Ran into Jack while walking to my downtown studio, and was delayed for about an hour after he invited me into his garage — where I counted four (!) motorcycles, including an old (they were produced in the first half of the 20th century) Indian (!!) — and a nearly-pristine Ford Model T. Then we went into his house and inspected his early 40’s Indian, another one, that had been a racer in its lifetime. Complete with provenance.
Warming weather, vaccines in arms for the elder household members and just plain cabin fever inspired a day run — the first since the inception of the pandemic — beyond our normal WaWaWA boundaries.
In Transit
From Walla Walla, we took Highway 12 to Hwy 730 near the Oregon border and along the Columbia River. (Windshield photography, of course.)
Cold Springs NWR
After landing at Cold Springs National Wildlife Refuge (near Umatilla, OR), we hiked for six or so miles, spotting geese, ducks and other birdlife (including a huge raft of white snow geese that eluded the camera).
Cold Springs NWR (Original pano is 32,700 pixels wide)
McNary Beach
Next, it was a rest stop and lunch at McNary Beach on Lake Wallula, but not without a couple of miles of added hiking.
Twin Sisters
Then we retraced our route back along Hwy 730, this time stopping at the Twin Sisters basalt rocks in the steep cliffs along the Columbia. We took a fairly short, but extremely steep trail along the Twin Sisters outcroppings, Kim equipped with hiking poles and Ivi nearby yours truly to catch any of many threatened falls. And did I mention the ferocious wind?
Charlie (May 11, 2013 – January 21, 2021). AKA: Charlie Barker, Charles Barkley, Charlie-Dawg, Charles the Reticent, Charles the Intransigent, Charles the Vigilant, Charles the Reluctant, Charles the Recalcitrant, Shade-Dog and many more appellations.
And a note of sympathy to sister Jan, who lost her cat Violet just a few days after Charlie departed this mortal coil.
The Dreaded Boxes project is renewed for the new year. You may recall previous entries. This weekend’s efforts have revealed a few new discoveries, again probably of interest only to siblings and offspring.
Here, myself at an alleged eighteen months of age, interacting with a dog of forgotten name, with my parents’ circa-1934 Chevy in the background, with Cousin Anita nearby and some hint of perhaps Aunt Libby, assuming that the photo was taken by my mother, Thelma. (One of my favorites yet unearthed, just on the basis of its compositional photographic value, subject matter aside.) The locale seems to be the Onawa, Iowa farm owned by one Doc Martin, my parents’ then-landlord:
Next, I found some early evidence of the family poet, my brother Dennis:
