logbookwasilla

Old hippie friend of Lyndon LaRouche stands up to hostile Alaska and pleads for a peach; five other Alaska - Wasilla roadside stories, shot through the dirty, cracked, windows of the Ford Escape

2012-05-27T17:28:35Z

This guy shot past the Ford Escape in a flash. This one was through the open window, on the Parks Highway, pointed toward Anchorage. All that follow are through the cracked and dirty windows, in Wasilla.

As I approached Wasilla Lake, I was shocked to see this sign ordering the great AK (Alaska) not to feed old hippies. Some of my readers may not know this, but there was a time when I believe I had the longest head of hair of any male student attending Brigham Young Unversity. This was in the days when cops would pull you over for having long hair, hamburger/soda shop owners would come at you with a baseball bat to drive you out of the friendly gathering places they had created for upstanding youth with short hair (yes, I did experience these very things and, in its way, it was fun) and Mitt Romney would lead a posse gang and forcibly cut the hair off a fellow student who had long hair and was rumored to have been gay, too - although in those days, they would not have called him "gay." They would have called him, "queer," and other epithets I do not care to repeat here.

So, in a way, that experience at BYU makes me an old hippy - and now someone had posted this sign here, telling Alaska not to feed me. Boy! Was I angry! Hungry, too. Angry and hungry.

I should add that one day I got called into the office of one of the BYU deans, who warned me that if I did not get my hair cut within 24 hours, he would expell me from BYU. I can't remember for sure, but I believe his name was Dean. Dean Dean.

So I got my hair cut.

But I grew it back out again, just as fast as I could.

Which wasn't all that fast.

And then I went on a mission and got nearly all of it cut off.

I looked pretty respectable at that point. You would have never known I was a hippy.

I was very pleased to see that this old hippy had seen the sign and then positioned himself right beside it so he could defy it. He even had a pretty good sign of his own made up, asking Alaska passersby to feed him a peach. If you could see all the lettering, this is what you would read:

"This old hippie says AK feed me a peach." A bit more follows of course, but that was the basic message. This guy wanted a peach. I don't know why he wanted a peach and not a chunk of moose meat or salmon, but a peach was what he wanted.

I would have given him a peach, too, but I didn't have one. I did have a bean burrito, but he didn't want a burrito - only a peach.

He claimed to be a friend of Lyndon LaRouche, who apparently backs up the quest of old hippies to be fed by the great AK! It is nice to know there are still compassionate people in this country, state and town.

As for the focus, in this kind of situation I must let the camera decide what it wants to focus on and it chose the mountain.

I saw walkers, walking.

Next I saw a family out for a pleasant Saturday afternoon outing in Wasilla.

These two played, "caboose."

The heat was searing - maybe 52 degress F (11 C) under cloudy skies and soon I was parched. I went looking for a Pepsi and found a truck load.

I drank it all, but was still thirsty afterward.

Did you notice how green it suddenly is around here?

Isn't it amazing?

Lynx at IHOP on Tudor Road in Anchorage

2012-05-26T18:38:39Z

Doubtless, readers by the thousands of millions will be studying this picture and will be wondering why I was eating breakfast yesterday afternoon with Lynxton and his dad at IHOP on Tudor Road in Anchorage. I assure you, it was not because I was lazy and had slept in until afternoon and then decided to drive to Anchorage for breakfast with cute little Lynx.

No, I was up very early yesterday and I arrived in Anchorage very early, but was unable to eat a bite of food until afternoon. I think it likely that the answer will not only become very clear in this blog very soon, but is also likely to dominate the content of this blog for awhile, but I cannot divulge it just yet.

I can say this - everything went very well with Red Nose's heart surgery in Tucson. He went into surgery with the doctors giving him a 50 percent chance of coming out alive, but he did come out alive and in pretty good condition, considering. He has been improving since and Margie is ready to come home - hopefully tomorrrow.

That's it, for now. I doubt I will blog much this weekend. Maybe one picture a day, plus a few words of nonsense.

