John Deere: A Family Tradition

The first John Deere equipment we had was a pull-type combine that Grandpa Cles bought to use on the farm. In the early 60's, the engine finally was finished, and to fix it was too expensive, so my dad bought a 55 Hillside combine.

The older one, pulled by a Caterpillar tractor that my dad drove, was not one that could do hillsides, unless you adjusted things by hand. The new combine was an incredible improvement, because hydraulics took care of most things. The old one even needed you to make an adjustment with a large wheel, that looked like a captains wheel on the deck of a ship. And even the old one I describe was better than the former threshing machines that required farmers to bag the wheat.

Within a few years, the 55 Hillside was too small, both in terms of engine capacity and cutter bar width. My dad bought a 95 Hillside. When he first owned it, it didn't have a cab on it. Like he had done on the older combine, he did some work and made something to shield the sun from his neck and arms while driving the machine and standing looking down at the cutter bar. You had to watch carefully for rocks.

This is in the first years of owning the 95 Hillside when dad made something to protect him from the sun. I drove the grain truck, because I couldn't get into the dust.

I had severe allergies, so by the time I was in ninth grade, dad installed a cab with a Crenlo Cooler. Cles remembers it, because it pumped water from a tank mounted on the side of the grain tank, and occasionally when climbing a steep hill or even going down one, water would slop out and soak the driver. The water often was a mixture of dust and chaff, so it was not comfortable at all, and the sheer surprise usually resulted in my launching a tirade of cursing. Cles still teases me about that and laughs at the memory.

Our family always placed the strength of our success in the quality of equipment we owned, and that remained with my father as well. The truck at the right was one that Wards purchased during World War II. It was impossible to get equipment like that, but Great Grandpa Ward had connections, and they not only needed it for the farm, but the country needed to see that capable farmers had the machinery to provide grain at that difficult time. The picture shows Grandma Liza and Grandpa Cles while they were young in front of the International grain truck.

That same truck appears here in this picture. I'm guessing it is from '49 or so. Grandpa Cles bought two Chevrolet trucks to use within a few years of that, and we used them until 1964 when dad bought a new Chevrolet two ton truck.

We also had John Deere grain drills and an old offset plow, which we seldom used except twice. Both times were due to rainy spring weather. In fact, the first time was when the Beatles released the Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band album. It was a sad year because of a drowning of a young high school sophomore I knew. I was only two years younger than he was at the time, and it left a lasting impression.

By the time school ended, the bad weather had prevented my father from finishing spring plowing, so we began as soon as the ground was dry enough. The weeds were almost a foot tall on the fields, so we had to disk everything, and the disk only had an eight foot swath. We went morning and night. I would begin at six a.m. and plow all day. Dad would bring me lunch, drive the tractor while I ate in the truck, and then I would begin again and plow until 10:00 or 11:00 at night. Dad would then take the night shift after only getting a couple of hours sleep and working all day on other things on the farm. I would drive to the field the next day, greasing and servicing the tractor and getting plowing started as close to 6:00 a.m. as possible. This went for over a week before we finished the large field we called 19 Hollow (Holler).

The picture of the 95 Hillside shows the Crenlo Cooler on the side. The air filter was at the top of the cab, and we changed that a couple of times during harvest, but the filters in the cooler tank on the side was something we changed every day. It screened out all the dirt and chaff, and it kept the air clean and allowed me to harvest grain without severe allergic reactions.

The bats on the cutter bar also had metal fingers that caught grain that would tend to be weighted down with heavy heads of grain. At the back was a straw catching attachment called a Foster Wagon. It caught all of the straw and a bit of grain that was light or cracked that came out through the machine. We left those in some fields, especially barley fields, and dad would let the cattle feed on them as long as possible. He kept a bulldozer close to the field where he kept it, and when he had the cattle in one field several miles from the house, he would ride the horse there, start the crawler and doze a path for the cattle to straw piles. When the snow became too deep, he would ride to the tractor, and drive it home. I think he put the saddle on the hood of the dozer. The horse would follow, since there was no feed in the deep snow, and he would stop occasionally to call the cattle.

