Chandelier Tree--A Tree That Sprouted Over 2400 Years Ago

Four hundred years after some people believe Homer began singing about Greeks and Trojans at war on that famous plain, this tree was a sapling. And when Jesus was a babe in a manger in Bethlehem, the tree was two hundred years old.

I can't imagine this, but more importantly, it was what I thought about as I drove through the tree with my sunroof open staring at the sight above me, both inside the tree and outside, where I could see the upper branches.
Jack enjoyed being perched so he could look out at grandma, who takes magnificent pictures. I drove too quickly the first time through the tree, so this was the second try. My Annie put it on a movie clip the first time.
By the time I stopped here, I realized that I drove through too quickly, and I circled around to get the first two pictures at the beginning of this blog.

The Northern California Coastline

There are places in the world, where I would love to live, but the house overlooking the beach here is one of them. My senses were on overload here--the sound of the surf, the touch and scent of the sea, and the vision of this beautiful beach were incredible: so much so that I chose to do a second blog on the time we spent here. The first one had the sound of the waves rolling toward land. I hope to find one more I haven't used.

This view of the beach has a number of fishermen casting lines into the ocean with long poles. I would love to have been able to ask one of them what they hoped to catch, but asking a person who doesn't seem to be catching anything or even getting a nibble on the line would be a mistake. It would have been a bigger mistake than asking the people in Williams if they sold a sourdough start. Their reaction was classic. I don't know why I asked, but it was like I had to check for sure. They laughed when I said, "Oh, I forget that sourdough starts in the area are like a national secret."

And they are too.

One place in San Francisco boasts having starts from the early beginnings of their business in

the nineteenth century.

The fascinating part about the visit to this beach was the dramatic difference I found--those further South offer warmer water, but broken glass and Styrofoam containers and trash mar the view, and those I visited in Germany have course sand mixed with sharp shells that make it less than comfortable to walk in, unless you wear shoes. We wore shoes here, but there were a few swimmers, and some children ran about without shoes or sandals.

The only litter on the beach was driftwood like Jack looked at briefly, although he also found strange little bugs that hopped about the sand, and there were of course small lifeless crab-like things that washed upon the shore in the early morning.

The day was beautiful in spite of the fog and light rain, but I'm not all that sure that it isn't that way often here with cold water meeting the warmth of a sandy beach. Some have told me that this is basically the norm, but I still would love to be here again, in spite of the weather, although it would be fun to get some pictures with the dark blue ocean and sapphire blue sky.

To see the ocean was just another one of the things that made this trip so much fun. Unbelievable to me is that for $160-180 in diesel fuel costs and $200 in hotels, you have moments that are unforgettable.

There just isn't anything like doing something like this with family, although I do like Disneyland. Jack reminded us about that at least once a day while we were on this trip, but I'm excited that he was able to do something besides carnival rides while traveling with us, and he's done that well this year, because other than the Blackfoot Fair, we haven't been on an amusement park ride since November of '09, the time we spent Thanksgiving with all our grandchildren at Disneyland. It was a perfect trip.

But this was fantastic, and it's something I always wanted to do, and interestingly enough, my mom told me it was something my dad always wanted to do.

Willits: The Gateway To The Redwoods

As long as I remember, my Annie has told me about this place, where here dad once had a store. And Stan told me just after we married, that I would love this place, and like a number of things he told me, he was right.

We had thought about driving here by the first day, but that would have been unwise. The road from Williams is a highway that twists and turns a bit, but staying in Williams was a good way to do the trip.

The highway from Williams to the coast twisted and turned through the mountains on the way to the coast and Fort Bragg. We stopped there just long enough for some pictures, and since we were also worried about the charge on our new digital camera, we wanted to find a place to buy a battery. No one had anything like that, no digital cameras and no batteries. At that point, I was willing to buy another camera that would allow me to use a simpler alternative than having to use a charger. But other than a Kodak model, which was a bad camera at least four years ago, there was nothing. One drug store, however, did charge what we had for our camera for close to an hour, which actually worked out well.

