaho Falls? AND - may I add, superfluously for those who have been reading carefully, this sort of litter would NEVER be permitted on any of these pristine, fast-growing, high-maintenance and low utility lawns!
Tonight I am making spaghetti squash casserole for dinner to celebrate the end of our water flowing, endlessly flowing.
Tune in for the next episode of Notes From the North!
Episode 6 - Pride Edition!
NOTES FROM THE NORTH IF _ PRIDE EDITION!!!
Notes From the North - Pride March Edition
First the background. Idaho Falls is located along a Mormon-settled corridor from Salt Lake City to parts of Colorado. A local politico described IF as ". . .one of the most Mormon places on Earth". On 2 or 3 prior occasions non-discrimination ordinances were defeated.
After considerable debate and lots of community input, the Idaho Falls City Council passed 2/3s of a non-discrimination ordinance. It provides for equality in employment and housing. The third part of the ordinance, which was struck out of the final law provided for non-discrimination in the arena of "public accomodations". Public accommodations include hotels, restaurants, parks, etc.
What does that mean? It means that gay persons can be refused the use of "public accommodations" - or charged a different rate than others. Picture a crowded lunch counter where some people would be waved out the door because they are lesbian or gay; a hotel refusing a room or charging double, a permit not granted for a picnic in a park, etc.
As anyone can see - this is flagrantly discriminatory and gives rise to all sorts of potential absurdity. How will gay/lesbian/bisexual or other non-protected persons be identified? Will they borrow from an older system and have us wear pink triangles? Will there be established a registry of non-straight persons? What will count as criteria for non-protected status? Will hotel, restaurant, and city employees be given crash courses in "gaydar" so that they can identify and this discriminate against these undesirables?
If a person is married and in the closet - which will determine their status? Will "one drop" of gay blood make you gay? As anyone who takes the time to examine this issue can see there is enormous scope for mistakes - for people who are NOT gay to also suffer from this discriminatory policy. Will we elect a Supreme Sexuality Arbiter whose word will be final in determining a persons sexual orientation for the purposes of legal protection or discrimination?
Nevertheless, this represents an enormous and almost inconceivable step forward for Idaho Falls. Forgetting for a moment the inherently ridiculous aspects of the missing "public accommodations" protection, a person can no longer be fired from their job or denied housing solely on the basis of their sexual orientation. My belief is that in time the hopelessness of enforcing a policy of discrimination when the criteria for it are so completely arbitrary means that the missing third part of the ordinance will also be enacted. The alternative is somehow organizing a system for recognizing a persons sexuality, which by the way is an element which can evolve over time. Again - if you used to be straight will you lose legal protection by slipping into the "gay" category? Can a gay or lesbian person advance to protected status by some psychological or legal maneuver - get a 'note' from their minister or analyst?
On to the pride celebration itself - enough of the murky preliminaries.
Saturday, September 14, 2013 dawned bright and sunny. I contacted the gay friends I made online to find out how many were going. One after another they declined, mostly for work, less often because they need to keep a low profile for work or family. At last a gay couple allowed that they wanted to "see how it went" as they had never been to a pride march before. They graciously picked up Dustin and me and we chatted gaily (sorry) until we reached the start of the march at the Unitarian Universalist church. Our pals let us out and promised to position themselves at some point along the parade route. They asked if we would march and we told them we would march if they let us join - otherwise we would cheer from the sides too.
Dustin and I had debated what to wear - having been told by other IF gays that they hoped everyone would be "well-behaved", and refrain from being outrageous, obscene or otherwise too much for the community to tolerate at this first historic Pride.
An opposing pundit scoffed that "there won't be 10 people there altogether - at the most 50". She remembered with fond nostalgia when "you didn't have to put up with diversity", and she lamented the use of public parks and the "waste of taxpayer money".
The group assembled for this Pride celebration included everyone from babes in arms and strollers to seniors in wheelchairs. Married couples with their entire array of children, the children excitedly waving rainbow flags, hair colored in rainbows, faces painted - kids and adults carrying signs and noise makers. My sign read - "Don't Panic" which served to restrain and amuse everyone who saw it. I reflected that these were also tax-payers, enjoying the use of their tax dollars - not wasting them.
The parade organizers during their introductory and organizational remarks exulted at the large and actuarially complete group who had gathered, as gorgeously flamboyant and colorful and spirited a group as I have seen at any of my other Pride events. They cautioned us to decline confrontation and sing, dance, and make some noise. Why else do we call it gay?!?
We set out, music playing, slogans ringing into the air, traffic stopping politely when we crossed the street. The original parade permit had been withdrawn so we simply used a different route (public accommodations indeed)!
At every point along the way more people joined us, people with booths cheered us on. The shoppers at the weekly farmers market made a joyful noise when they saw us coming. Everyone was surprised at how many people participated - the 300-400 at the beginning became 1200-1300 along the way. We saw our friends watching as they said they would, and tried to entice them into joining the parade, but soon passed them as they drew back and continued watching. I did notice several of the friends who said they would not be there actually attended after all.
There were no hecklers, no counter-demonstrators, no opposition at all. A number of Mormons openly attended including a family who gave out "free hugs" and a sticker reading "I was hugged by a Mormon". There were political action groups such as Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG), the League of Women Voters, reproductive rights groups, petition gathering groups, food vendors and so on.
The day was beautiful, the people were wonderful, the event was unexpectedly well attended, violence and hatred free and stayed within the tolerance level of a conservative town in its splendor and assertiveness.
Afterwards, our long-time resident friends remarked over and over their surprise at the large group, the total lack of counter-demonstration, and the (relative) respectability of the entire affair.
In conclusion, next year will see even more people - because they saw and heard that this years event was such a success. Beneath the roil of online debate and the heated discussions over the Non-discrimination ordinance - what is that sound I hear? Is it the chime of inevitability?
Thanks for your persistence and stay tuned for the next NFTN!
