Evening pasture

A few more Sespe Creek crossings and quite a few meadows later, here we were. Willit Hot Springs is about a mile from camp, but camp benefits by a natural spring of its own. Water pressure is so good that the tap for the watering trough must be left on a little so it won't blow its hose connection. The pasture for the horses is about 5 acres.

Low hills between us and the Topa Topa range show in the foreground. We scanned them for signs of larger wildlife, but didn't see so much as a deer. This view is looking southeast toward Santa Paula. Our tents are just off camera to the left.

What a lovely restful scene at the end of a long day.

Scarlet Bugler? Bridges' Penstemon?

Those are the possible names for this enchanting red flagged wildflower which was growing everywhere we looked. It seems without closer inspection one can't tell the difference. The first is common in dry places, California coastal to Baja. The second shares the range. Eaton's Firecracker is another, but usually occurs further south, toward San Bernadino. In this picture you can also see some round purple flower clusters which I'll also try to identify. The (for want of real knowledge) Scarlet Bugler seemed always to occur in tandom with the large burned-out bushes left over from the devastating Day Fire a few years ago.

I actually saw the beginning of the Day Fire from the air. I was flying back from my friends' the Gists on Memorial Day (from which it gets its name). Two remarkable sights from that flight are still visible in my mind's eye. The first was a huge collection of thunder clouds over Las Vegas, with magnificent lightening bolts, all the more beautiful because it was night. The second, as we flew over the wilderness, was too large to be a campfire, illuminating a mountainside with furious flames. I remember worrying about it, especially since it had all night to spread before the borate bombers could hit it. The following day we began hearing reports of the Day Fire.

Most of the area through which we rode had been burned over by the Day Fire. You could see areas of trees that had black branches and new growth; and areas of trees that were more robustly green. It's all recovering, but the house at Willet Hot Springs is no more. A few ramshackle outbuildings survive, and are used infrequently by backpackers and the Forest Service. Chris Smith, whose "Big Wakoo" organization runs these horseback adventures, has used Willet Hot Springs as a camp for many years, and remembers visiting the former ranchers as a teenager. So now this blog will ride on, crossing Sespe Creek a few more times, and settle in for the windy night at Willet Hot Springs.

Topa Topa Range

What a pleasure it was to ride along, cross, or look down on, Sespe Creek. From this angle you can't see the water, but it was rushing right along, and at least waist deep in places. Clouds made the sky look like a postcard. In the distance, just above the cloud shadow, you can see the cliffs behind the Topa Topa Range north of Santa Paula. The clouds were traveling much faster than we were. There was quite a gusty wind blowing along the creek bed.

Lupine & Lunch

I simply could not take my eyes off this gorgeous display while we were eating. Afterwards, I walked over and got my camera-fill of the lovliness. Why ruin it with mere words! (but DO biggify it, because the sight was utterly wondrous)

As you see, the trail goes on, through the lupine, between the trees, and further into the wilderness. Another river crossing was just beyond this scene.

Dudes

When we stopped for lunch we lined up for a photo op. I think we were all giddy with the views, the enjoyment of riding, and the trip in general. Because I had "costumed" my helmet (bicycle, not riding!) with a sunshade, the ladies decided it looked like Saturn with its rings! But it did the job: protect my head from any possible falls, and my face from sunburn. Worked for me.

Our lunch stop was so lovely we were a wee bit reluctant to ride on. We spent a bit of time there, lined up on the log, eating Shannon's delicious wraps (jalapeno tortillas filled with yummies). I was entranced by some lupine blooming nearby, but it was so lovely I will accord it its own post.

This stop: about 1.5 hours in, which is approximately halfway to Willet Hot Spring.

Imagine some happy dogs here!

No, really.  There were three, count'em, three, very cheerful dogs along for the trip: Maya, Bear, and Cheyenne (large black, medium black, and brown/white). Running ahead, around, and everywhere, they were romping in this field of fiddlenecks and blue dicks-- but wouldn't stay put! So my shot of three happy dogs is minus the dogs. They had made it out of range by the time I took the photo. I think the dogs put in at least twice the milage the horses did, loving every minute of it, as I did.

As always, click to biggify. Especially here. The flowers were amazing.

Behind a pack mule

This was my view for much of the ride in. Chris, the wrangler/leader on his horse Ghost. The pack animal behind the large white pack is Kelly Lopez, the mule, who's half Arab and has an attitude!
But what scenery. What clouds! My neck was on a swivel. I quickly found out that my camera skills while one-handed are not the greatest. Many of my "on the hoof" shots are blurry, despite admirable image stabilization on my camera.