But then we took a bunch of pictures of the seashore just outside of Fort Bragg, and the charge was down again. There was nothing to do, because there were no options to find something in any of the stores, but before our next road trip, I will have an extra camera--either a Sony or a Nikon that accepts disposable or rechargeable batteries.

Willits posed a challenge. The opportunity to find another In-N-Out Burger was not going to happen, and after making a couple of turns through town, we chose a place that appeared to have a number of customers.

The Italian food there was incredible, and they also had a few Middle Eastern/Greek things as well--stuffed grape leaves and stuffed peppers with an American twist. These were those tiny round spicy peppers. They stuffed them with a type of meat and cheese. Jack, like both of us, also loved the spaghetti.

And on the way to the car, there was even a bit of after dinner magic, which though a bit strange was fun. A man with a ZZ Top beard sat on his dirt bike and played his violin.

Only being in Northern California once for two days is not enough time to set a lasting impression, but some things were interesting. I find it amazing that there are young people who think they are hippies. That culture died a long time ago, and some of them, if not a strong majority, are now a part of the establishment they once hated.

So I find these shops where they sell dragons and statues of Merlin the Magician, which I don't really remember from the 60's, and the fact that I can remember means that I wasn't really a hippy either. The unfortunate thing that I feel no one learned was that drugs are not a path to enlightenment. Having watched some incredible talent swept away from tragic addiction makes me amazed that another generation, even if it's only a small group, would ever attempt the same stupidity. Nineteenth century writers tried it with opium and other things. It didn't work for them either.

There are also red necks. It's one of the few forms of bigotry I have, because there are some of them I really hate, mostly marauding pick-up drivers who feel they own the road. For the most part, I can live with hippies and rednecks as long as they allow me to live my life my own way.

But I will say this, I have never met people who were so "layback" as those I met on this trip.

A Town I Loved Instantly

I think I remember taking this picture before we traveled to Fort Bragg. This is the town I really loved, and I would move their in an instant. The people, like everyone else we met, were incredibly nice, and it was large enough to have things you want in a city, yet it also had a "small town" atmosphere.

After all these years, I miss that, and I am looking for some place like this to make us a home.

The morning picture was a rushed one after leaving Williams. We were on our way to Fort Bragg to see the coast, and then we wanted to go to Willits for a short stop before arriving at Avenue of the Giants.

Winding a path along the state highway was not done easily, but the scenery was beautiful. It was, however, unfortunate that few places offered a person the opportunity to take any pictures along the way, and besides, we were trying to get to see the redwoods as quickly as possible. That was what we wanted to see on this trip.

But before arriving at the seashore, there were more beautiful pictures to be taken, even if only out the car window while we sped toward the redwoods.As we drew near to Fort Bragg and the coast, there were some small lakes, and then we went through the area called Blue Lakes.

Another thing that amazed me was the idea that you could still see palm trees in Northern California, and the lakes here didn't leave anyone with a question in their mind about how they got their name: The Blue Lakes.

Again, we raced by the area without stopping to take a picture. Imperfections in the photographs actually are an indication of our new digital camera's quality, because we seldom had a camera we could use to take pictures out a moving vehicle. Anything taken out the front window also shows bugs on the windshield.

Though it sounds like I'm saying it because of the scenery we would have missed, I'm glad we didn't attempt to drive this road at night.

It twisted and turned, and occasionally the road took sharp turns at the edge of the lake, not a good idea at night. This part of the road actually was less winding than after reaching Fort Bragg.

Regardless of the road conditions, I would not have missed it, and I would like to drive it again, except next time we will do it at a slower pace. We did the trip in three and a half days, a lot driving for a trip well over 2000 miles, but it was the only thing that time would allow this year. I have no regrets, other than I wish I lived there.

There is, however, one other regret: a wish that I had stopped once or twice to get a scent of the trees and grasses in the mountains before arriving at The Blue Lakes.

I've never been in a place where ripened summer grasses were so beautiful, but I grew up in a different place, which I will always remember fondly, but it was different than what I saw on the road.