We trained the cattle to hear our voices, because during the winter, we sometimes fed them cotton seed cake pellets. He would call cattle out from the cedars where they found shelter from wind and snow.

"Sook cows!" he would call. He would do that for five or ten minutes, and suddenly you could hear them mooing and coming out of the trees. That's how my dad would get them to follow him in the dozer too. When he arrived at the house, he put them in an area where we fed them that had good drainage, usually a sidehill.

Feeding cattle was a thing my family has done since our beginnings in England. The Ward family were landowners and diplomats, and since my family was not much in favor of diplomacy when dealing with problems, I assume that these ancients, who were Norman Lords, were also landowners and farmers. The things they knew about working the land were traditions handed down from father to son for a long time. They were things like planting only when the moon was growing or being able to predict oncoming storms.

So John Deere products were a tradition that began in my family with my Grandpa Cles in the forties or earlier.

Great Grandpa Ward is in the photograph at the left, showing a picture of the 10,000 bushel bin they put up during World War II. It was almost impossible to get things like that during those years, but they managed it. The elevator was not ideal, because there was always a bit of spoilage, but we used that bin right up until the late 80's. By then, we had other bins we preferred to use, and we used this one only when we needed additional storage, and that may have happened in 1990.

And now we've come full circle. Cles has a mower, the large industrial one that is more durable than you can buy in most stores like a Home Depot.

It was fun to see Cles on that mower when I was in Virginia this summer, not only because it is something I have also wanted to own for the same "family tradition" reasons, but also because it looks fun to operate.

I once had a professor at ISU. We read Hardy's Tess of the d 'Urbervilles, and at one point during a discussion, we talked about farmers feeding sheaves of grain into a threshing machine and how these crude people never had a connection to the land. The man truly loved Victorian Literature, but he obviously had never worked the land--either using only horses or the "vices" of Industrial Age machinery, because the dumb a$$ will never understand what it means to feel that connection, whether or not you grip a steering wheel or reins of a plow horse. My son understands, and I always will.

And I envy his owning a "green" machine.

Family Pictures

Taken at my father's cabin at a place the locals called Strawberry, we posed while my Grandma Liza took this photograph, one of the few that shows us with our family when they were really young.

This picture is before Kristin was born.

I had only been teaching for a couple of years at this point. My dad's two-tone silver and blue Ford pick-up is in the background, and we drove a white '74 Mercury Cougar, barely visible at the left.

When Lydia and Cles were this age, I would drive purposely after fresh snowfall toward any place with a wide lot--like the spot near the old Second Ward Church in Malad. After gunning the motor and cranking the wheels, the car would spin, and my Annie would scream before damning me all to hell. Lydia and Cles would laugh, Cles with the trademark hysterical guffaw and Lydia with a soft giggle with her hand over her mouth.

Part of me wishes we still owned this house. It only had two bedrooms, and there was no basement. There was a separate brick two-car garage that was very nice, but the house was quite small for a family with three children. It would be perfect for Ann and me now, although there wouldn't be any room at all for visiting family during the holidays.

Kristin is only a baby at this time. We had just had the fireplace installed. The chimney is at the left. We added some soil near the spot where my Annie and the then little ones posed, and I planted strawberry plants. I wish I had had someone take this picture, so I could have been in it too, but you never think of things like that when you're young.

California was always a favorite travel destination for our family, although it took a couple of years for Ann to talk me into that. The first time presented us with a choice. There was a GE 36 inch television we liked with an oak cabinet. It had a rectangular look, and we had searched for one for some time. Vee Peden in Malad found one for us, and I bought it. Ann was not happy about its costing us a vacation that year, so the next year she purchased the tickets and hotel accommodations in advance. One week before we left, I started to make statements about things we needed, and my Annie informed me I could either go with the family and have fun or stay home. It was my first trip to Disneyland with our kids. After that, it became an October tradition.

This picture is from '85 or '86. I grew a beard, and instantly I became an evil person in the eyes of my first principal. His name actually has a connection with a Yiddish word--tuchus.