Notes From the North - Pride March Edition
First the background. Idaho Falls is located along a Mormon-settled corridor from Salt Lake City to parts of Colorado. A local politico described IF as ". . .one of the most Mormon places on Earth". On 2 or 3 prior occasions non-discrimination ordinances were defeated.
After considerable debate and lots of community input, the Idaho Falls City Council passed 2/3s of a non-discrimination ordinance. It provides for equality in employment and housing. The third part of the ordinance, which was struck out of the final law provided for non-discrimination in the arena of "public accomodations". Public accommodations include hotels, restaurants, parks, etc.
What does that mean? It means that gay persons can be refused the use of "public accommodations" - or charged a different rate than others. Picture a crowded lunch counter where some people would be waved out the door because they are lesbian or gay; a hotel refusing a room or charging double, a permit not granted for a picnic in a park, etc.
As anyone can see - this is flagrantly discriminatory and gives rise to all sorts of potential absurdity. How will gay/lesbian/bisexual or other non-protected persons be identified? Will they borrow from an older system and have us wear pink triangles? Will there be established a registry of non-straight persons? What will count as criteria for non-protected status? Will hotel, restaurant, and city employees be given crash courses in "gaydar" so that they can identify and this discriminate against these undesirables?
If a person is married and in the closet - which will determine their status? Will "one drop" of gay blood make you gay? As anyone who takes the time to examine this issue can see there is enormous scope for mistakes - for people who are NOT gay to also suffer from this discriminatory policy. Will we elect a Supreme Sexuality Arbiter whose word will be final in determining a persons sexual orientation for the purposes of legal protection or discrimination?
Nevertheless, this represents an enormous and almost inconceivable step forward for Idaho Falls. Forgetting for a moment the inherently ridiculous aspects of the missing "public accommodations" protection, a person can no longer be fired from their job or denied housing solely on the basis of their sexual orientation. My belief is that in time the hopelessness of enforcing a policy of discrimination when the criteria for it are so completely arbitrary means that the missing third part of the ordinance will also be enacted. The alternative is somehow organizing a system for recognizing a persons sexuality, which by the way is an element which can evolve over time. Again - if you used to be straight will you lose legal protection by slipping into the "gay" category? Can a gay or lesbian person advance to protected status by some psychological or legal maneuver - get a 'note' from their minister or analyst?
On to the pride celebration itself - enough of the murky preliminaries.
Saturday, September 14, 2013 dawned bright and sunny. I contacted the gay friends I made online to find out how many were going. One after another they declined, mostly for work, less often because they need to keep a low profile for work or family. At last a gay couple allowed that they wanted to "see how it went" as they had never been to a pride march before. They graciously picked up Dustin and me and we chatted gaily (sorry) until we reached the start of the march at the Unitarian Universalist church. Our pals let us out and promised to position themselves at some point along the parade route. They asked if we would march and we told them we would march if they let us join - otherwise we would cheer from the sides too.
Dustin and I had debated what to wear - having been told by other IF gays that they hoped everyone would be "well-behaved", and refrain from being outrageous, obscene or otherwise too much for the community to tolerate at this first historic Pride.
An opposing pundit scoffed that "there won't be 10 people there altogether - at the most 50". She remembered with fond nostalgia when "you didn't have to put up with diversity", and she lamented the use of public parks and the "waste of taxpayer money".
The group assembled for this Pride celebration included everyone from babes in arms and strollers to seniors in wheelchairs. Married couples with their entire array of children, the children excitedly waving rainbow flags, hair colored in rainbows, faces painted - kids and adults carrying signs and noise makers. My sign read - "Don't Panic" which served to restrain and amuse everyone who saw it. I reflected that these were also tax-payers, enjoying the use of their tax dollars - not wasting them.
The parade organizers during their introductory and organizational remarks exulted at the large and actuarially complete group who had gathered, as gorgeously flamboyant and colorful and spirited a group as I have seen at any of my other Pride events. They cautioned us to decline confrontation and sing, dance, and make some noise. Why else do we call it gay?!?
We set out, music playing, slogans ringing into the air, traffic stopping politely when we crossed the street. The original parade permit had been withdrawn so we simply used a different route (public accommodations indeed)!
At every point along the way more people joined us, people with booths cheered us on. The shoppers at the weekly farmers market made a joyful noise when they saw us coming. Everyone was surprised at how many people participated - the 300-400 at the beginning became 1200-1300 along the way. We saw our friends watching as they said they would, and tried to entice them into joining the parade, but soon passed them as they drew back and continued watching. I did notice several of the friends who said they would not be there actually attended after all.
There were no hecklers, no counter-demonstrators, no opposition at all. A number of Mormons openly attended including a family who gave out "free hugs" and a sticker reading "I was hugged by a Mormon". There were political action groups such as Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG), the League of Women Voters, reproductive rights groups, petition gathering groups, food vendors and so on.
The day was beautiful, the people were wonderful, the event was unexpectedly well attended, violence and hatred free and stayed within the tolerance level of a conservative town in its splendor and assertiveness.
Afterwards, our long-time resident friends remarked over and over their surprise at the large group, the total lack of counter-demonstration, and the (relative) respectability of the entire affair.
In conclusion, next year will see even more people - because they saw and heard that this years event was such a success. Beneath the roil of online debate and the heated discussions over the Non-discrimination ordinance - what is that sound I hear? Is it the chime of inevitability?
Thanks for your persistence and stay tuned for the next NFTN!
Episode 5
Notes From the North IF 5
Early this morning as I waited with FlipCamera in hand for the rising sun to turn the bottoms of the clouds to that lava-like orange, a rooster crowed. After a moment of hush, it crowed again. To my surprise the dogs barked in imitation of the rooster's crow! I stood listening to the rooster and the dog's imitation crowing until it became obvious that the angle of sun to clouds was wrong this morning - there would be no kindling for me to record this morning.
Rob and Teresa from the Co-Op rolled in to see us the morning of Thursday Sept. 12, 2013. We made them as comfortable as possible in the guest room. We caught up on our lives and they studied and napped. In the evening we set out to explore Idaho Falls downtown.
