All the news that’s fit to print … and then some

Some weeks are newsier than others. This is one of those.

The first paragraph may come as a surprise to you because it sure as hell was for me. But it’s the best news to come down the pike in a long time and certainly the highlight of 2020 to this point. The cat is out of Reid’s bag and we couldn’t be happier for it.

As for the rest of the letter, I’ve pined for a trip out west and now that wish is about to happen. Plus my boys will be making the jaunt with me which is, in a backhanded way, good news for them. If we have a grizzly encounter; they only have to run as fast as the slowest hiker. With me in tow, the only energy they’d need to expend is a slow trot, if that.

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August 24, 2020

Ellen/Reid: Next month is shaping up to be something special.

September 30. Wow. Reid, that will be one conference call (Zoom?) that I won’t mind dialing in to. Good for you and Kiersten to tie the knot when you are. It gives family and friends something to look forward to and it will really give you something to talk about years from now. Sure, a larger ceremony would’ve been ideal, but the times don’t allow it and besides, there will be plenty of time for festivities down the line. The temptation is to invite you guys to Brevard for the honeymoon but I think you can do better. But the option is open. Let me know what you want for a gift. Of course, I was thinking a big set of All Clad to set your kitchen up right but that’s about the extent of my wedding creativity so whatever you dictate is what it will be.

Reid and his bride-to-be, Kiersten. A wonderful couple and to say we’re overjoyed for them is an understatement.

Man, I am really looking forward to hitting the road on the 13th. Not sure if Des Moines is doable in a single day (about 14 hours) but I’ll give it my best. Bob knows of the impending visit. He’s doing better than I expected based on what is heard from Dave H. So it will be good to be there for at least a little while. Apparently I’ll stay at the house of Cheryl and Dave Dahlquist out at Lake Panorama. Nice of them to let me bunk there. Too bad the teardrop camper isn’t a reality quite yet. That would be a whole different ballgame (it’ll be some time before a camper happens). My golf clubs will go with me since I’ll play with both Daves and also Steve Allen. I haven’t seen Steve in a while so it will be good to walk the course with him.

Then up to St. Paul on the 17th. Ellen, I’ve no agenda other than to see you four. Your mom says the girls are growing like weeds. Can’t wait to see everyone. Or, as they say down here, y’all.

I’ll probably scoot west for Wyoming on Sunday the 20th. Reid, keep me posted on your flight plans. Casper or Jackson or Denver would seem to make sense. I’m thrilled you can make the trip so soon before the wedding. I hope Kiersten is totally on board with this little adventure scenario. Part of me wonders if you need to stay for wedding arrangements but that’s your call. The initial plan was to park at the New Fork Lakes trailhead and walk in a 5-6-7 miles so it wouldn’t really be a backpacking trip per se. I really just want to see and be in the Bridger and do a lot of fly fishing. For some reason in the middle of the night a few days ago, there was this vivid sense of foreboding about grizzlies. So it’s better you’ll come along. We do need to stop at the ranger station in Pinedale for a bear barrel. As camp cook, I’ll stuff all the food/utensils in a bag, toss the three person tent in the car, and since it might be easier for you, I’ll bring you an Osprey pack. You might end up toting both the barrel and the tent since my secondary Osprey I’ve used in Europe isn’t quite so big. But I think you can handle it. If you want, I can bring two rods so you can fly light. Haven’t thought at all about the return drive. Might stop in Omaha to see your uncle.

Still kicking myself for the foul up trying to video the plane crash on I-40 east of Asheville. I could see the plane well ahead of time and knew right away he was trying to set it down on the roadway. I’m not sure what happened but I just choked on hitting the record button. He was right next to me when he hit hard and there’s no excuse for not recording it. My one moment as a YouTube post, gone. At least the pilot could walk away from his tipped over plane.

My garden has gone comatose. We’ve had nearly nonstop rain and everyone in these parts is moaning about how their plots have gone to hell. It’s all very disappointing. So perhaps it’s time for a winter crop. Beets and collards most likely. But all signs do point to a decent red raspberry crop. The little girls next door keep asking when the raspberries will be ready. What that tells you is that there won’t be many for me. But that’s okay. That’s what you two raiders did when you were young.

Love, Dad

Go ahead, call me David Downer. I’ve earned it.

It’s hard right now to be in a good mood all the time, every day. I try to be upbeat most days, but damn, it’s hard.

To this point, 2020 (and from January 20, 2017 onward for some of us) has been a complete and total bust. This year has been ruinous for people who merely want to stay healthy, millions clawing and scratching to hold onto their jobs (and the millions who lost careers the pandemic took from them), and students and parents who simply want schools to be safely open. No wonder people wake up in pissy moods and stay that way all day.