Scot and his son Branson and the Metros; Scot and his Super Sluice Box

2012-05-25T18:03:44Z

I decided to blend two Metro Cafe shoots together today, in part because I was busy working on my India series when I shot the first on April 18, and this blend gives me a good excuse to still run it. The other reason is because both are about Scot Starheim and his six-year old hockey star son Branson, yet Branson is only pictured in one of the shoots - this one.

In the spring, Scot parks the little Metro car and the Metro van he refurbished in Metro Cafe colors with the Metro Cafe logo out in front of the coffee shop to attract passers by. In the fall, he moves them into shelter to protect them from the weather.

This was the day he decided to park the Metros out in front of Metro. Branson joined him out back and then Scot let him hold the wheel as they slowly crossed about half the parking lot.

Scot's mechanical and inventive talents go way beyond refurbishing Metro vans and cars, as well as his beautiful red Corvette that I must one day soon post a picture of. Awhile back, Scot got interested in gold mining. He looked at many different apparatuses miners and engineers had come up with to extract gold from the earth, but even the best of them did not succeed in pulling out all the gold that passed through them.

So he designed and made his own "Super Sluice Box." I stress this is not the real name of the apparatus. Scot has yet to come up with a name for it. But it does what a sluice box does, but in super size and super effective.

Before they reached the spot where the Metro car would spend the sunny months attracting coffee drinkers and such, Branson had to scoot over into the passenger seat. Greg directed Scot as he guided the Metro into its billboard spot.

To meet his own requirements, Scot had to design his Super Sluice Box to accomplish two things: it had to trap every single fleck of gold that passed through it. Most mining operations eject a substantial amount of gold into the tailings.

And it had to be environmentally friendly. Scot has made his career on designing, implementing and running systems to keep Arctic oil operations as clean and environmentally safe as possible and to catch spilled oil, so he had the environmental know how.

Once the Metro car was parked, Branson took over the heavy lifting and rebuilt the short block wall behind it.

I will not attempt to explain how Scot's Super Sluice Box traps every fleck of gold, as I would have to fully understand the process first and I don't. Scot did explain the basic concept, though. Gold is 19 times heavier than water and nine times heavier on the average than other minerals and this is why gold panners and sluice box users alike use water to wash away dirt, gravel, and whatever else might be in the earth while leaving the gold behind.

Yet, gold does escape. Scot has designed a system that employs several small holding tanks and piping apparatus and he tells it will trap every single speck of gold.

Once they had parked the Metro car, it was time to go get the Metro van.

As you can see, a host of folks had come by. Some had helped him put it together. The two guys in black had come to give its safety features a critical look, because federal inspectors are certainly going to, and to offer any suggestions they might think of. A spectator or two drifted in and out as well.

I got everybody's names on a small sheet of paper, but damned if that small sheet of paper didn't somehow disappear. I have looked every place it could possibly be, but it is not in any of them, which is impossible, but true.

I could name some, but then the ones I didn't name might feel left out.

Greg joined Branson and Scot as he drove into the parking lot, headed for the Metro Van's summer billboard parking spot.

You probably wonder how Branson fits into this story. Scot faces a bit of a dilemma - should he rent his Super Sluice Box out to miners who already have proven claims with gold to be mined, start constructing more and make his money that way? Or should he stake his own, unproven claim, take it out and maybe come out with not much?

His good business sense tells him he should market it out.

Yet, if he were to go out and mine his own claim, he would take his boy, Branson with him. Branson would learn how to do it all. Branson could one day be the boss of the whole operation.

Scot was joking, laughing, picturing his son bossing tough looking crews like these rugged hands around. "C'mon, get your lazy... to work! Let's finish this! I've got to get to the second grade!"

After his father parked the Metro van, Branson took over the driver's seat. He didn't go anywhere at all, and yet he drove further and faster than anyone had ever driven a Metro van before.

This is my territory and don't ever forget it!