We parked along the green belt, and strolled the riverfront - pausing to examine the statuary, the artillery piece, the War memorial, various signs describing the estuarine avine autochtons (local river birds); this green belt is home to 6 different species of duck, hosts migratory Canadian Geese, and various other plants, animals, fish and birds. The aura of peacefulness arising from the alternating clouds and sun, the sussuration of the river and falls, the cool and lush greenery around us is very pleasant and we all agreed that we felt it.
Turning our steps into the buildings of downtown, we discover that 5 p.m. marks the end of business hours for downtown. In several blocks of wandering we saw only a Thai restaurant and a bookstore still open. Since we have decided on pizza for dinner tonight we head for the bookstore. The proprietor seemed very glad to see us. We learn he was born in San Diego at Queen Anne's hospital, and take turns engaging him in conversation. I find a copy of Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine and persuade Rob to buy it and read it. It is one of the most lyrical and substantive distillations of human experience I have ever had the joy to read - I feel certain Rob will enjoy it too.
The owner, whose name is Dustin, followed my eloquent endorsement of Dandelion Wine, and perceiving a kindred spirit invites me to the back of the store to see a recently acquired treasure trove. This turns out to be a large selection of science fiction, from the 1930's, 40's and 50's, all in excellent condition. The books include those Daw back-to-back books; with two novels under it's cover, each upside down from the other. I tell him that I have some of those back-to-back books as well and we agree to meet again. We waves us cheerily on our way, with Teresa buying an authoritative guide on pickling; which included a recipe for pickled oppossum.
We drive under lowering charcoal skies looking for the most promising pizzeria. We find a pair - Papa Murphy's and Papa Tom's. We choose Papa Tom's as Papa Murphy's does not inspire as much confidence that it will be authentic Italian cuisine. Inside we consider the menu then order a Red Baron (pepperoni, sausage, Canadian bacon, sauerkraut and tomato) - hold the sauerkraut. We also order a veggie Special, with half of it's surface dedicated to pineapple.
As we wait, we explore the premises. There is a banquet room with a party of 5 venerable ladies and gentlemen, and one toddler. On the wall is a vast poster, covered with scrawled signatures, congratulating Papa Tom's on it's 70th anniversary. Reassured by the longevity of their custom, I make a circuit of the place. There are 6 paintings, 3 pairs of identical images gracing opposite walls - scenes of various french eateries. There are a number of electronic games, one of which draws me like a gawker to a car wreck. It is a hunting game - with two life-sized rifles mounted side by side and a super high quality display, showing a water-course and two deer in exquisite detail. Images displace one another on the screen - evidently this system is connected via web to others like it - I see the names of champions who have not only attained celebrity by their marksmanship - but also won cash prizes! It dawns on me once more how many different worlds exist side by side here on our homely earth!
At home we eat the (excellent) pizzas as we laugh and talk - the Red Baron still bears it's signature sauerkraut. The crust is crunchy and all agree that Papa Tom's was a great choice. After some late-night discussions of God, man and reality we all retire.
In the morning, after breakfast, signatures in our Guest Book and hugs all around- our friends start their long journey home - dropping Dustin (G - not the bookshop proprietor) off to get his scrubs embroidered. - Next - Notes from IF Pride! Stay tuned!!!!
Early this morning as I waited with FlipCamera in hand for the rising sun to turn the bottoms of the clouds to that lava-like orange, a rooster crowed. After a moment of hush, it crowed again. To my surprise the dogs barked in imitation of the rooster's crow! I stood listening to the rooster and the dog's imitation crowing until it became obvious that the angle of sun to clouds was wrong this morning - there would be no kindling for me to record this morning.
Rob and Teresa from the Co-Op rolled in to see us the morning of Thursday Sept. 12, 2013. We made them as comfortable as possible in the guest room. We caught up on our lives and they studied and napped. In the evening we set out to explore Idaho Falls downtown.
We parked along the green belt, and strolled the riverfront - pausing to examine the statuary, the artillery piece, the War memorial, various signs describing the estuarine avine autochtons (local river birds); this green belt is home to 6 different species of duck, hosts migratory Canadian Geese, and various other plants, animals, fish and birds. The aura of peacefulness arising from the alternating clouds and sun, the sussuration of the river and falls, the cool and lush greenery around us is very pleasant and we all agreed that we felt it.
Turning our steps into the buildings of downtown, we discover that 5 p.m. marks the end of business hours for downtown. In several blocks of wandering we saw only a Thai restaurant and a bookstore still open. Since we have decided on pizza for dinner tonight we head for the bookstore. The proprietor seemed very glad to see us. We learn he was born in San Diego at Queen Anne's hospital, and take turns engaging him in conversation. I find a copy of Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine and persuade Rob to buy it and read it. It is one of the most lyrical and substantive distillations of human experience I have ever had the joy to read - I feel certain Rob will enjoy it too.
The owner, whose name is Dustin, followed my eloquent endorsement of Dandelion Wine, and perceiving a kindred spirit invites me to the back of the store to see a recently acquired treasure trove. This turns out to be a large selection of science fiction, from the 1930's, 40's and 50's, all in excellent condition. The books include those Daw back-to-back books; with two novels under it's cover, each upside down from the other. I tell him that I have some of those back-to-back books as well and we agree to meet again. We waves us cheerily on our way, with Teresa buying an authoritative guide on pickling; which included a recipe for pickled oppossum.
We drive under lowering charcoal skies looking for the most promising pizzeria. We find a pair - Papa Murphy's and Papa Tom's. We choose Papa Tom's as Papa Murphy's does not inspire as much confidence that it will be authentic Italian cuisine. Inside we consider the menu then order a Red Baron (pepperoni, sausage, Canadian bacon, sauerkraut and tomato) - hold the sauerkraut. We also order a veggie Special, with half of it's surface dedicated to pineapple.