I’ve never thought the role of these letters was to sugarcoat the unsugarcoatable. Rather than rah rah effervescence, Ellen and Reid have seen me down, up, down again, agitated, disappointed, angry, and still angrier. 

This is one of those weeks.

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August 17, 2020

Ellen/Reid: My hopes for Thanksgiving near Bowens Island are fading fast but I’m still hopeful we can make it work. My suggestion is to wait things out until the first of October and then see how the dust settles although it doesn’t appear that there will be much change in the pandemic. This whole virus has been so horribly mishandled by Trump and his goons that there likely will be no change in the status quo. If anything, it might worsen.

Piling on Trump seems like bloodsport but it’s so easy to really unload on Herr Jerk. He just can’t keep his mouth shut or stop inane tweeting. How in the hell does he hamstring the postal service and think he can get away with it? Given that much of his support is in rural and sparsely populated areas – like mine – you wonder how his supporters can still support him. Big picture, it is likely a move to privatize the USPS. I sent an email about it to one of my senators, Thom Tillis, and he wrote back that it was a budget issue due to postal service mismanagement. Granted, it’s not a federal budget item but it was established in the constitution and most of us depend on it, especially out here in the western North Carolina boonies. Trump’s just grasping at straws to save his election ass. I just hope that we get him out of there although he likely won’t go quietly. If he doesn’t, we’ll see the true colors of weak-kneed GOP leadership if they back his recalcitrance. 

The second reason I’m in a pissy mood (other than continued lousy golf) is something continues to nibble ruinous chunks of the larger tomatoes. Birds most likely but there’s really to way to effectively net the plants to keep the robbers out. Had a conversation with a master gardener this weekend and discovered that most of my unschooled approach to tomato growing from planting to staking to fertilizing to pruning to harvesting needs an overhaul. That’s code for ‘doing it wrong’. The final nail in the garden coffin was his suggestion is to pick the fruit when it’s just beginning to change color. He thinks the idea of vine-ripened tomatoes is a myth. He says to sit the tomatoes on a plate in a room and they will ripen of their own volition. So this morning his ideas were applied and now there is a plate full of tomatoes sitting on the kitchen counter (he says putting them on a window sill doesn’t do much good). But most everything else in the garden continues to mature in spite of my unlearned ineptitude. I do have to be more studious about it. 

There’s a third cause behind my David Downer morning. Right about now we’d be departing for France and Portugal. It is utterly depressing to see that trip swirl down the drain. Traipsing through Provence would have been the highlight of the year for Robbie followed by the dual Camino de Portugal hikes along the sea. I’m just so disappointed because there’s no telling how much longer there will be opportunities to take this sort of adventure travel. Walking for 90 minutes in the morning along the same route through downtown Brevard is fine enough for exercise purposes but it just isn’t a good replacement. Tiresome, yes, but it’s the best I have for now and at least it gets me off the couch and away from the garden and weeding and reading the news.

2020 feels like I’ve been bitten by one of these – every other day.

My townie bike that really was never saw 20 miles of pavement finally sold in an outdoorsy consignment shop. I recouped a little bit ($245) of money. In true salesman fashion, before I walked out the door they asked if I was interested in a mountain bike. That was an easy “no.”

Tried to look at teardrop campers last week but there aren’t many to be seen. Apparently lots of other folks have had the same idea and even if you order a new one, the backorder situation is computed in months. Jody wants to upgrade from his TAB teardrop to something else so we may barter for his used trailer. It’s very nice.

Alright, enough bitching and moaning for one morning. No doubt there will be something else to complain about next week.

Love, Dad

Money squandered? Oh yeah, sure. But not on stamps …

All this talk about the potential for slower mail due to Trump’s irrational insistence that voter fraud is so very real (of course it’s not) perturbs me to no end. I’m perfectly content with the three to four day delivery speed right now. To stretch things to sub-snail mail pace hits close to home as far as these letters are concerned.

This letter campaign has endured multiple rises in the cost of stamps from 29¢ at the onset in 2001 to 55¢ as of today. Using 39¢ as the average cost of a stamp, the math computes to $702 in postage over the years. I’ve squandered 39¢ (and a lot more) in a helluva lot worse ways. You can’t put a price tag on these letters, at least to me.

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August 10, 2020

Ellen/Reid: Sorry there’s no goodies with this letter. I’ll try to do better next week. Hopefully the Charleston Outdoor Adventures shirts worked out okay. Robbie has one, too, although for the life of me I can’t locate mine. Perhaps it’s lodged in the ever-growing pile of dirty laundry. On the topic of cleanliness, Robbie spent almost two hours purging my ‘fridge of stuff with long past due expiration dates and other assorted foods that should have been jettisoned a while ago. She really got after it even though she was told that wasn’t in the job description. But it does look, and apparently smells, a whole lot more humane.