2012-05-24T22:35:47Z

Regular readers will recall Tim Mahoney and his cowboy cup. When you see Tim drink from that cup, it is almost like seeing him drink from a cup decorated with a portrait of himself. Knowing that I like that cup, Tim brought this one to Abby's and left it with her, so I could see it and take a picture. Abby even put it on my table, so I could drink out of it myself as I ate my ham, eggs-over-easy, hashbrowns and homemade multi-grain toast smothered in homemade rhurbard strawberry jam.

That was pretty special!

I recommend all readers take this warning unseriously. There is a heap of hospitality behind that threatening mug; folks that will do most anything for you, help you out however they can, even refuse to let you pay for breakfast when they know things are - temporarily - a little tough.

Allie was the one who kept the cup filled. As always, she had some "being a teenager in Wasilla" stories to tell me. I won't try to recount, except to note that she had some relatives coming up from Arkansas and was looking forward it, anticipating they would start their mornings with group hugs, expressions of "I love you," story telling and then they would go out and do the fun kind of things that there is to do in Alaska, but not in Arkansas.

Compared to Alaska, there isn't much to do in Arkansas, she said, but it doesn't matter because it is warm down there and you can go outside and just sit down in that wonderful, warm air and be as happy as you can be. Last time she was there, they watched Fourth of July fireworks at night and it was dark and they actually got to see them bursting against the night sky - as opposed to here, where they burst against the light sky.

A fellow from San Diego by the name of Gene came wandering in. He left San Diego a couple of months ago and is just wandering around. He is interested in finding a place he might settle down in now that he is retired. He likes the north country - Canada, Alaska and even Sand Point, Idaho, which I don't think actually qualifies as north country, but it does hint at it.

He really likes Talkeetna, but fears if he were to settle down there, he would get into trouble. Lots of characters in Talkeetna, he explained. Doubtless, if he settled there, he would become a Talkeetna character himself.

"Talkeetna Gene," we could call him.

The day before, Gene had got an oil change at Wasilla gas station and had seen a tall, graying, bearded guy there with an old truck and and old dog. They started to talk about the dog and pretty soon the guy told him that if he liked sourdough pancakes, he should go to Abby's. Nobody else made sourdough pancakes like Abby, the fellow told him.

That would be Bud, Abby said.

Allie also told Gene some teenager in Wasilla stories but, as Talkeetna had been brought up, expanded them to encompass Talkeetna and the bluegrass festival there. It was so much fun to walk around that festival as the bands played. Gene wandered when the next one would be. Allie informed him that Borough officials had decided last summer's Talkeetna Blue Grass Festival would be the last one of all time and had shut it down.

Abby added that the Blue Grass really did used to be great fun, a wonderful event, but it got taken over and ruined by the dopers, the heavy party drinkers and such and so the Borough put an end to it.

Allie asked Gene if he had seen any moose. Oh, yeah, he said. He had seen moose everywhere he had been, from Talkeetna to Homer.

So you got to see them in all kinds of different colors and such? Allie asked.

Well, no, Gene answered, they had all been the same color.

Allie then explained that sometimes they are dark brown, medium brown, light brown, tan and they shake and rumble when they snort and are cute to watch.

Remember - Allie is an award-winning poet of superior talent.

I wanted to interject that our moose also come in red, yellow, green, pink and lavendar, but I was pretty hungry so I ate a couple of fork loads of hash browns instead.

When I came up for air, Gene was telling Allie about some guy in Yellowstone Park who tried to feed a buffalo and the buffalo hooked him with its horns, flung him through the air and now the footage is all over YouTube.

Abby gives a hug to her nephew, Michael, who came in with an uncle.

Coming home from Abby's, I saw this young fellow tearing up the Seldon cut bank on his dirt bike. After the Borough punched Seldon through this stretch of my old hike-through-the-woods-unhindered territory, they planted these cut banks with grass, both to make them look nice and to hinder erosion.

This was a fantasy on the Borough's part and one must wonder how long the folks who decided to care for the cut bank, to spend taxpayer money to make it look nice and preserve it, have lived here. I have nothing against machines of any kind and don't wish to stereotype anybody, because there are plenty of responsible and respectful folks who drive dirt bikes, fourwheelers and snowmachines around here, but there is also a significant portion of our population who, once they take a seat upon a machine, lose any respect for other people and property that they might want others to show to them and their property.