As we wait, we explore the premises. There is a banquet room with a party of 5 venerable ladies and gentlemen, and one toddler. On the wall is a vast poster, covered with scrawled signatures, congratulating Papa Tom's on it's 70th anniversary. Reassured by the longevity of their custom, I make a circuit of the place. There are 6 paintings, 3 pairs of identical images gracing opposite walls - scenes of various french eateries. There are a number of electronic games, one of which draws me like a gawker to a car wreck. It is a hunting game - with two life-sized rifles mounted side by side and a super high quality display, showing a water-course and two deer in exquisite detail. Images displace one another on the screen - evidently this system is connected via web to others like it - I see the names of champions who have not only attained celebrity by their marksmanship - but also won cash prizes! It dawns on me once more how many different worlds exist side by side here on our homely earth!
At home we eat the (excellent) pizzas as we laugh and talk - the Red Baron still bears it's signature sauerkraut. The crust is crunchy and all agree that Papa Tom's was a great choice. After some late-night discussions of God, man and reality we all retire.
In the morning, after breakfast, signatures in our Guest Book and hugs all around- our friends start their long journey home - dropping Dustin (G - not the bookshop proprietor) off to get his scrubs embroidered. - Next - Notes from IF Pride! Stay tuned!!!!
Episode 4
Notes From the North IF Episode 4
We have learned that there are no Seven Elevens in the entire State of Idaho. It took almost a week for that fact to settle in our awareness. The people here seem quite proud of that fact, for no reason they have been able to put into words. They still have similar stores - Maverick, etc., but no 7/11s.
The City of Ammon has sprung into action, 10 days after we informed them of the leak, and after digging out an area almost as large as some Egyptian tombs, they replaced the line from the main to our shut off valve. They put a meter on the line and determined that water is still escaping, somewhere, at the rate of 1 gallon every 10 seconds (60,480 gallons per week) and it has to be leaking out into our yard. I had the city call our property manager and let them know.
“You want me to call them?” asked the same charming man from the city as I handed him the number for the property management company.
“I think they will take it more seriously coming from you” I explained.
So it was not so unreasonable to think we were flooding the neighborhood, and it explains the incontinent luxuriance of our lawn.
Mr. Dxxxxx came out yesterday with a replacement washing machine. He removed the one we had, wrestled the replacement into position, and then discovered that it did not work at all - the agitator did not agitate, the cycles did not cycle. Mr. Dxxxxx maintained an almost supernatural aplomb as he phoned his technicians to let them know that the replacement machine was even less functional than the first washer. He actually had to leave a dryer at our house while he muscled both washers onto his trailer and zoomed away to get us a 3rd machine. This proved the old saying that "third times a charm" as the latest washer functions perfectly, and by diligent action on our part we have finally eliminated the "laundry mountain" that has accumulated since we moved in.
It was an astonishingly beautiful day today – warm and sunny with magnificent cloudscape – distant wispy clouds kindled pink before they caught the burnt orange and subtle gold of sunrise for only a heartbreaking moment – then they turned gray and finally silvery white later in the day. Mountainous billowy masses crested the hills we can see from our backyard, bloated masses puffing and crashing past one another as they tumble down the sides of the rocky crests. In the afternoon darkish clouds capped with brilliant white poured along the east passing south on their way who knows where.
In place of the disjointed ramblings of homeless collecting bottles in the alley we listen to the disparate choruses of many kinds of birds. It's harvest season here and birds abound, quail and pheasant and many kinds of birds I do not recognize. Two nights ago I stood on our deck at 2:30 am and listened to coyotes calling to one another. Two blocks from our house is wide open country – high desert sweeping to the hills. As I listened their calls got closer; they were talking to each other with a surprisingly varied vocabulary of sounds. I left for the warmth of bed wondering what they were hunting.
That's all for this time, stay tuned from Notes From the North!
We have learned that there are no Seven Elevens in the entire State of Idaho. It took almost a week for that fact to settle in our awareness. The people here seem quite proud of that fact, for no reason they have been able to put into words. They still have similar stores - Maverick, etc., but no 7/11s.
The City of Ammon has sprung into action, 10 days after we informed them of the leak, and after digging out an area almost as large as some Egyptian tombs, they replaced the line from the main to our shut off valve. They put a meter on the line and determined that water is still escaping, somewhere, at the rate of 1 gallon every 10 seconds (60,480 gallons per week) and it has to be leaking out into our yard. I had the city call our property manager and let them know.
“You want me to call them?” asked the same charming man from the city as I handed him the number for the property management company.
“I think they will take it more seriously coming from you” I explained.
So it was not so unreasonable to think we were flooding the neighborhood, and it explains the incontinent luxuriance of our lawn.
Mr. Dxxxxx came out yesterday with a replacement washing machine. He removed the one we had, wrestled the replacement into position, and then discovered that it did not work at all - the agitator did not agitate, the cycles did not cycle. Mr. Dxxxxx maintained an almost supernatural aplomb as he phoned his technicians to let them know that the replacement machine was even less functional than the first washer. He actually had to leave a dryer at our house while he muscled both washers onto his trailer and zoomed away to get us a 3rd machine. This proved the old saying that "third times a charm" as the latest washer functions perfectly, and by diligent action on our part we have finally eliminated the "laundry mountain" that has accumulated since we moved in.
It was an astonishingly beautiful day today – warm and sunny with magnificent cloudscape – distant wispy clouds kindled pink before they caught the burnt orange and subtle gold of sunrise for only a heartbreaking moment – then they turned gray and finally silvery white later in the day. Mountainous billowy masses crested the hills we can see from our backyard, bloated masses puffing and crashing past one another as they tumble down the sides of the rocky crests. In the afternoon darkish clouds capped with brilliant white poured along the east passing south on their way who knows where.
In place of the disjointed ramblings of homeless collecting bottles in the alley we listen to the disparate choruses of many kinds of birds. It's harvest season here and birds abound, quail and pheasant and many kinds of birds I do not recognize. Two nights ago I stood on our deck at 2:30 am and listened to coyotes calling to one another. Two blocks from our house is wide open country – high desert sweeping to the hills. As I listened their calls got closer; they were talking to each other with a surprisingly varied vocabulary of sounds. I left for the warmth of bed wondering what they were hunting.