The hummingbirds are having an all-out mini slugfest over the nectar feeder. I’ve changed it daily since the hot sun roils the sugary stuff fairly quickly. The little birds dive bomb each other for position. It won’t be all that much longer before they fly away on their migration to Mexico. Did you know they often fly over the Gulf of Mexico in one gigantic non-stop effort? I saw that on the Internet so it must be true.

Walked for an hour this morning (after coffee) up through the center of town just to see what’s going on in our burg. The answer is not much since it’s a Monday and a new swarm of tourists have yet to descend on the town. But I like to keep tabs on the goings on. This push to walk is, in part, driven by  my weight which has steadily risen since March. I miss the gym but there’s no way I’ll go back until there is a vaccine for COVID-19. It feels good to get out and shake it up a bit. Need to adopt this as a habit rather than a one-off. 

On the local COVID front, an entire family of five down the street, two adults and three teenagers, has contracted it. They have no idea how they came about it since they’d pretty much hunkered down like the rest of us. Perhaps the grocery store. Who knows. But since the U.S. has handled the spread so well I’m sure we’re nearing the end of it. The effort has just been totally bungled from the get go. No wonder we are a pariah to the rest of the world. I just can’t wait for Nov. 4 when we might wake up to a new presidency led by someone who actually knows what they’re doing. I mean, geez, even I would be a better president and that’s not saying one helluva lot. You’ve no doubt seen the photos from Sturgis of non-masked bikers. They really do deserve what they get in all their machoness. Having ridden there several times, I can vouch for the idiocy of many riders. 

Haven’t been fishing at all and that’s somewhat bothersome. The waters have warmed and that only adds to the lethargy of the trout. Plus there are hordes of out-of-state anglers up in the mountains. We’re going to give it about a month until the tourist season is over and the temps drop a few degrees. Also want to venture down to Bowens Island to try all the swell gear Kurt bestowed on me a couple of weeks ago. What he gave me were high-end lightweight rods, etc. 

Of course, it’ll all have to be sandwiched around the trip to Des Moines and St. Paul. The green light has been given by the Dahlquists and Hemmingers. The car will need new tires between now and then (116,000 miles since 2016) so it will be road worthy. 

This little thing is a little too little. But you get the drift. I’d love to hook one of these behind the car and get out of Dodge.

This week is a scouting trip to a teardrop camper dealership near Spartanburg, South Carolina. The move for a towable camper is gaining some momentum as a way for us to take off on a moment’s notice to a national park, etc. Robbie thinks it would be wise for me to get one so I wouldn’t have to hotel it during forays to Bowens Island although I’m really not sure where to put the thing for the night. Sondra mentioned that Jody is thinking about an upgrade to their TAB, so I might make a play on their 6-7 year old model. You would think campers can’t be upgraded that much over the years. It’s not like they’re new cars or iPhones. (Ellen, I hope that iPhone XS is just the ticket for you.)

Love, Dad

Do I repeat myself? Yes. I didn’t invent goofiness, but I have perfected it …

It’s of morbid interest how many times I repeat topical stuff from letter to letter. The August 10 letter you’ll see next week mentions some of the same drivel you see written below. What’s wrong with me? Let’s just write off such goofiness to an age thing (or slipshod editing), shall we? Not that that’s news to Ellen and Reid. 

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August 4, 2020

Ellen/Reid: I’m glad things seem to be in motion for a mid-September drive up to Des Moines and St. Paul. There’s no recollection of the last time I was in Des Moines. 2018? The big part of the trip is to check in on Bob Furstenau, who appears to be wheelchair bound. He’s past his bout with leukemia and his rehab has been set back by a staph infection and now he’s losing his vision for some reason. Dave Hemminger and Dave Dahlquist have been trying to check in with him but it’s been hard for all involved. So I will leave early on Sunday, Sept. 13 and might gut it out to drive it all in one day to avoid hotels, etc. Robbie won’t go for that reason. She is very concerned about COVID and she’s just not ready for the trek. 

On Thursday is the drive up to St. Paul. Really looking forward to that portion of the trip, too. Looks like my fly rod will make the ride.  I’ve got to put on a new set of tires for the Camry since I would’ve gotten a new set ahead of Wyoming, too. Already 115,000 miles on it in five years.