That beard was what had taken us almost a decade to do: motivate us to leave our hometown, and after leaving, our lives were never the same because of the advantages we found that enhanced our careers.

This year was our last in Malad. My grandmother took this picture, and as I remember, we had Thanksgiving Dinner at the family ranch. By spring, the tension at the school district over my wearing a beard grew unbearable. They couldn't force me to shave, and the harassment was continuous.

I had had enough. Something I would not do now seemed appropriate at that time, because I told another staff member, whom I knew would tell my principal the following statement immediately: a supervisor who was trying to get me to shave my face, couldn't even get his wife to shave her armpits or legs. Within a month, the principal called me into his office and informed me that they would be hiring a home economics teacher from Soda Springs who would teach Spanish, and since the new program wouldn't compete, they would no longer offer German. That way the new program would begin without a "hitch."

Funny thing about that situation was that he did it on his own without consulting with the board or superintendent. Some school board members and the superintendent talked to me personally over the next months about staying in Malad. Within twenty-four hours of that conversation with my former principal, I had a job in Idaho Falls. It was the best thing that ever happened to us, but I truly miss some of the people I taught with in that school district, and our family missed our friends too.

I refuse to talk more about it, because it makes me bitter. The move came at a time when my father needed me most, both helping him on the farm and helping him cope with the reemergence of his cancer.

This picture, taken in the front room of my parent's house on Bannock Street, happened one year later after our move. About that time a colleague saw my car in Malad, and he asked me if I wouldn't return, because that principal wouldn't last forever. I couldn't go back. We were happy in the move, and one minute was too long in the same building with a man I couldn't trust or respect.

People who met us during this time noticed how much happier we were. There were financial concerns, because we were making double house payments on the poor salaries that two teachers made, but regardless, there was no stress like we had previously had.

Opportunities began to happen. In Malad and in some other districts in the area, they discouraged me from finishing my MA in English, because they didn't want to pay extra money for the added educational background. I found a district that wanted that, and within a year, I began teaching as an adjunct: first at ISU and later at Ricks College. The ISU job was only a temporary summer job that happened in 1990.

Ironically, I shaved to teach classes at Ricks. I couldn't miss the chance at teaching at that level, and the pay was very good as well, but it was my choice. They didn't bully me or make me miserable. I had a choice, so I shaved, but I grew the beard back every year after I finished the second semester of night classes, and I wore it until I started again late in the summer or early in the fall. I taught eight sections of English per year for 13 years there, and then I began teaching English and German classes at ISU. The beard wasn't a problem there.

Around this time, I began to see some changes in my father. I talked to

him every day over the phone, just like I did when we lived in Malad. I would always drop by the house. It was something I enjoyed, because we had spent a lifetime working together on the farm.

My father called one night and asked me to drive down to have a family picture taken. He told me to dress nicely, but I was in this phase where I really disliked the whole thing about a shirt and tie or jacket. We appeared in comfortable casual, and everyone else was in "best apparel." You can tell by the look on my Annie's face how she felt about that, because I hadn't talked about it at all. This picture was one of three or four times during our 35 marriage where she was genuinely "pissed" at me. She didn't say a word all the way home, but her chocolate chip eyes flash like lightening when she is upset like that, and it was hurricane weather in those beautiful peepers of hers that night.

This picture happened about three years after my father passed away of colon cancer. By then things were going well for us. We bought a new home in Idaho Falls, and we were both flourishing in our careers. Like me, Ann was also teaching as an adjunct.

We spent hours making a reasonable living, often working two and even three jobs. We still did not have the finances to send our children to the university without their getting costly school loans. That pretty much explains why I became a democrat. Support of education and educators is important, not for self-indulgence but for people to make a living according to what they do in society, but the situation never seems to change, and over the years, I have become even more of a democrat than I was years ago.

In the picture above, I can tell a number of things. By the expression on the faces of my three children, I can tell I'm doing something to tease my Annie, and my sly expression is a dead giveaway, but so is the embarrassed look on Ann's face. It makes me smile to see this.