That's all for this time, stay tuned from Notes From the North!
Episode 3
Notes From the North IF, Part the 3rd
So we have learned a good deal since my last NFTN. The lake that formed across from us came about as a deliberate effort called "flood irrigation", and had nothing to do with our (still ongoing) water pipe break. The City of Ammon has marked out parts of our lawn and the street with a brilliant patchwork of chalk and spray paint lines and flags - all indicating utility lines of one sort or another. The crew which came out this morning was as appalled by the volume of water apparently escaping as was the first charming gentleman, but no digging has yet begun. They refused to believe that we were not using any water, that all the gushing and rushing they detected was from a broken pipe - but once they went over our house inch by inch they were forced to concede that it is all due to multiple fractures in their piping.
The apologetic utility worker informed me that there are likely additional breaks on our side of the water line, and went into a long explanation of what would need to be done in that case and the expense involved. I gratefully informed him that it was an issue for the property management company not us.
The washer/dryer we purchased are antiques - if we wait another couple years a museum may want them. The dryer, while clunky is operational, but the washer leaks profusely. Our calls to the vendor went unanswered until this morning when I took over communicating from Dustin. Mr Dxxxx called back immediately after I left a message letting him know my calls would be unrelenting until he got back in touch. He has now promised to come out today - cross your fingers for us.
After the long, dreamy sunshine of San Diego we are getting used to weather again - it alternates here so far between hot and muggy on one hand, and black clouds, continuous flickering lightning and sudden squalling downpours of rain on the other. Last night a blackish subcontinent of rainclouds shoved its way into the grayish mass of clouds filling the rest of the sky - and lighting illuminated the entire edge where the black clouds intruded into the gray - a crown of ionic thorns. Dustin and I watched, listening to the continuous roll of thunder as a laurel wreath of lightning illuminated the entire edge of the intruder. I have never seen anything like it before.
We have also discovered that there is a recycling program of sorts - you must purchase the recycling barrel, then take it to the recycling center yourself. Since we are on a thin budget until our income starts to flow, we cannot purchase the container yet, and without a vehicle we have no way of taking it to the center yet. But at least they do have some sort of program.
The thing that throws the worst monkey wrench into our plans is the LAWN. This forbiddingly lush and vast expanse laughed at our first mowing and returned in 3 days to it's full luxuriance - coming from a neighborhood where everything was sand except that which we ourselves planted - the lawn represents the most intractable dilemma for us. I never before realized how futile and pointless lawns were - such a vast expenditure of time, energy and effort is needed to keep it in check. Luckily it will go to sleep for the winter soon - but at this rate we will somehow have to mow it 5 or 6 more times before then. We are now waiting for the friendly neighbors to mow their lawn as a signal to borrow their mower again.
Idaho Falls is having its first gay pride Celebration this weekend, Saturday and Sunday. We are already putting together our festive costumes and have arranged for a ride to the celebration. I'll have a report on that for the next installment of NFTN!
So we have learned a good deal since my last NFTN. The lake that formed across from us came about as a deliberate effort called "flood irrigation", and had nothing to do with our (still ongoing) water pipe break. The City of Ammon has marked out parts of our lawn and the street with a brilliant patchwork of chalk and spray paint lines and flags - all indicating utility lines of one sort or another. The crew which came out this morning was as appalled by the volume of water apparently escaping as was the first charming gentleman, but no digging has yet begun. They refused to believe that we were not using any water, that all the gushing and rushing they detected was from a broken pipe - but once they went over our house inch by inch they were forced to concede that it is all due to multiple fractures in their piping.
The apologetic utility worker informed me that there are likely additional breaks on our side of the water line, and went into a long explanation of what would need to be done in that case and the expense involved. I gratefully informed him that it was an issue for the property management company not us.
The washer/dryer we purchased are antiques - if we wait another couple years a museum may want them. The dryer, while clunky is operational, but the washer leaks profusely. Our calls to the vendor went unanswered until this morning when I took over communicating from Dustin. Mr Dxxxx called back immediately after I left a message letting him know my calls would be unrelenting until he got back in touch. He has now promised to come out today - cross your fingers for us.
After the long, dreamy sunshine of San Diego we are getting used to weather again - it alternates here so far between hot and muggy on one hand, and black clouds, continuous flickering lightning and sudden squalling downpours of rain on the other. Last night a blackish subcontinent of rainclouds shoved its way into the grayish mass of clouds filling the rest of the sky - and lighting illuminated the entire edge where the black clouds intruded into the gray - a crown of ionic thorns. Dustin and I watched, listening to the continuous roll of thunder as a laurel wreath of lightning illuminated the entire edge of the intruder. I have never seen anything like it before.
We have also discovered that there is a recycling program of sorts - you must purchase the recycling barrel, then take it to the recycling center yourself. Since we are on a thin budget until our income starts to flow, we cannot purchase the container yet, and without a vehicle we have no way of taking it to the center yet. But at least they do have some sort of program.
The thing that throws the worst monkey wrench into our plans is the LAWN. This forbiddingly lush and vast expanse laughed at our first mowing and returned in 3 days to it's full luxuriance - coming from a neighborhood where everything was sand except that which we ourselves planted - the lawn represents the most intractable dilemma for us. I never before realized how futile and pointless lawns were - such a vast expenditure of time, energy and effort is needed to keep it in check. Luckily it will go to sleep for the winter soon - but at this rate we will somehow have to mow it 5 or 6 more times before then. We are now waiting for the friendly neighbors to mow their lawn as a signal to borrow their mower again.
Idaho Falls is having its first gay pride Celebration this weekend, Saturday and Sunday. We are already putting together our festive costumes and have arranged for a ride to the celebration. I'll have a report on that for the next installment of NFTN!