They just, simply, lose it. They feel entitled to do whatever they want no matter the cost to others and to society as a whole.

I do not point the finger specifically at this young kid, because he has seen the example set multiple times and thinks that to prove himself, he must follow it. If he didn't, his peers would and so would some of their parents. It is just what is going to happen in Wasilla. It is what my daughters refer to as, "So Wasilla!"

I took my bike ride late last night, about 10:30. As I pedalled toward the Little Susitna, I saw a cat ahead in the distance, looking at me. I hoped the cat would stay put until I drew close enough to take a good picture of it, but I knew it wouldn't. I raised my camera, pointed it at the cat, and pedalled toward it a steady speed, not too fast, hoping against hope that I would not spook it.

But I did. The instant the cat turned to flee, I shot this picture.

Seven mundane scenes from one mundane day seven days ago, beginning with an Alaska State Trooper, ending with a raven

2012-05-23T20:05:08Z

I back up now seven days to an unblogged day I dropped into at random without even realizing it was seven days ago, then opened it up found that I had photographed seven different subjects. Some say that seven is a lucky number. A bit of good luck would be a good thing right now.

On that day, seven days ago, I found myself behind a State Trooper. I wonder if, when he looked in his mirror and saw me behind him, he double checked his speed to be certain he was not accidently exceeding the limit?

I wonder if, when he pulled up to this stop sign, he felt a temptation to save a little gas by not coming to a complete stop and just kind of roll through, but then looked in his mirror, was reminded I was still behind him and so chose to make a full stop?

He did make a full stop. In fact, once stopped, he sat there a bit longer than seemed necessary. I thought about honking my horn to prod him to get moving, but I am exceptionally polite and so I did not.

After I parked the car, I took a little walk and saw a duck - a mallard duck. A guy mallard duck.

Then I looked up in the sky and saw another duck. I could not determine if it was a guy duck or a gal duck. A good ornithologist could have undoubtedly looked at this duck and determined its sex in an instant, but I could not.

Next, I saw a Chinese caterpillar, crawling through the Alaska sky.

Later in the afternoon, I was in my car, drinking Metro Cafe coffee. I saw several kids riding bikes alongside Church Road. I zeroed in on these two...

...plus this lady and this little boy, not far behind them.

As usual, Margie was gone, babysitting grandkids. Come night, I looked in the fridge and cupboards for something to eat, but the sights were pretty grim.

So I drove to Taco Bell, squandered scant economic resource and dined with ravens.

Four scenes from a bike ride: chair in the woods; airplane in the sky; children on a log; young diners at Abby's; why it took three days, not two; rambling on the bayou, Yukon and elsewhere

2012-05-22T20:58:44Z

Friday night, I stated I would not post Saturday and likely not Sunday, so that I could finish up the project involving the B-24. As can now be seen, I did not post Monday night, either - although for a very different reason than readers might suspect.

At practically the same moment I sat down on Saturday to get back to work on the project the phone rang. It was Margie's siter Janet, calling to let us know that her brother, Red Nose (Rudolph, officially, but no one calls him that) was scheduled to have a most serious heart operation on Monday.

Margie and I both strongly felt that before he was wheeled into the operating room, it would be helpful if he could look into his oldest sister's eyes and see the love and care that had brought her from Alaska to his bedside. The problem was, we had no way to get her there. The week before last, I signed a contract in anticipation of a decent advance early last week, but the contract has to work its way through various people in a system and it is moving like a snail. Until I get the advance, we are broke. I need to drive to Anchorage and there is enough gas in the car to get me there, but coming back will be a problem.

Oh, this freelance life I subject my wife to!

On Alaska Airlines, a one-way frequent flyer trio to Tucson, where he is hospitalized, is 20,000 miles (remember when round trip was 15,000?. I had 16,000 miles left in my account, Margie just over 1000, so this was a problem we had to work on. Melanie came to the rescue with a one-way frequent flyer ticketto take her mom down. Once she knows when she will return, Jacob will get her a frequent flyer ticket back.