The road was so bad as we wound our way into the hills from the seashore to Willits, that I actually felt a bit carsick, which I thought was impossible. I haven't been carsick since I was eight years old, and with the exception of getting really sick in a small plane and a number of times on a fishing boat off the coast of Oregon, I've never reacted that way. And I didn't get really sick, but I did feel it. My Annie however, stopped speaking at one point and grasped a small bag with both hands.

But everything considered, I want to do it again, just with stops to enjoy what I saw.

Williams, California

Gramzella's Resort was where we stayed, and in all fairness, it was very clean, although the carpet--like most hotels--was less than really clean. Everything else was fantastic, and the building, though built some time ago, was an example of high quality building. There were no creaking sounds when you walked across the floor, and most importantly, you would never have known that it was pet friendly. Not only was it very clean, but the hotel was also very quiet. The dogs there were actually cleaner than some people I saw during the course of this summer on our travels.

The breakfast was not bad, but we only picked up a few things for Jack, and then we went over to the resort's restaurant. Breakfast was fantastic. They also had a deli, where I was able to get some great California olives. Greek, Sicilian and those with pimentos are very difficult to find in our country, especially good quality ones. The prices were also very good. But the best part was the sour dough bread.

It was fun to see how curious Jack was about everything. But he didn't like the smell of the antique wine press.

The other thing that was fun to find there was the balsamic vinegar that we like to use in both cooking and dipping rye bread when we find the time to visit Crumb Brothers Bread in Logan.

At the rear of the store, Jack also found something that he enjoys in the mall in Idaho Falls--Italian ice cream or gelato. He liked the chocolate, but strawberry was his favorite today.

I keep hoping that I can take my grandchildren to Vienna to watch them discover the one at Schwedenplatz, where I always took my students during exchange tours.

The First Stop in California

Our first stop in California was an In-N-Out Burger in Sacramento. It was probably a mistake, because we wanted to make it to Willits the first day, but never having made the trip in that area, we had no realistic idea of what we could actually do.

Jack was upset. He wanted McDonalds, but we had done that already early in the morning for him, but he had his heart set on whatever toy they were doing with a kid's meal. Jack's Pop Pop is not a fan of Ronald's franchise. The toy thing is an incredible con, so Jack was upset as we forced him to enter with us.

The moment I walked in the door, I was excited to be there. There's nothing like an old fashioned burger and fries, and their milk shakes are great too, but my new conscience permanently altered by Weight Watchers would only allow so much.

But I knew I could talk myself into self-indulgence at least once during the next two or three days we would be traveling. It was after all the first day of the trip. And I already smiled knowing that there would be other spots just like this one--oh, how foolish I was at that moment.

Jack didn't do a burger, but he graciously consented to an order of fries. "I guess," he said. He sat, arms folded and blue eyes sadder than any Willie Nelson song about those peepers, whether it was raining or sunny.

But a puzzle the smiling sales people gave him warmed him up to the idea of eating a good burger without a crappy toy to hide the fact that you were not only eating something that didn't taste very good, but it was overly priced and unhealthy too. At least here we experienced only one out of those three things.

Oh, and Jack loved the lemonade too.

He watched us eat our own burgers, and he could smell how good they were. Each one was just like he liked it too, with a sauce that was like a mixture of ketchup and mayo--almost like our area's fry sauce but a bit more fluid. I never use the word "runny" except for cold and flu season, and I refused to spoil this meal by even thinking the word to myself as I ate and savored the food I had craved for over a year. Jack noticed how we enjoyed every bite. I gave him one more chance to get a burger before we left, and this time, he was enthusiastic about his answer.

The ride changed immediately as soon as we started for Willits. Ann and I started to get tired, so we stopped in the small town of Williams.

But here's a tip for the day--never be so tired that when you check into a hotel, you notice that every person there has a dog.

We slept well, but on the way to check out, the owner of an older basset hound showed off his dog in the lobby. "He always howls when he's hungry, and I haven't given him his breakfast yet."

The sad-eyed dog cast his nose at the ceiling and let out a howl that would have driven any creature up a tree. Everyone smiled, except my Annie, and though she had this cute look on her face, it wasn't her trademark smile.