Episode 2
Notes From the North IF - Part the Second
One odd thing we noticed when we were in our vast tool/utility room was the continuous sound of -something- flowing. We speculated about what it might be as we stumbled through the house with boxes and furniture, bringing some order from the chaos of transplantation. Was it gas? If so to what? Was it water? If so where was it going? We were as disorganized as anyone whose belongings are in boxes, have been on the road for parts of 3 days, packing frantically for days before that, now plunged into an unfamiliar environment would be. We did return to the question periodically over the next 2 days. Finally our next door neighbors told us that since the house was put on the market for rental the Rainbird(TM) irrigation system had been on automatic, even though this contravened local ordinances about watering (permitted on Mon, Wed, Fri - and Sunday is a free day for everyone).
I located the Rainbird(TM) system and set it to "OFF". Thinking that was the end of the problem we slogged through our sodden lawn for 2 days mowing, edging (with items borrowed from our most beloved next door neighbors). Since the days were hot, sunny, practically windless, we were confused as to why the lawn would still be wet.
With a feeling of dread in my heart I returned to the tool/utility cavern. There it was, undiminished - that damnable, inexplicable sound of -something- flowing, flowing.
It was then that we noticed the vast yard across the street from us. When we pulled into our street with the truck, a gentleman was mowing it on his riding mower. Today, it was a beautiful mirror of water - reflecting the fleecy clouds in the azure sky - and spreading ever so slowly to engulf the property.
The next day it had become a shady bayou, threading with waters' natural disregard for property lines over several yards - attracting passing waterfowl and becoming the 3rd largest body of water within the Idaho falls City limits.
Since today is Labor day I began with low spirits but a sense of fatalistic determination to call for help. Would we be billed for the fantastic amount of water released since we moved in? Were we funding an aquatic avian refuge?
A call to the rental company of course got me a recording. In a voice I hope was calm but urgent I stressed that they should call me immediately, giving them just enough details to raise alarm in their hearts if anyone listened to the message. The outgoing message gave me a number for after-hours maintenance emergencies. I called it next.
The lady who answered there listened to my issue, had me walk around the house (again) to find the water shut off valve which I could not locate. I gave her my address and she was prepared to send someone, but discovered that i was not on her list of managed properties! She was also confused about where we were - was about to send someone to Salt Lake City. I dragged her back to Ammon (a tiny suburb of Idaho falls) and she told me she would call the rental company, then the city, then call me back.
In the meantime it was the day and hour to return our rental truck. Dustin's father Glenn followed me in the rental car as Google's directions took us both into the charming countryside surrounding Idaho Falls. Grimly we fought our way back to the city and found the rental lot - re-refueled the truck and returned it.
In the meantime I spoke by telephone with the City of Ammon, the county Sheriff Department and finally a City of Ammon representative arrived. We explained the situation to him - showed him the vastly expanded new lake (by this time it was also raining) and took him into the basement. When he stepped into the tool/utility cavern and heard the sound of -something- flowing he gasped. Then he said "Oh My!"
He also searched outrside the house for the water shut-off but could not find it. Dustin, who had found it during the epic 2-day mowing of our yard directed him to it and after he tried to shut it off but could not. The charming representative told us that the City of Ammon would be out in the next week to repair the line as the break was on the City's side of the line.
Now neighbors returning home from their long weekend began to see the new body of water uniting their properties. The After-Hours emergency maintenance company called to let me know we would not have to pay for the new Lake Surprise currently spreading itself over our neighborhood.
Still, standing in our tool/utility cavern - I hear the sound of -something- which is water - flowing.
End part the Second - stay tuned for the next installment of Notes From the North.
One odd thing we noticed when we were in our vast tool/utility room was the continuous sound of -something- flowing. We speculated about what it might be as we stumbled through the house with boxes and furniture, bringing some order from the chaos of transplantation. Was it gas? If so to what? Was it water? If so where was it going? We were as disorganized as anyone whose belongings are in boxes, have been on the road for parts of 3 days, packing frantically for days before that, now plunged into an unfamiliar environment would be. We did return to the question periodically over the next 2 days. Finally our next door neighbors told us that since the house was put on the market for rental the Rainbird(TM) irrigation system had been on automatic, even though this contravened local ordinances about watering (permitted on Mon, Wed, Fri - and Sunday is a free day for everyone).
I located the Rainbird(TM) system and set it to "OFF". Thinking that was the end of the problem we slogged through our sodden lawn for 2 days mowing, edging (with items borrowed from our most beloved next door neighbors). Since the days were hot, sunny, practically windless, we were confused as to why the lawn would still be wet.
With a feeling of dread in my heart I returned to the tool/utility cavern. There it was, undiminished - that damnable, inexplicable sound of -something- flowing, flowing.
It was then that we noticed the vast yard across the street from us. When we pulled into our street with the truck, a gentleman was mowing it on his riding mower. Today, it was a beautiful mirror of water - reflecting the fleecy clouds in the azure sky - and spreading ever so slowly to engulf the property.
The next day it had become a shady bayou, threading with waters' natural disregard for property lines over several yards - attracting passing waterfowl and becoming the 3rd largest body of water within the Idaho falls City limits.
Since today is Labor day I began with low spirits but a sense of fatalistic determination to call for help. Would we be billed for the fantastic amount of water released since we moved in? Were we funding an aquatic avian refuge?
A call to the rental company of course got me a recording. In a voice I hope was calm but urgent I stressed that they should call me immediately, giving them just enough details to raise alarm in their hearts if anyone listened to the message. The outgoing message gave me a number for after-hours maintenance emergencies. I called it next.
The lady who answered there listened to my issue, had me walk around the house (again) to find the water shut off valve which I could not locate. I gave her my address and she was prepared to send someone, but discovered that i was not on her list of managed properties! She was also confused about where we were - was about to send someone to Salt Lake City. I dragged her back to Ammon (a tiny suburb of Idaho falls) and she told me she would call the rental company, then the city, then call me back.
In the meantime it was the day and hour to return our rental truck. Dustin's father Glenn followed me in the rental car as Google's directions took us both into the charming countryside surrounding Idaho Falls. Grimly we fought our way back to the city and found the rental lot - re-refueled the truck and returned it.