I came upon this chair while I was out pedalling my bike on the other side of the Little Su. It is at the bottom of a steep embankment and is unlikely to be seen by passing motorists. I wonder if anyone ever goes down there to sit on it? I suspect it was probably left there, along with other pieces, by someone who did not want to go to the trouble of taking it to the land fill and so just decided to dump it on society's back.

So I didn't get much writing done Saturday. Saturday night, I had to drive Margie to Anchorage to catch her plane. I got a fair amount done Sunday, but not as much as I had hoped, because I kept going off on paths I had not anticipated. Some of those paths proved significant, some I had to back away from and leave behind.

This airplane passed over me as I pedalled my bike near Mahoneyville.

I was going to write a fantasy/lament to go with this picture to the accompaniment of the lovely, lovely, beautiful, fiddle solo in Hank Williams Jambalaya, about suddenly coming into $2 million so I could buy a good little bush plane, and then spend the next three or four years wandering about Alaska at will, without worrying about money, doing all the photo stories I have always wanted to do, including something indept on the fiddlers living along the drainage of the Yukon River - and the preachers, too.

I knew for a fact that at the end of that three or four years, I would be as stone-cold broke as I am right now, but I would have done it and could then fantasize about the next two million - maybe three, if inflation gets bad.

I am too tired to write this fantasy right now, so I will skip it.

I am too tired because I caught fire yesterday afternoon. I finished the story and when I got to the end, I wept. Then I had to go through the mechanics of preparing and sending the photos and text out through the net and that took me until 3:30. I put on my headphones, set my iPhone to shuffle and did it all to shifts through the aforementioned Hank, Miles Davis, Robert Johnson, Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, Peter Paul and Mary, Iñupiat gospel, Nirvanna, The Carter Family, CCR and several others, blue grass included.

I finally went to bed, but I was wired, hopping, I could not turn the music off. I laid in bed with my headphones on listening to more until just about 5:00 AM. Then I forced myself to shut down the music, take my headphones off and in time I dozed off.

I woke up at 6:30 AM, tried to go back to sleep, couldn't, gave up at 7:30 and got up.

During the Great Gray Whale Rescue of 1988, the National Guard brought up a press contingent, headed by Major Mike Haller. Haller saw my Uiñiq magazine and was very impressed. He told me he wanted to schedule a time to bring his press contigent to my work quarters so they could see how a truly sharp, well-organized, media project was run.

Ha! This is how I do it, Mike, how I have always done it, and in the midst of physical chaos and clutter, cats clambering across me to step onto my keyboard, block my screen, fish swimming at my side, electric train circling the room - and son of a gun, we'll have big fun on the bayou (and here comes the fiddle... the beautiful, beautiful, lovely, fiddle...).

I parked my bike outside Abby's Home Cooking and went in to drink a Pepsi. I wound up eating a hamburger and fries.

After Red Nose got hospitalized, he said he wanted a hamburger and fries. The doc said, "no."

Apparently, there was some kind of major injury accident in Tucson Monday morning. The doctor scheduled to operate on Red Nose had to divert to it. His surgery has been rescheduled for Wednesday.

For those of you who pray, whether you are religious or irreligious, we will appreciate your prayers for Margie's little brother, Red Nose Roosevelt.

Did I ever tell you how they got the family name, Roosevelt?

The BIA, US Army, and other government staff Margie's people had to deal with could not pronounce many Apache names, or write them, either. So they made the Apache take on English names. Ok, Margie's grandpa agreed, he would be President then. He named himself Teddy Roosevelt. Her Uncle Franklin Roosevelt was killed in combat in Korea, as a young child, her sister, Eleanor Roosevelt, was legally kidnapped by "Christian" missionaries and raised in Colorado by a family that eventually abandoned her. She has yet to come to terms with it all.

Dog on screen at Metro; bunny rabbits in the driveway; woman gets a grip on her pop; last post for the weekend

2012-05-19T07:35:42Z

This afternoon, I pedaled my bicycle to Metro Cafe, ordered an Americano and sat at a table to drink it. A dog appeared on the TV screen and barked at me.