Standing in front of the hotel, we were loading everything into the car. It was a great day. Our clock on the car said 10:30 a.m., but we realized that we gained an hour. We were grateful for Pacific Standard Time.

An expensive GM SUV by Cadillac stopped. The electric window came down, and a woman began talking to my Annie while I packed the car. "What's the hotel like," she asked.

"Oh, it's one of those old-fashioned ones well-built in the 50's, 60's or early 70's, but it's clean."

"There's no shag carpet is there." The woman in the caddy was adamant about that. "You know how shag carpet is," she added.

"Oh yes, I know." Annie paused for a moment. "But we felt kind of alone here."

"Why's that," the lady asked? I could tell she was still considering the choice of hotel before booking it.

"Well, we were the only ones in the hotel without a dog or dogs."

Horror spread across the woman's face. "Oh! Oh, thank you," she said. I thought she was going to cry for a moment. It was like she experienced an epiphany or something. The electric window closed magically, and Jack extended his arm and fingers ala Jedi Knight style. The car exited the lot and sought the freeway ramp.

This time Annie smiled broadly, just like I always remembered she did when something pleased her, like throwing a cup of cold water on me in the shower or tickling my toes or taking the cherry from my caramel ice cream dessert.

Growing Up in Malad as a Malad Dragon

This picture reminds me so much of my youth in Malad. The family dog was an English Springer, and we spent a lot of time playing with him when he was a pup. We picked him up close to Memorial Day Weekend in 1971, shortly after my graduation from high school.

On Sundays, we--the youth of the town--spent the time "cruising," which is funny considering how small the town was, but it was a social event. There were three great things about the 60's--cheap gas, mini skirts, Jimi Hendrix.

Each of us could recognize a car by lights on a car, headlights or taillights.
When I returned from college with a friend from SLC, I remember her laughing at my honking at a car at night. I recognized the car by the lights.

The other tradition was to spend time on Sunday afternoon with friends at the local drive-in. I would take my dog, and while wearing this huge black felt wide-brimmed hat I picked up in Yellowstone, I would order myself a blackberry milkshake.

My English Springer Curly would sit in the back of my Model A Ford truck for his treat. There was a metal pan there, and I would let him sit and lick a small soft ice cream cone from my hand, until it was at the edge of the cone, and then I'd put it in the pan. I remember people laughing at me with me dog like that.

The picture at the right shows my sister wearing my hat. My cat is also behind her. Her wearing that hat would have made me angry at that time, but since she would eventually wear it with wet hair once or twice while I was in Germany and basically ruin it, it doesn't really matter, you little shit.

We named the dog Curly, and we trained him to be nice with my cat. The big yellow tomcat was Rastus, and I trained him like you would a dog. He would sit back on his back legs and beg while I held the best cuts of meat after any meal.

After serving my two-year mission, the cat showed up one night briefly, just before I went back to college. I had only been back a night or two from Germany, and he hadn't been around for months. I fussed over him that night, and then he went back outside. We never saw him again.

Funny thing about that was how badly I hated cats, but I loved that one, which explains why I trained him like I did. Growing up on a farm brought me a connection to the land and a love of animals. I'll always be that way, and I'll like a cat again, if I can train him to be like a dog, which hopefully is not an indication of some deep-seeded flaw that means I'm some sort of bigot or something.

The picture above shows the hose on the patio. There was a water pump my dad purchased, and when we had a "water turn," we would flood the back pasture area, and we would pump water from a spot where the water would pond to the lawn with those orange hoses. Letting it soak up meant keeping the yard green, and in those days, it was also fashionable to have sweet clover growing in the lawn. I miss that too.

My grandmother was a music teacher at Malad Elementary, and she reminded us that we were of Welsh heritage: musicians, poets and warriors. Personally, I liked the last one the best, and we took pride in athletics in the town. We played against schools much larger than we were in terms of student population, but we were more than competitive.

It was always a dream to play running back, and in my sophomore year, the coach asked to learn plays as varsity fullback, but I injured my knee within a very short time of that, and before the end of the season, I had a season ending injury that required surgery.