I can honestly say that our 35 years together have been fun, although at times there were some rough spots. Those "icy patches" were due to life in general and had nothing to do with problems in our relationship. In fact, the love we share is what gets us through the hard times.

And the most difficult time began just after the last family picture. As I remember, we had it taken on July 1, 2003. The year had been a strange one. I had been doing exchanges since 1981, and that year was no exception. We did one of the best exchanges in my career in 2001 with Stuttgart. It was in Southern Germany, not in Dillingen--the tiny city on the Danube I love--but it was in Schwaben. The first one in '81 with a Malad group and my last group from Rigby were my favorite experiences. In '03, we looked forward to another great experience.

Problems began with their visit. The war with Iraq was in full swing, and the school was a type of inner city school with many children of immigrant families, many of whom were Islamic. There were four in particular they told me about, but a fifth one I discovered they kept kind of quiet about during their stay. He did not like America or Americans, which is a strange situation when you think of our activity being an exchange program to promote friendship. Supposedly, it begins with open minds.

Then other situations began to appear. One girl, whose parents were refugees from the Balkans, had little money, and the teachers seemed amazed that she seemed to have plenty of cash to participate in activities while she was in America. A colleague told me after their departure that she had been doing a little fundraiser of her own in the parking lot with some of the enthusiastic students seeking companionship. I resented the fact that I never knew about this until after their departure.

The war in Iraq was a very unpopular situation in Europe, and given the situation with a sizable number of Islamic students in the school in Stuttgart, I began to worry. Then some of the members of the American group began to talk privately about their excitement to go to Europe to party. Rural students going to a large European city have no idea what trouble they can find.

I thought long and hard about the situation, and I believed that I needed to cancel it for the safety of my students.

At the end of school, only a month later, I began to see some problems appear with my right hip. My Annie scheduled an appointment with a surgeon, and she made sure I was there. I tried to tell her to stay home, but she refused. When the doctor told me I needed a hip replacement badly, I began to talk about doing it a year later. The doctor said, "Well, I guess it doesn't hurt badly enough yet, but there is a chance of dislocation and further damage."

This is where my Annie voiced her opinion. Surgery was to happen on July 2, a day after the family picture.

I've always been one who had "vibes," especially when something bad was about to happen, and I really felt I wouldn't survive the surgery, but I did. However, a month later, they discovered my leukemia AML.

I spent two-thirds of a year on chemo, and then I tried to return. It came back within six months of remission. The second experience was not an easy one.

This picture happened on Christmas Eve. My doctor worked frantically to get me out to be home that night, and it didn't happen until very late. Basically, it was my time to go home and die. My doctor told me in January of '05 that I had two weeks to two months to live.

Life takes on a new meaning in times like this. My family and my wife were the ones who were with me during these tough "spots," and there were old classmates who took the time to be with me too. No one has any idea what it's like to go through the "dark" times of chemo, until you sit in the dark, your mind racing and not allowing you to sleep, and then you listen to the sobs of your sweetheart. You can't hold her, because the seven-inch plastic lines in your chest are just another reminder of the whole mess.

During chemo, she was with me every minute she could, and this was while my Anne was still working full time. During each break, she was there. While I was in the hospital, she spent hours with me until 1:00 a.m. or later, and then she'd be back at 7:00 a.m. the next morning to see how my blood work went. She monitored every prescription written by the doctor who was there whenever my oncologist was out of town, and she caught mistakes a number of times that that "substitute doctor" made, which spared me very harmful side effects--the most extreme being almost putting me in kidney dialysis. My Annie would hear of it. Whenever my oncologist returned, he would smile at her and ask her why she didn't go into medicine.

But what I remember the most were the nights we did chemo at home with this little box that looked like a cassette player. It pumped the horrible stuff into my veins until three or four in the morning. Ann would set an alarm, and as soon as it finished, she would flush my lines with a saline solution that goes into the line and apparently into the blood stream. I could taste it. In fact I could feel the cool sensation it created that I always hated to sense. And my Annie was there when panic attacks would hit me.