Still. The sky really was that color. The clouds puffy and white. The hills green, and the air smelled so wonderful with sage and chaparrel. . .

Why No Printing Got Done by May 1

A couple of reasons: one, printing my cousin's wedding invitations (yay! completion!).

But preparing for, and then going, on a vacation took up the rest of April. I spent time on a four (yes four) day trail ride. Horses! Sespe Wilderness! Hot springs! Wildflowers! What's not to like! Hence, a series of short entries about the pictures.

Number One: the trailhead. Called Piedras Blancas (white rocks), it's east of Ojai, California. The trail follows the Sespe Creek on a forest service road. Lots of river crossings were in store for us, and fields of yellow, purple, and red wildflowers. Sunny, but breezy weather, which by Thursday had changed to huge gusts of wind by mid-afternoon. I felt as giddy as the breezes. I've always loved horses and camping, and this bid fair to be my adventure of a lifetime. Stay tuned.

Please. . . click to biggify. The views were spectacular.

The Boys Are Ready to Go Home

Yesterday, May 3rd, I picked the "boys" up after my 4-day trail ride adventure, about which more later. This was a new kennel for me- where they could share a run, something the Humane Society kennel did not allow.

I am sure they heard my car pull up next to the window where the boarding area is. Both Cicero and Phidian were staring at me from their window. It's a four-level run so they had plenty of room for play.

My next essay will have to be "what I did on my spring vacation," and why I have almost no printing done!

The boys were all over velcro last night. Life is sweet with two furrypurries.

Wow. A lot happened between the time of Miss Flora's passing and Saturday, April 24, 2010. Christmas. Several trips North to see grandbabies and work in the Museum Print Shop. And. . . Mr. Cicero insisting that he didn't like being an only cat. It was clear. He acted out, deliberately unrolling the TP next to me when I used the bathroom. He got all meowy, as if asking pleeeeze for a playmate. So in January I began looking for a companion for Cicero.

And in mid-January I noticed a young adult Siamese mix who had just arrived at the shelter. He was fairly large for a 10-month old, but his blue eyes and sweet temperment convinced me to try him. After a week of "footsie under the door" I introduced the two on neutral ground: the bathroom. They sat up and shadow-boxed, taking one another's measure. They sniffed each other all over, then did the room treatment, sniffing all the corners. The next day, they did the same thing. By the third introduction day they began playing in earnest. Days Four and Five saw tufts of gold and silver fur flying as the boys roughhoused and chased each other.

By Day Four, Phidian, the new kid, was sleeping curled up with Cicero on my lap, as content as if he'd always belonged. Same thing at bedtime. Instead of "this side for Flora, this side for Cicero," as before, it was "this is OUR side of the bed, but we'll curl up very close to Mom."

The Boys remain good buddies. In the evening it's slurp city as they give mutual baths and settle down to nap. They play, chase, and sleep together. I'm very happy with my two shelter boys.

As to names. Cicero is an old unit of printers' measurement, and also a 19th century font name. Phidian is also a 19th century font name. I have revival fonts of each design. One of these days I'll try to post examples here. And now, an image of Mr. Phidian L. Golding:

         It was a very good milestone year, but all good things come to an end. Just before Christmas I had to say farewell to the furry love of my life, Miss Flora Underfoot.
        Only a cat? Is that all? When an animal has been a part of your life for 15 years, it's never only a cat. And Miss Flora bonded to me very early. She was only a few ounces of fluff when she was found, frightened and alone, in a parking lot. I accepted her from the friend who found her, nursed her back to health, and provided her a lap to cuddle in until she could be introduced to our grown cats. She suckled on my shirt buttons. I used a damp washcloth to encourage her to eliminate after eating. I became Mom. She loved it when I brushed her. I think it felt like Mom was washing her.
        Flora developed many nicknames. The Fabulous Flying Flora was the teenager who leapt high for a toy. Miss Fluffbudget as she grew into her long, lovely black coat (her down/undercoat was sable brown/gray). Florecita, and later Florecita mi bonita (dear little Flora, my beauty). Miss Fluff-for-Brains. Mi Preciosa. And my favorite: God's Little Dispensation. For that she was. I had some very hard times about 10 years ago. Miss Flora was there to snuggle up, purr, and give me kitty hugs. Her hugs were so sweet. She would rub her head against both sides of my neck, then stretch her paws out as far as they could go around my neck and stretch, still nuzzling. How can one resist a purring teddy bear?
        In early December, Flora developed a cough. A vet visit and antibiotics cleared it up, but she lost weight and even interest in food. An x-ray showed fluid in one lung; an ultrasound showed the bad news: it wasn't fluid, it was tissue. And the tissue was systemic sarcoma. The vet suggested I take her home and see if I could make her comfortable: this wasn't something surgery could fix. But Miss Flora took matters into her own paws. Despite my tempting her with smelly fishy foods, she really wasn't eating. I was able to give her a week of extra care and attention, but it was time. I love our vet. The day of the appointment I brushed Flora (always our special time), then held her as the vet gave her a sedative. She fell asleep on my shoulder, purring. Only then did she receive the final injection to help her across the Rainbow Bridge. It was hard. But it was handled gently, with care for patient and mom.