In the meantime I spoke by telephone with the City of Ammon, the county Sheriff Department and finally a City of Ammon representative arrived. We explained the situation to him - showed him the vastly expanded new lake (by this time it was also raining) and took him into the basement. When he stepped into the tool/utility cavern and heard the sound of -something- flowing he gasped. Then he said "Oh My!"
He also searched outrside the house for the water shut-off but could not find it. Dustin, who had found it during the epic 2-day mowing of our yard directed him to it and after he tried to shut it off but could not. The charming representative told us that the City of Ammon would be out in the next week to repair the line as the break was on the City's side of the line.
Now neighbors returning home from their long weekend began to see the new body of water uniting their properties. The After-Hours emergency maintenance company called to let me know we would not have to pay for the new Lake Surprise currently spreading itself over our neighborhood.
Still, standing in our tool/utility cavern - I hear the sound of -something- which is water - flowing.
End part the Second - stay tuned for the next installment of Notes From the North.
Episode I
Notes From the North IF - First report
Snapshot of the house - 5 bedroom. Big yard front and back. 2 bathrooms. Giant tool/utility room. Cupboards and closets and outlets for days! Lawn is so green my eyes drink the color like a smoothie. Idaho Falls is located on a vast slightly rolling bowl of a plain made of black rock and covered with trees. 5100 foot altitude. To the west is the crumpled mountainous skirt wearing a gown of trees which is currently on fire. Our next door neighbor told me the fires jumped the mountains in the pass to our part of the state but it is out now I think. (See Malad, Idaho for the pass we went through to get here. We only saw 1 plume of smoke in the distance and it was not very large.) borrowed a mower from our next door neighbors and Dustin is mowing right now - I feel like I must have a touch of altitude sickness - no energy at all today - yesterday was fine but I was running on adrenaline.
The neighbors also told us that Our "bitterly cold" winter will descend on us in October. It's blazingly hot here right now.
The drive here -
California – Everyone speeding. Border Patrol, Sheriffs, state police, highway patrol – the hunters were out in force and everywhere they found prey. Coming through the gap in the last mountain chain before we descended into the Mojave Natural Preserve, looming cloud-continent blackens the entire northern sky. We are struck by torrents of rain, overwhelming the windshield wipers and growing ever stronger. Finally the wind was stupendous and the rain horizontal. We are moving at 15, no 10, no 5 mph, blinkers on, crawling like bugs through the angry tempest. I relax into a profound calm, eyes wide open and noting every lash of wind and slap of rain – straining to see anything ahead of us, hoping no one runs into the back of us. We come into a relatively clear area and traffic speeds up to 30 mph. Then we hit the other side of this maelific storm and slow back to the veriest crawl. Finally we come to a stop – sky black as a bankers heart and the wind howling like demons. We realize there has been an accident ahead, and my imagination conjures a holocaust of twisted metal, shattered glass and looming over everything the monstrous downpour. Minutes pass as we assume the worst then police again – sliding past us in the battering gale. More minutes pass and we begin to inch forward again. Ahead is one truck – looking like a toy thrown by a giant, violent angry child. The driver, a young woman is talking to the police and although somewhat stunned otherwise unharmed.
Nevada – glitzy, lots of local police and then barren waste. Las Vegas – sprawling and spectacular, then more absolute waste.
Arizona – a small strip with various unfriendly signage, warning of this and forbidding that. Not much else here worth noting.
Utah – a sudden switch to orderly landscape, red mountain rocks and vivid green vegetation. The signage miraculously transformed into helpful, encouraging, even paternalistic advice for travelers. “Tired, exit at (the next exit) – no fatigued drivers!” Rest stops – closed or non-existent in California, Nevada and Arizona appear frequently, with mileage to the next rest stop! This is how I always remember highway travel to be – what happened to California, Nevada and Arizona that they became so unfriendly to traveling drivers? Utah has a spare, lean but fundamental beauty – cliffs carved by air and water into terraces, silhouettes and castle shapes. We have made a reservation at the Provo Travellers Inn – and called and confirmed it. We have been on the road 14 hours now and through a hellish deluge so we are ready to sleep. The Provo Travellers Inn has awnings across it's entrance so we take our fully laden truck in the back way. We ring the bell and arouse the desk clerk. “I have no rooms – there was no reservation on my computer”. We argue half-heartedly – but she holds the high trump card – there are no available rooms. We get back in the truck and find a Knights Inn. We munch our lukewarm food and drop into sleep. The next day we whisk with lighter hearts through Salt Lake City and into see a mob of parasailors above a cliff to the northeast of Salt Lake City. We impatiently traverse the rest of Utah and finally pass into
Idaho – where the landscape changes again. Much more intensively groomed, much greener, beautiful in a bucolic, pastoral way. Up we go and down then back up. When we whisk through the last gap we see one lone plume of smoke rising and drifting across a 10th of the sky. We soon leave it behind and in mounting excitement we pass into an area of black basaltic magma and the tenacious greenery invading it. The rock is dark black and resembles vasts piles of asphalt and sometimes obsidian. We pass an indian reservation, the shining green blue Snake River twisting through the black outcroppings. In Pocatello we suffer our first traffic related damage – a school bus throws a rock against our windshield, creating a raggedy star slightly to the right of Dustin's head. Thanking all the powers of good that this is the worst thing to happen we practically joyride to our house.
The neighborhood reminds me of nothing so much as the neighborhood I grew up in in Detroit. Lots of large trees – lots of well kept houses with yards, an elementary school made of the same brick, stone and concrete as my elementary school – and the exact same architecture. One of the friends I made online meets us and we unpack ¾ of the truck. We meet the across the street neighbors and come out for the first time to our neighbors. They take the news without a word or an expression. Dustin's father has gotten here before us and he let in the internet technicians. Life in this throw-back to 1966 will be impossible without internet. They get it working and we all relax. A lovely bottle of yellow wine welcomes us to our new house.