I played two more years as an offensive guard. They used my speed in a different way, a pulling guard. I had hoped also to play nose tackle, but playing as an offensive lineman and doing all the special teams work left me without enough "air" to do it. I wasn't tired. I just couldn't get any air. Years later I realized I had asthma, which I'm sure played a role in my not playing an entire game on offense and defense.

The musician part was also important, and our band was exceptional. Our teacher Don Castleton spent so much extra time with us, helping us compete as a group, whether as a concert group, marching band or pep group. The high school had a very good reputation as doing very well.

The marching band always appeared in local parades, but we also participated in those for the Idaho State Fair and various celebrations in Utah, which also included the Days of '47 Parade on July 24th.

Pep band was also fun. We had the best seats in the house in the old gym, and everyone enjoyed listening to us. By the time we were in our last years of high school, we played a number of rock pieces, although the crowd liked our Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass material the best. Classmates preferred newer things.

The experience in music was very important. It gave me incredible experiences, which included Idaho All State Band participation and other awards.

Mr. Castleton helped us a great deal. He taught us confidence and instilled in us the desire to excel as soloists.

It helped us realize that there was more to high school than just sports. Unfortunately, I never had the same experience discovering the importance of doing well academically. I did well, but taking school less than seriously shaped my choices at college.

My first year of college found me sitting with an advisor, who asked me what I accomplished in high school. I began relating my varsity sports activities, having lettered in three sports. The man sat, his chin resting on his hand. He yawned. Then I began telling the things I did musically. That's when he picked up his pen and began taking notes. I wish I had learned that lesson four years earlier.

Regardless of the outcome, my experience growing up in that tiny Welsh community shaped my life. We did the warrior thing and the musical thing, but writing poetry came much later. I was almost 35 when I published my first one, and I've only had a few appear in print, but it's still an additonal "fun" part of living up to that Welsh tradition.

Reno Rush Hour Traffic

The traffic in Reno was not fun. We arrived just at the peak of rush hour, when people are not only returning from work, but they are also on their way to begin a long Labor Day weekend. It was like a mobile version of World Wrestling Federation. The tag team with pick-up trucks always wins, and in spite of my patience my cancer taught me, I used what Jack calls "bad words" several times when young male drivers dangerously cut in front of us. Then I saw the light and realized that over the years I had at least a dozen European hand gestures that would come in a very practical manner in a number of different circumstances, but then I decided against that too. Jack's first grade teacher may not know the exact meaning, but if he used them with Pop Pop's facial expression and blood vessels bulging in his tiny throat, it would be a dead give away.

We soon, however, wished that the hectic had continued. At least in all the confusion and rude driving behavior, we were able to drive an even speed. At the outskirts of Reno, traffic narrowed to one lane, and we waited for almost two hours. We began to panic. We left at 8:30 a.m., hoping to arrive in California that evening.

By the time we

reached the California border, it was getting late, and we also began to feel the effects of the long drive. Ann and I were exhausted. Jack was doing very well. I had filled one I-pod with over 250 movies, and we only changed them every couple of hours. It was a magical trip for him. He could look out the window at the beautiful scenery at short breaks, but more importantly, he could watch movies he had not seen in a long time.

The sign showing welcome to California was a welcome sight.

Reaching the sign informing us that we were in the Pacific Time Zone was nice too, although we were very tired, even if we did automatically receive an extra hour of daylight.

But the real California welcome sign was yet to come.

Jack felt disappointment at first. For him, there is nothing like McDonalds. It was a fantastic experience for him. he loved the fries, but the burger was the best.

The Redwood Roadtrip

We left the house in Idaho Falls, filled the Jetta with diesel, picked up some soft drinks and snacks, and then we started on the road. Jack ate something simple, but we stopped in Blackfoot at McDonald's for a breakfast sandwich.
Ann put the battery in the camera, and while driving the first day, she took these photographs. Although it was nice to have something that took high grade images and "high def" video clips, it's the first time that we saw bugs on the windshield on the picture itself. Usually, the speed of the car left a slight blur that made that type of thing less noticeable.