        Farewell, dear Miss Underfoot, Miss Flora Fluff for Brains, Florecita mi Bonita. You really were God's Little Dispensation.

Home Sweet Porch

So, I discovered a soft spot on my front porch this summer. It's always something like that with an old house. The discussion with the contractor had begun several years ago, because I already knew that the front stairs needed to be reversed. They pointed away from the driveway. Not terribly useful. They were also in very bad shape. The soft spot was just the thing I needed for an excuse to get the front porch done up right.

Here we have the new front porch, stairs primly leading into the driveway. We built out over the former stairs, so the porch is larger than it was, and much more functional. I actually got some Christmas decorations up this year, and if I could take a photo in the dark I would put that up, too. The horizontal ropes of greens are lit! Too bad you can't really see the wreath on the door.

Next year, I may try for real greenery, but this year I just consider it good to have something on the porch!

DA WINNAH! (among many others)

That's right, folks, I earned this web badge-- I completed all 50,000 words and WON the NaNoWriMo challenge!

It was grueling, it was hard work, it was exhilarating, it was buns-to-chair. And I DID it. Whew!

Do I have a novel on my hands? Erm. Well, not YET, anyway. What I have is 50,000 more words on "paper" than I have ever had before. Plenty of words to edit.

I had a story to tell, and I told it. Now it's off to do the Happy Dance!

December is for editing.

10K to go

No photo today. It wouldn't be pretty. The photo would show me, semi-dressed (robe over jeans!), hunched over the laptop at my dining room table, which is cluttered with mail and the remains of other projects. A coffee cup. A bottle of water. A banana peel, but I'm not writing slapstick. Somewhere in the middle, a lovely little vase with some purple flowers.

40,837 words is a lot of words. But my storytelling ended, at least with the viewpoint character, at 37,000 words. I'm having to adopt a new character whose viewpoint may enrich the story. The ship stalled in the water, but at least it didn't sink! Last night I got a new shot of energy from my Writing Buddy, who suggested a challenge: 2,000 more words by noon today. I did them late last night! I wrote Writing Buddy, "you spurred me on to great heights, where I am dizzily surveying the surrounding territory and wondering if I dare jump off." So it is possible. If I stop to think about it, I scare myself. I have to slog on, regardless of emotion. Just write!

I feel as if the last 10K is the hardest, because. . . well, just because. I shot my wad, the Yellow Fever took those it was going to take, and the baby was born. What more can I ask?

I know. 10,000 more words.

Halfway, Whee!

See this? It's proof that I have officially, emphatically and euphorically passed the Halfway Point of NaNoWriMo-- National Novel Writing Month.

The premise is simple. You're a winner if you sign up on NaNoWriMo and then write a 50,000 word novel by November 30th. Can you lose? NO. You can only not win. The only prize is braggin' rights and a banner for your web page.

Halfway there means I have only another 25,000 words to write before I win. I'm already three days ahead of schedule. I think I can do this thing. I think I can! I think I can!

Friends will be curious about my so-called novel. First, you're not likely to have to read it soon. It's in a very rough draft. No editing is allowed during NaNoWriMo. The plot grew on my family tree: one couple lost five- yes five- children within eight days of one another. In the middle, the poor mom gave birth to the youngest child. If I can't milk some drama from that, I'm hopeless as an author.

In 1799, yet another Yellow Fever epidemic scoured the Philadelphia area. My ancestors didn't live far from there, so my research suggests that the children died of Yellow Fever. But how did the family cope? The mother couldn't have done much for the children. The story is seen through the eyes of one of the surviving children, all of whom had to make the effort to help their family.

Halfway there. Every day I look at my fingers and wonder what more will come from them as I type. I've already been surprised at half the family moving and a threatening stranger. Somewhere in the next 25,000 words there must be an answer hiding! Stay tuned.

And, later this evening. 26,197 words! I'm shooting to get another day ahead.