About 9:30 PM, I decided I needed a small Dairy Queen ice cream cone, dipped in chocolate. I asked Margie if she wanted to come and get one, too. "No," she said, "we can't afford it. But you go get one." It's true. We can't afford ice cream cones right now, but sometimes when you can't afford an ice cream cone, that's when you should go get one. Your creditors are going to have to wait, anyway. I thought we would be able afford ice cream cones right now, but sometimes businesss deals come together slower than they are supposed too. Hopefully, next week, we will be able to afford ice cream cones.

I did go to get an ice cream cone by myself, anyway, and on my way to the car I saw these two bunny rabbits in the driveway.

I found myself in line behind this lady at Dairy Queen. She didn't order an ice cream cone, but she did order soda pop. At least, it looks like soda pop. I didn't inspect the contents of the cup. I really don't know what is in it.

It is now late Friday night. I do not plan to put up a post Saturday night and maybe not Sunday night, either. I want to finish this other project I am working on, the project that involves the World War II B-24 bomber. I have been working on it steady for two weeks now and if it succeeds, it will have a $500 payoff, but that's beside the point. It is a story I must tell. This tiny story is only the beginning. I must make it into a book, and soon.

So, until the story is done, I do not want to think about this blog any further. I know I won't have the story done by Saturday night, but if I complete it and submit it early enough on Sunday, I will still blog that night.

End of writer's block: Meda holds baby Colten, motocyclist passes on the wrong side, boys on bikes, in window, holding Thomas; conversations upon a white horse

2012-05-18T08:40:31Z

An amazing thing happened last night - I got a really good sleep. Actually it took until well into morning - about 10:45 AM - to get it, but I did. After I awoke, I felt better and more alert than I had felt in - hell, I can't remember how long. I had to go to Abby's for breakfast. Margie was still in Anchorage and I kept feeling very troubled about the horse shadows on the wall that I blogged in my last post.

I just didn't know how the sun could possibly have struck the horse statuettes at the just the right angle to cast the shadows the way it did.

So I went back and figured out the mystery. Today, there was a shadow of only one horse head, but that was enough to trace the light back to its source of origin. I discovered that it was not coming directly from the sun, but from sunlight reflecting at an angle off the windshield of Abby's truck, which was parked in about the same place as yesterday.

Meanwhile, Meda Lord spotted another source of light. Meda was waitressing in Allie's place. The source of light was Colten, Shelly's new baby.

Once again, I had worked out in my head some problems in the project involving the B-24 that I mentioned two posts and one day ago in my head, the one that had vexed me with writer's block for a week-and-half. I felt like I could now write, and write good. I wanted to get right to it, but a totally unanticipated survival problem arose and I had to spend some time to deal with that instead. I believe the problem got solved, but I will not know for certain for a day or two. It is the kind of solution that cost me over $1000 loss in anticipated income, but such is the life of a freelancer.

Once that was out of the way, I started to write. Everything flowed. It felt good. But I couldn't stick with it for very long because I had to put it aside and drive to Anchorage to pick Margie up and bring her home for her three day weekend.

I did not want to go. I wanted to stay put, right here and write. I wanted no interruptions. But I could not leave Margie in town so I got up and went. On the highway approaching Anchorage, I looked in my mirror and saw this guy coming fast from behind. I thought it would make a good picture as he made his pass. I was in the center lane and so rolled down my left hand window in anticipation that he would follow the law and pass to my left.

Instead, he passed to the right. It was a very tough shot because in this kind of situation, a photographer must keep his eye on the road, he cannot raise his camera to his eye, he must rely entirely on his shoot from the hip aim and he must get all of his shots off in half a second. He must rely on his autofocus to grab the subject he wants to photograph, but the right hand window was up, dirty and the camera was most likely to focus upon that dirt.

But, as I have noted before, there are sharpshooter photographers and there are quick draw artist photographers. I am quick draw artist, a regular Clint Eastwood with a camera instead of a gun. The cyclist passed on the right, but my draw was quick, my aim was good and the autofocus found the mark.