The blue sky on the first leg of the trip was stunning, and we took a number of pictures with sapphire blue heavens and large clouds.

The Spontaneous Trip To Northern California

I have coaxed to see the redwoods for years, but it just never seemed to happen. We planned doing it this year, but we have had too many things to do this summer.

Ann had a meeting with Jack's new teacher on Thursday, September 3. She mentioned the fact that she wouldn't be in class the next day and that a substitute teacher would be there in her place, so Ann asked if it would be alright to miss the day and take Jack on a trip. She arrived home and asked me if we could go that night. I love spontaneous road trips.

We just couldn't get things ready to leave, and we were very tired Thursday night, so we packed everything, hoping to leave at 6:00 a.m. on Friday, September 4. The last thing we did that evening was something that had to be done. A trip like we hoped to take without a camera was not going to happen, and I refused to take pictures with a disposable camera, so we went to several stores. Fred Meyer didn't have the new model Ann wanted. She wanted a Canon, the same brand as her old camera.

While in DC this summer, I lost Ann's Canon digital camera. Cles carried it for me, but he was worried about my walking. I was proud of how much could actually do while there, more than I had done in a very long time, but I was in a lot of pain at the end of the last day, and on the way back to the hotel from the Air & Space Museum, I sat down on a bench. Cles placed the camera down near me, and he went to get some water for me and Jack. An elderly woman and child sat next to me, and the camera was gone in an instant.

It's sad how dishonest things have become, but in this country, it's been that way in larger cities for a long time. Germany was always refreshing, because I never saw it happen there, but during the last few trips, I occurred there too--just not as often as it happened here, but I haven't been back since 2001. Hopefully, things are still mostly the way I remember them over there at least. However, the funny thing about the experience is that we can always replace photographs, and in terms of the camera, the new one is phenomenal.

To make a long story short, we asked the manager in Idaho Falls to see if the Pocatello store had one, and they did. We planned to leave Idaho Falls early so that we could stop and pick it up, and then we went to the Walmart on Utah Avenue, the clean one in Idaho Falls.

Ann and I bought the Canon digital, which they had in stock. It takes better movies and pictures than the older camera, so other than the photographs we lost, everything else is better. We were ready to leave the next morning at 6:00 a.m.

I returned home, called Fred Meyer in Pocatello to cancel the camera they held for me. A girl answered. She seemed confused when I asked her to cancel my hold, and she assured me that people don't come by to get them regularly, and I told her that I wasn't the "usual person." When I give my word to show up to buy something, I show up as promised. Call it another value my father taught me.

"Always remember that your word is something important. Generations of our family have maintained a standard, and it's important for you to continue it. 'Your word' is something that is very important." I never forgot that lesson, and I still think it's important.

At 8:15, we had the car packed completely, and by 8:34, we were driving on I-15, making our way to Twin Falls and beyond.

A Trip To The Coast

I love this set of videos, because it captures the sound of the ocean as waves rolled toward the sandy beach. The day was beautiful, until we arrived at the coast, where the weather was foggy and a bit damp. The sounds and scent of the ocean made the experience incredible, but that's because the closest thing I remember to seeing the ocean was watching hillsides covered with summer grasses or wheat.

Nothing in my mind is as soothing as the sound of ocean water, the feel of the spray in the air and the salty scent of seawater. I love listening to pines and waterfalls and rivers and streams, but this is something else entirely.

As cold as it looked, it really was quite comfortable standing on the beach. There was a slight drizzle, but the fog remained until we drove higher along the coastline to cliffs that overlooked the ocean. My only disappointment was not seeing the blue water of the Pacific. That will be another trip down the Oregon coastline next summer.

We spent a great time waiting for the perfect wave to crash against the rocks, but every one we thought would splash didn't do it at all, and those we thought were too weak for a movie clip turned out well. I guess moments like this are like people sometimes.

The best part of these clips is that we can enjoy it vicariously again by looking at this blog, but we won't feel the spray on our face or smell the magic in the ocean air.