So in a moment when someone implies or even suggests something that questions anything about her commitment to me, I have something important for that person to know: "Where the hell were you?" That only applies to those who made me feel invisible and ignored me. It's actually a common point that a cancer survivor arrives at during the horrific fight, so anyone reading this needs to remember that being a friend or family member means caring enough to be there.

For my own family, I feel it was extra difficult, because they went through this once already with my father, and hopefully no one else will suffer like he did and as I have, but if any of them do, I will be there. And I'll be there for a friend too.

So life takes funny twists and turns, but if there is justice and fairness in the things that happen, I hope I can show my wife the love, the devotion, the friendship she showed me, and I want to do that by taking care of her every minute of every day. It's what you do when you love someone.

Trying To Identify The Scene

I'm trying to remember where we took this picture. It was a perfect summer, and we had all three grandchildren. They played every day from early morning until late at night, when all three would sit with Pop Pop in his leather chair and watch a DVD of their choosing.

Tommy's teasing, Jack's clowning and little Anna's laughing were three things that make the silence at home unbearable at times when my Annie is on the road doing her transitional post retirement thing.

Whenever we go to the grocery store, I still know what each one likes for breakfast. Tommy likes waffles, a little butter and strawberry jam spread a bit more than lightly, but Anna likes her bagels with what she calls frosting: either a small tub of plain spreadable cream cheese with strawberry jam or strawberry cream cheese.

Now Jack likes omelets, although lately he prefers scrambled eggs and couple of sausage links.

I keep reminding myself what they like, so I'm ready for next summer when the three will laugh and play at home and spend the afternoon with Pop Pop at the zoo.

Random Unused Pictures and a Movie Clip I Like From Northern California

I couldn't resist adding this picture of Jack while we were at the stop where we drove through the large redwood tree.

I had these inexpensive field glasses that he likes to use when we go to Yellowstone Park, and he enjoyed getting a glimpse of things.

This last video is a fun one. I'm not sure what happened, but it does show a brief look at the redwoods while we were in Avenue Of The Giants, and it also shows the forest floor.

Our Final Stay in Ukiah

Our last hotel was in Ukiah, and we arrived there quite late, so it was difficult to get an early start the next morning. The hotel was extremely clean, they had a great breakfast, and we had a good night's rest. It was a fantastic way to end the trip.

I basically decided that I would love to live in Ukiah, although before moving there, I would check things carefully; however, the people were so nice and the small city was so beautiful.

We left that morning and started southward on Highway 101 toward Williams, but the focus was getting to the In-N-Out Burger near Sacramento, and this time Jack was excited too.

Ever since Jack was very small, it was a tradition for him to ride the luggage cart, and when Tommy was with us, they both rode along with all the suitcases.

Except for the drive home, our trip was at an end, but there were some things we will always remember. . .

. . .the Italian restaurant in Willits,

. . . the sign in Willits that once hung across a street in Reno until the Willits city fathers purchased it and "retooled" it,

. . .the walk along the beach with Annie and Jack

. . . and the Avenue of the Giants.

Avenue of the Giants

I have seen some magnificent things while going on hikes in the woods, but this was too much fun for me. The redwoods are truly breathtaking, and I have to show some more pictures in the last blog on our road trip we took to Northern California. In my life, I've never seen anything more impressive in the woods, and it was all interesting: the ferns, the trees, the soft earth.

The mistake we made was telling him about the filming of Jurassic Park in the Avenue of the Giants. We also mentioned Star Wars, ET and some others, but he focussed on Jurassic Park. I couldn't get him out of car at one point, and I felt saddened that I had to force him to get out of the car, and then I noticed what panic he felt when grandma walked a short distance into the woods and when I did too. He finally admitted that he worried about the creatures in there. We talked about it, and he became more comfortable knowing there wouldn't be a Stegosaurus herd anywhere in the woods. While walking about, Jack found a plant that looked like a four-leaf-clover.

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.