I left at a relatively early hour to begin my journey eastward. I had a fair amount of ground I wanted to travel. All of Washington, a bit of Idaho and then on into Montana for my first day of driving. I'd never really gone to the eastern side of Washington, and was surprised how the landscape changed once the Cascades were behind me. All these very round mogul-like hills. Sort of like oversized golf balls cut in half and then placed right on top of each other over and over again. This is a thing I saw outside of Pullman, Washington.
Lochsa Lodge. Its website says it's in Idaho, but Googlemaps says it's in Montana, so I'm a little confused about the whole thing. I stayed in this little cabin, which came complete with a nice little stack of wood on its porch, which I totally dipped into in order to enjoy the wood burning stove within the cabin. The lodge had a little restaurant where I had dinner. A nice funny spot for an evening. I wish I had more time to explore, but, alas, I had to get up early the next day to continue the drive.
Book Loft. Basically my favorite bookstore ever. I had a really lovely lunch at Lindey's after buying a few books.
I will also gripe about how my fitness level has steadily declined since leaving the farm. I knew this would happen, as it happened last year too, but it's amazing how getting a little softer/gaining weight while losing muscle impacts my overall sense of self. One could argue that I could still keep in shape even off the farm, and that is a solid argument...except that I hate having to try to be fit. I like just having to work and the repercussions of the work being relatively toned arms and less of a gut. Wah wah wah. It's true though.
Monday, October 26, 2015
1. Watching Waterworld and his incredulity with the basic premise of being able to turn urine into water in the opening scene, but finding no way to do a similar thing with the salt water of the movie.
2. His telling us about watching a friend parachuting, and his parachute not opening, and the teacher watching this man fall to his death.
3. There was a unit on the Hoover Dam. Or maybe not the Hoover Dam. Some dam. And it was an activity that demanded that all students play a role in a sort of improvisational debate on whether it should be built. There were military experts, scientists, witnesses, etc. The desks were positioned (I think) in a horse shoe with a committee as its removed third side, a few feet away. One boy, playing the military expert and voice in the drama, was incredibly fascinated with the military and, independently of the assignment, already had a full military costume, which he wore for the duration of the mock debate. I forget if I was assigned, or if I requested it, but I was the local news journalist covering the proceedings. If I recall correctly, I created a daily newspaper covering the 2 or 3 days of testimony. I recall being rather light on facts, and including stray "articles" about the goldfish in the classroom. Or maybe I only thought about doing that? In any case, Mark was great to let me do the least science-y thing one could do in that situation.
3. He never pronounced my name right. Always Caro-linn as opposite to Caro-line.
4. During that horticulture class he found a nest with some eggs in it, which seemed to have fallen out of a tree or otherwise been separated from its respective mama bird. Mark randomly suggested that I take the eggs with me to my dorm, put them in some sort of container with some kind of insulating material, keep a lightbulb on them, and see if they would hatch. This is then a thing that I did. I forget the container, but I think I swathed them in a teeshirt or washcloth. I was pretty diligent about the lightbulb too. It was just a regular desk light lamp, but I positioned it what I thought was at the right distance to emanate heat and warmth without air boiling the eggs. I think at least two weeks passed. Maybe a month? Maybe longer. I have the habit now to put things off for huge swathes of time. Truly astoundingy in appropriate amounts of time. So it could have been two weeks, but it also could have been two months. In any event, some period of time lapsed. No baby birds pecked their way out of their egg encasing and into my haphazard man-made nest on the desk. Eventually I began to worry that the eggs might be rotting. I was fairly certain that there were not baby birds to wait for. I don't know why I didn't just throw them in the trash. A fear of the stink that could potentially emerge if broken and lingering in the hall garbage can? Hard to say at this point in time. But the solution to whatever reason that wasn't an option was to throw them out the window into the grass below on a night where it seemed likely to rain. The rain, honestly, may be something I just hope I thought of as opposed to actually having done. I didn't throw the eggs at the right speed and they ended up hitting building and pavement. I couldn't see just how bad the damage was, or if there was a stink to worry about, as I did this after our dorm's curfew. The next morning I awoke early and went down the flights of stairs and out a back door with much apprehension. Turned out that while the eggs had smashed, there was no offensive olfactory situation to feel guilt over. The eggs had landed close to the basement entry way to the school's day care, but had spared its stairs, so I didn't have to content with the feeling of shame that would have been caused if the day care people thought someone had tried to egg them. I should also mention that while they didn't smell, there also weren't fetal baby birds that I had sent to death. I don't know what lesson or outcome Mark Wiley thought would come out of sending me home with those eggs, but I'm sure I learned something. Not to throw eggs out of a window?**I started writing this in Ohio, got almost immediately sidetracked by writing about Mark, and then didn't even start to really write about anything related to the photos. Now I'm going to leave this unfinished rumination, which really was just a long reflection on the potential causes of my ambivalence about gardening when it seems like I should really like it. A large part of it, I think, may have to do with my the guy I dated one million years ago and his own good works in the gardening world. But let's not blame him.***
In any case, here is a video of Rodo and Coco being friends.