Castle in the Mountains

The Adult Ed hiking class went to a castle in the mountains last Tuesday. Up San Marcos Pass we trundled, til just before the suspension bridge over the canyon. Then a couple of miles on good road, and another half mile on a not-so good road. Parking was limited but at least available.

Looking back toward Santa Barbara, the ocean was covered with a uniform layer of fog (weathermanese, "marine layer." No kidding.). The so-called trail to Castle Ruinous (aka Knapp Castle) was wide, and had in fact been a Model T-era driveway. We enjoyed the many native plants along the way, and of course I took photos. My favorite is a view of the castle on its promentary seen through the rust-colored clusters of California Buckwheat.

Click to biggify!

The beautiful home burned in the 1940s. The native rock foundations survived. The fireplaces, window surrounds, and chimneys survived. They are what make the ruin so scenic. Since all are stone, it makes the ruin appear like a ruined castle. The archways which formed the fireplaces are perfect for framing shots of the valley beyond. You can see Lake Cachuma (pale blue) and the Santa Ynez river way below.

Two massive fireplaces provide arched frames for interesting photos. Three huge picture window frames provide the rest. The area must have been the living room. Below is same fireplace, looking back toward the hill and trail.

The shade of these young oak trees provides a look at the eastern fireplace. It had what appears to be a bread baking oven in the stone next to it.

In the nineteenth century, this would have been considered a "romantic" ruin. People would tour it, as we did; artists would draw and paint it; and young girls would invent romantic stories of the tragedies that caused it to fall into ruin.

I hope to get back there at sunset some time. The ruin faces west, and the views ought to be spectacular. A short hike, but well worth it.

And finally. My new BFF is this hiking stick, perfect for uneven terrain. One of my hiking buddies found it and knew I wanted one. I took it home, cut off about nine inches, and covered the handle area in leather. A pair of colorful shoelaces provided a braided handle, and a ty-wrap its attachment. It is local hardwood: Greenbark Ceonothus, a tall brushy shrub which bears lovely flowers in the spring. It is sometimes called "Mountain Lilac." I'm delighted!

Baltimorean: it's a press, not a place

So a couple of years ago I purchased this little press, sight unseen. I trust the friend who had it. But things are busy, and I didn't get around to ordering up new rollers, which it needed. They usually do. A few weeks ago I ordered my rollers, trucks, and cores (the bar the roller is cast on) from Tarheel Roller. They came this week, and I made the decision to print the very last job this press ever printed.

The press is a Baltimorean No. 2, which it proclaims in the platen casting. Proabably made before 1890, it was once highly decorated, with gold pinstriping. The cast scrollwork front and back was gilt, too. What matters is how well it prints, and that is nicely indeed. Some photos will do right here. As always, click to biggify any of them:

Baltimorean inked for printing

 

Baltimorean's last printing job before moving to California

Baltimorean's first job for Three Toad and APA- you can see the

type on the left; the rollers; and the printed card on the platen.

I'm sure you can imagine how pleased I am with this new toy. It is bigger than the little "Chicago" No. 9 I have, and much better made. I suspect that this press will be with me a long, long time. It is the perfect retirement-size press: big enough to print many sorts of things but small enough to move easily to a bookshelf location. I'd have to limit my type selection, but this would be an admirable solution.

I am not planning on downsizing any time soon, though. I just got the Vandercook and haven't had the 10x15 C&P very long. Those are big presses, so I don't plan on moving with them on hand!

Happy November First. Amazing how the year has whizzed by. In case I don't get to it later, I'll wish you a Happy Thanksgiving, too. I am very grateful for a wonderful milestone year.

October Sky

   I wasn't working on a press today, but managed to get to a potluck at church. Glanced out an open door and saw this gorgeousness. The Bible says the glory of the Lord is greater than we can imagine. Greater than this wonderful sunset. Wow.
     Took my breath away.

(Click to biggify)

A Shelf In Need

I took this shot in February, and it's the last thing I photographed before misplacing my camera. Fortunately, I was in the mood to replace it anyway! I just found the camera, 8 months later. It'll go back in my purse for backup duty. You can see the main gear of my press (in back), the delivery board, and the metal cup which holds the feed board-- but not the feed board. When I had to place my 10x15 C&P very close to the wall, I also had to give up the use of its handy swing-out feed board. Press placement was not optional-- in a small space there isn't much choice. So I had to make myself a shelf to serve as feed board.

    Not being much of a carpenter, I used a soft pine board I had on hand. I placed hinges so it can fold up against the wall when necessary-- the shelf supports you can see underneath it are not attached to the shelf itself. They only support it when it is down and in use. I'm happy to have a working feed board. The guide for the electrical cords keeps them well away from the main gear when the press is running. It's just a cheap light duty spring.