As I waited out a red light at the corner of Boniface and Northern Lights, these two boys crossed the road in front of me.

When I arrived at Jacob and Lavina's to pick up Margie, I saw Kalib, peering out the window at me.

Lavina and Jobe returned home shortly after I got there. Jobe grabbed one of many Thomases.

Then I headed for home, with Margie in the passenger seat. As we motored down Lucille Street in Wasilla, I saw this lady, engaged in conversation from the back of a white horse.

We got home about 8:00 PM. I left Margie alone in the living room and charged straight out here, into my office. I still felt good. Words were still flowing through my mind. I returned to the writing I had struggled with for so long and had been interrupted once it finally got going. For three hours, the words just flowed. I feel good about them. Then, suddenly, it was like my brain slammed into a wall. Exhaustion swept over me. I could not write another word in the project. I had to stop. I am not worried, though. I still feel the flow. It will be there tomorrow and hopefully I will have no interruptions and can just sit and here and get it done.

Then it suddenly occurred to me that if I wanted to get a blog post up, and I did, I had better get to it.

So I downloaded the few pictures I took today, selected these six, processed them, uploaded them and then put my fingers on the keyboard, curious, having given no thought to what I might write for the blog. I then sat here for a spell, waiting to see what kind of words would come.

These are the words that came. And of them all, here is the last: one.

As horse shadows prance across the wall, Allie, Abby's teenage poet waitress, tells me about a camping trip where she and her friends got in trouble with the law

2012-05-17T09:36:04Z

As shadows of horse statuettes fell upon the wall, Allie, the poet who graduated early from high school, who recently turned 17 and went to her first "R" rated movie, told me another story about being a teenager in Wasilla.

This time, she and some of her friends, boys and girls, decided they wanted to go camping at Ninilchik, on the Kenai Peninsula.

Her dad didn't much like the idea. He said he didn't think so. She reminded him that she had graduated from high school, didn't live at home anymore, had a job of her own and was free to go camping with her friends if she wanted to.

He said, okay, but be sure to text him every day to let him know she was ok.

Ok, she agreed.

Concerning the diners above, it was an even larger group than it appears to be. I have two favorite tables and always try to sit at one or the other. They had pulled both tables together and so I had to sit elsewhere. I was glad, though, glad to see all the business at Abby's. I told the big group of diners about my ongoing essay on Abby's and asked if they would mind if I took a photo of them - as they were the largest single group I had to yet to see there (although one night when I was working on my India series I came in and every single table in the restaurant was occupied).

They were all good with it except for one lady, who had a baby on her lap and she thought her hair didn't look good, even though it looked fine and she looked good and so did the baby. I positioned myself behind the lady and the baby so the lens wouldn't see them and then shot a picture that showed everybody else, but not the baleen on the wall, or the picture of the chicken. There was no way to include the baleen and chicken without also showing the woman. It was a decent enough picture, too, but after awhile the lady and the baby left. I shot this picture with them gone and liked it better, because it shows the baleen and the chicken.

Did they catch any fish? I asked. No, she said, they just went to camp. It was a cold night. They built a fire and sat around it, visited, and told stories.

Did you cook hot dogs on the fire, roast marshmallows? I asked.

No, she said. There was a lodge nearby, so they ate their meals there - but they brought a lot of junk food to camp - chips, pop and such. They ate a lot of junk food. A huge amount - she stressed. So much so she stuffed herself and it hurt her tummy.

There were some posts adjacent to the campground, along with a sign that said not to park beyond the posts. But they had gear and provisions to unload and carry to the fire and their tents. It would be easier to do this if they parked beyond the posts, closer to the camp, so they did.

(In recent months, I have begun watching "Thomas and His Friends" on TV with Kalib and Jobe. This sounds to me like the very kind of thing Thomas and his friends might do.)

As to what is going on here, the big group has left, others have come in, and Allie is telling this gentleman that he had better behave himself and not call her a 12 year-old again or she will make him go to the counter and pick up his own food.

He enjoys the scolding.