The next morning we meet the next door neighbors. They are interested in whether we have kids so we come out for the second time. Aside from the disappointment of the two small boys at not having new little playmates they seem quite unfazed. They loan us their lawnmower to take care of our incredibly lush lawn. We can only mow the front since the irrigation system has been on continuously since before we arrived. I turn it off. We discover that there is only one trash can – NO RECYCLING!!!!!!
A second friend I made online arrives today - he works at the same hospital as Dustin and with his help we unload the rest of the stuff from the truck.
We discover that there are no Seven Elevens in Idaho Falls!
Thus ends my first Notes From the North – stay tuned for the next installment!
Snapshot of the house - 5 bedroom. Big yard front and back. 2 bathrooms. Giant tool/utility room. Cupboards and closets and outlets for days! Lawn is so green my eyes drink the color like a smoothie. Idaho Falls is located on a vast slightly rolling bowl of a plain made of black rock and covered with trees. 5100 foot altitude. To the west is the crumpled mountainous skirt wearing a gown of trees which is currently on fire. Our next door neighbor told me the fires jumped the mountains in the pass to our part of the state but it is out now I think. (See Malad, Idaho for the pass we went through to get here. We only saw 1 plume of smoke in the distance and it was not very large.) borrowed a mower from our next door neighbors and Dustin is mowing right now - I feel like I must have a touch of altitude sickness - no energy at all today - yesterday was fine but I was running on adrenaline.
The neighbors also told us that Our "bitterly cold" winter will descend on us in October. It's blazingly hot here right now.
The drive here -
California – Everyone speeding. Border Patrol, Sheriffs, state police, highway patrol – the hunters were out in force and everywhere they found prey. Coming through the gap in the last mountain chain before we descended into the Mojave Natural Preserve, looming cloud-continent blackens the entire northern sky. We are struck by torrents of rain, overwhelming the windshield wipers and growing ever stronger. Finally the wind was stupendous and the rain horizontal. We are moving at 15, no 10, no 5 mph, blinkers on, crawling like bugs through the angry tempest. I relax into a profound calm, eyes wide open and noting every lash of wind and slap of rain – straining to see anything ahead of us, hoping no one runs into the back of us. We come into a relatively clear area and traffic speeds up to 30 mph. Then we hit the other side of this maelific storm and slow back to the veriest crawl. Finally we come to a stop – sky black as a bankers heart and the wind howling like demons. We realize there has been an accident ahead, and my imagination conjures a holocaust of twisted metal, shattered glass and looming over everything the monstrous downpour. Minutes pass as we assume the worst then police again – sliding past us in the battering gale. More minutes pass and we begin to inch forward again. Ahead is one truck – looking like a toy thrown by a giant, violent angry child. The driver, a young woman is talking to the police and although somewhat stunned otherwise unharmed.
Nevada – glitzy, lots of local police and then barren waste. Las Vegas – sprawling and spectacular, then more absolute waste.
Arizona – a small strip with various unfriendly signage, warning of this and forbidding that. Not much else here worth noting.
Utah – a sudden switch to orderly landscape, red mountain rocks and vivid green vegetation. The signage miraculously transformed into helpful, encouraging, even paternalistic advice for travelers. “Tired, exit at (the next exit) – no fatigued drivers!” Rest stops – closed or non-existent in California, Nevada and Arizona appear frequently, with mileage to the next rest stop! This is how I always remember highway travel to be – what happened to California, Nevada and Arizona that they became so unfriendly to traveling drivers? Utah has a spare, lean but fundamental beauty – cliffs carved by air and water into terraces, silhouettes and castle shapes. We have made a reservation at the Provo Travellers Inn – and called and confirmed it. We have been on the road 14 hours now and through a hellish deluge so we are ready to sleep. The Provo Travellers Inn has awnings across it's entrance so we take our fully laden truck in the back way. We ring the bell and arouse the desk clerk. “I have no rooms – there was no reservation on my computer”. We argue half-heartedly – but she holds the high trump card – there are no available rooms. We get back in the truck and find a Knights Inn. We munch our lukewarm food and drop into sleep. The next day we whisk with lighter hearts through Salt Lake City and into see a mob of parasailors above a cliff to the northeast of Salt Lake City. We impatiently traverse the rest of Utah and finally pass into
Idaho – where the landscape changes again. Much more intensively groomed, much greener, beautiful in a bucolic, pastoral way. Up we go and down then back up. When we whisk through the last gap we see one lone plume of smoke rising and drifting across a 10th of the sky. We soon leave it behind and in mounting excitement we pass into an area of black basaltic magma and the tenacious greenery invading it. The rock is dark black and resembles vasts piles of asphalt and sometimes obsidian. We pass an indian reservation, the shining green blue Snake River twisting through the black outcroppings. In Pocatello we suffer our first traffic related damage – a school bus throws a rock against our windshield, creating a raggedy star slightly to the right of Dustin's head. Thanking all the powers of good that this is the worst thing to happen we practically joyride to our house.
The neighborhood reminds me of nothing so much as the neighborhood I grew up in in Detroit. Lots of large trees – lots of well kept houses with yards, an elementary school made of the same brick, stone and concrete as my elementary school – and the exact same architecture. One of the friends I made online meets us and we unpack ¾ of the truck. We meet the across the street neighbors and come out for the first time to our neighbors. They take the news without a word or an expression. Dustin's father has gotten here before us and he let in the internet technicians. Life in this throw-back to 1966 will be impossible without internet. They get it working and we all relax. A lovely bottle of yellow wine welcomes us to our new house.
The next morning we meet the next door neighbors. They are interested in whether we have kids so we come out for the second time. Aside from the disappointment of the two small boys at not having new little playmates they seem quite unfazed. They loan us their lawnmower to take care of our incredibly lush lawn. We can only mow the front since the irrigation system has been on continuously since before we arrived. I turn it off. We discover that there is only one trash can – NO RECYCLING!!!!!!
A second friend I made online arrives today - he works at the same hospital as Dustin and with his help we unload the rest of the stuff from the truck.
We discover that there are no Seven Elevens in Idaho Falls!
Thus ends my first Notes From the North – stay tuned for the next installment!
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