     What other kind of pencil should be neatly arranged in its own little hole at Three Toad Press?

Home from the Wayzegoose

Not as many photos to decorate our westward journey, and just a couple of stories. I was disappointed to learn that contrary to custom at the Wayzegoose, there was no informal APA picnic planned for Sunday. After saying goodbye to Rachel, Dave and I drove over to Old Threshers' to see if we could help in any way, but the guys had gotten up early and everything was done. We ended up heading on out.

We stopped at one interesting rest stop in Iowa, which I didn't think to photograph. It fascinated me to learn that Iowa rest stops all have wifi-- evidently for truckers, but what a great concept! This rest stop also had some really nice architecture, a beautiful childrens play area, and a native plant area. Makes most of our California rest stops look rather sad. It'll be interesting to see how the two near Camp Roberts on 101 will turn out once they are finished.

Since we were traveling on Sunday afternoon and evening, there was little traffic and we whizzed through Des Moines and west. We got to North Platte around 9, and searched for a hotel further from the freeway. That worked: we got one with wifi, breakfast, and which cost less. It was shabby but clean.

As on our eastward trek, the second day was the most interesting. Once more we were traveling through Wyoming. This time, as we approached the Continental Divide, it began to drizzle. The temperature began to drop, from the 40s into the 30s. Then the rain turned kind of slushy, as if it were soft hail. Temps dropped to 28, and the next thing we knew, we were staring in disbelief at snow-- falling sideways! The snow seemed as if it were so dry it wasn't sticking to the windshield, and it blew around on the road as if it were sand. The nearby trees began to take on powdered sugar, and I dragged out my camera.

The AAA "Triptic" proclaims this pass as the Snowy Range Pass. Ya think? We were just delighted that the snow, even though blown sideways, was falling gently, and we ran out of it in less than an hour. It was delightful to look at, but without chains we would not have wanted to see more of it. A gas stop and a truck stop lunch of hearty stew was just what we needed!

After being snewed on, we got into open territory after crossing the Continental Divide again. I began to notice patches of pink flowers alongside the road, so we stopped for a driver change and flower photo. The flowers grow in low bunches, and I'm not sure if the darker pink ones are the immature ones and the whiter ones the buds, or vice versa. They are definitely the same plant, which has almost a succulent feel to it. Very pretty.

 

There aren't too many big towns from the Snowy Range to Salt Lake City; we didn't begin to look for a dinner stop until we were over the border into Utah. But it seemed the few towns along the road had no restaurants. Finally, close to 7:30 PM, we stopped at a little town whose (only) restaurant name should have been memorable- but it escapes me (was it Cindy's?). It proudly proclaimed itself famous "since 1930" for its fried chicken. Normally I avoid anything fried, but there we were-- and it smelled heavenly. Well worth it. They skin the chicken, and the coating is crisp, delicate and not greasy. Just right!

Once again we drove straight through Salt Lake City to avoid commute traffic the next day. This time we found ourselves near the airport, with no indication of any motels past it. We ended up at a Super 8. Generally those aren't luxurious, but this one has to compete with business and airport customers, so it was really nice. A full breakfast was offered. There was a pool and exercise room, but of course we didn't take time to use them. I'd definitely stay there again though.

Final day-- we didn't get too far away from Salt Lake City until we stopped at a rest stop. We hadn't seen this area by daylight, and it was the Bonneville Salt Flats. That was fun to explore. They are brilliant white, and the salt is --surprisingly-- as hard as concrete! An interpretive sign lets you know that you cannot see the end from the beginning of the 7-mile long test track, due to the curvature of the earth. Amazing sight. Just for scale: that stick figure is my tall friend Dave, dwarfed by the landscape.

Of course, once we left Bonneville, there wasn't much scenery to enjoy. We did pause in Lovelock and went through their museum-- and found a printing exhibit! Sadly, it was set up and just left; there are no interpreters to use what might be an effective working shop. But the museum was good- lots of variety, including mineral exhibits.

On the way home, our drive was enlightened by some of Mark's purchases- bound volumes of the Inland Printer,  a printing publication for many years. The passenger would comb through the thick volumes and read amusing excerpts to the driver. One article was entitled "The Composing Stick as Paintbrush," and the design photographed below was its illustration:

Composed completely of hand set type pieces, I think it makes an appropriately letterpress tailpiece for this last installment about our cross-country drive to the 2009 APA Wayzegoose. TypOgraphic!