The young campers stayed up late, visiting, laughing, talking, eating junk food, having fun - but at some wee hour of the morning (which, as a reminder to you folks down south, would not be dark here the way it is down there.) they became too sleepy to last anymore.

Allie left the fire and crawled into her sleeping bag - and that sleeping bag was COLD! It practically froze her to climb inside it and then it took about 20 minutes for her body heat to warm it up and for her to get comfortable enough to sleep.

At a horribly early hour for teenagers who had been visiting and eating junk food all night by a fire, but who were now all fast asleep and wanted to stay that way, someone came in to camp and woke them up.

No - it was not a bear or moose someone - it was a cop! A lady cop!

She didn't even give them a warning, either - she just got right to business and wrote two tickets - one to Allie - because they were illegally parked.

$110 tickets!

She scolded them pretty good, too.

To make it even worse, if Allie wanted to sleep some more - and she did - she would have to subject herself to the whole, terrible, 20 minute ordeal and climb back into a freezing sleeping bag andwarm it up all over again.

Still, she was very glad she went. It was fun, she said, and she drove all the way home without anyone spelling her at the wheel. She was pretty proud of that. She did it in good time, too.

I had never seen these horses prancing on the wall before and, until I took note of it with my camera, not Allie, not Abby, not anybody there had previously noticed the horse shadows, which are a bit behind and to the side of where they would normally be looking. The sun has to be in just the right place and once they appear, the horse shadows don't last long.*

Abby was very pleased. "It looks just like at home!" she said.

So I pulled her in for a picture.

And speaking of home, that couple in the frame to her left?

That's the late Paul and Iona Mahoney, Abby's homesteader parents, both of whom now lie in Grotto Iona.

(For anybody who might have read the post I put up two hours and twenty-six minutes ago - I struggled a bit more, but the words just did not come. I hope they come tomorrow. I must finish this piece and send it out to where I have promised to send it. It has to be good, too. This is what they call "writer's block." I hate it.)

*Update, 12:39 PM May 17: Ever since I posted this, I have been bothered by the question of how the sun could possibly have come through the window at just the right angle to cast these shadows, so I went back this morning to check it out and to eat again. I discovered that, indeed, the sun could not shine directly through the window at such an angle. Instead, it was reflecting off the windshield of Abby's truck.

The B-24 and the non-written word

2012-05-17T07:19:56Z

This is not what I had intended to post at all. Yesterday, I actually uploaded eight pictures into this blog from Abby's Home Cooking. I had a nice little story to tell with them, but realized I did not have time to write the story last night and so saved them for tonight.

Tonight, I realized that, once again, I did not have time to write the Abby's post, so I selected six pictures I took today that I could post with few words, but then I realized I did not have time to prepare and post them.

So I post this one instead. I took it from the window of a B-24 flying over Cook Inlet and I don't even remember the year. This, and another, B-24 is why I don't have time to do the full posts. I am working on some other writing and it involves B-24s, Mormon Missionaries, temples, funerals and such. I am not doing a very good job of it. Every morning since the beginning of last week, I have gotten up thinking I'll finish it off that day and then at the end of the day I have only a few paragraphs to show for it and I am not pleased with those paragraphs.

Until today, the project did not include an actual picture of a B-24, although it did include a picture of a picture of a B-24 being presented to the dying man from whose B-24 it had been taken, and another of a beautiful model of B-24 that he worked on off and on for all of his post-war life and never finished. This morning, I truly thought I could have it all written today, but then I decided I needed an actual B-24 picture and so I went looking through my B-24 take, which is pretty small. I found the picture I want - not this one, but another one.

This find set my mind on an altered track, caused me to bring in other pictures still, which means some of the pictures that were already set have to go. I junked everything I had written this past week-and-a-half and started writing again.

So far, I have completed three paragraphs and I am not very happy with them. I will surely junk them, too.

So I can't spend much time on this blog tonight. I must get back to the project and see if I can somehow find a few words to write for it before I go to bed.

Right now, I don't feel like I can. When I rode my bike this evening, every word that I needed came into my mind.

Where the hell are those words now?