Speaking of wheels, some talk has been made of a ‘teardrop’ style camper. They’re not that expensive but there’s a sizable backorder for them, four or five months or more. Robbie prefers a small bathroom and shower so that jacks up the price a bit but for $25K or thereabouts, one could be landed. Sondra and Jody love their TAB brand model and tow it everywhere. Sure, you give up some space and flexibility vs. a big honking RV, but RVs have motors and other mechanicals that can break and go bad. Where to stow the thing is a big issue since my property owners association guidance prohibits that sort of thing. My Camry might be able to tow the thing but a few more horsepower would help. Thinking about a Subaru or something like that. There’s an RV dealer in Asheville so expect me to head over there in the next few days. But for sure, to have a little camper would lend some freedom and flexibility to travel at a moment’s notice. Plus we could steer clear – mostly – of COVID although we could sneak into a motel if Robbie was a shower and better bed. Did you know you can park this kind of set up in WalMart parking lots? I dunno, maybe the urge will pass.

Got caught in a ferocious rain yesterday as I walked a golf course near Asheville’s airport. As you might expect, I was at the furthest point from the club house when it slammed into the course and in the time from the tee box to the green, I was completely, utterly soaked to the bone. Every bit of me was water logged – clothes, clubs and bag, shoes. I sucked it up and played the final two holes on the front nine since I had to trudge in anyway. Got a rain check for the final nine holes and am glad I left the course since an equally harsh lightning storm moved in.

Joined Robbie this morning in pulling weeds at the main entrance to the Brevard Music Center. She’s been a regular ‘beautification’ volunteer since I’ve known her, and a few weeks ago as we walked by the disheveled entrance, I mentioned we ought to pull weeds to tidy the eyesore up and she, in essence, told me to ‘do something about it’ – so we did. Another half dozen volunteers joined us for a couple of hours and it really made a difference. One thing for certain, weeds don’t need much of a toehold to take over so no doubt this is the first of several regular visits to keep the horde in check. As the garden editor of the New York Times wrote last week, you can’t fully enjoy gardening if you don’t like to pull weeds.

The centerpiece of all good summertime meals. Every time I think of going vegan, bacon gets in the way.

The tomatoes and okra are starting to roll in in volume. My errors on pruning the plants have no doubt impacted how much produce we pick but there’s enough for daily BLTs if we so choose. Robbie goes whole hog on this sandwiches – layering on four pieces of bacon. That’s the difference maker. This is the time of year for it. Speaking of which, now I know what’s for dinner.

Love, Dad

20 years on, let’s try this again …

Although I took a brief hiatus in 2019 from writing letters to Ellen and Reid, since the abrupt restart last July the letters have continued week-in-and-week-out. For those counting, this is the 20th such year of reliance on the U.S. Postal Service to deliver my every-seventh-day messages for me.

Where I’ve fallen flat is posting to this blog. It’s not that there hasn’t been time in my full-fledged retirement. As with the brief stoppage last year, there really isn’t any solid answer to the unintended break. As our president nonsensically says relative to COVID-19, “it is what it is.”

So the renewed pledge is to give the weekly blog another shot. Letters will be posted verbatim the week after the kids receive them. You’ll see what they read: typos, malaprops, misguided opinions and all.

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July 28, 2020

Ellen/Reid: We’ve had thunderstorms near-continuously every afternoon for the last 10 days. Yesterday brought 1.5” of rain in a very short amount of time, maybe 30 minutes or so. It saves watering but yikes, that’s a lot of water. The downpours can be quite spotty; I get a deluge and Robbie gets very little. Or vice versa. But you take what you can get. The garden is looking a bit haggard in the summer heat but we’ve squeaked by with enough tomatoes for BLTs. That’s the saving grace. Ellen, I empathize with your plight of tomato-robbing squirrels. I’ve brought in any tomatoes as they near maturity so they can finalize their ripening on the window sill. There has been a bunny problem – they’ve pared new bushes to the ground – but the issue has been solved, if you know what I mean. Cut back the irises for neatness sake this morning. The remnants are all tossed in the compost bin. Gotta spray for weeds in the yard since the they have taken over. But you don’t do that when it rains.

The tomatoes are the unquestioned garden staple, but the canopy of these rapidly growing okra plants suggests the delicious pods aren’t too far behind. 

My friends Andrea and Kurt were here at the end of last week for some fly fishing up on the French Broad. The fishing is very slow as the water warms to above 60F. The rainbows can’t handle it and tend to die off (if they’re not poached by ‘necks) but the browns seem to take it in stride. Caught a few but nothing to brag about. Those two really like the outdoors and they are very good guests. They brought their Aussie, Marvel, who is the most obedient dog ever. They say some two word command and Marvel listens; ‘Marvel come’, ‘Marvel stay’,. Kurt laid a lot of spare saltwater fishing gear – at least $1,200 worth – that he was trying to rid himself of, including two brand new high end rods with matched reels plus three boxes of lures and gear, etc. I chastised him for his largesse but they both assured me this was but 25 percent of what he has. Crazy. Plus he brought craft beer. And get this: Kurt is a Valley HS grad. Small world isn’t it? I met him through her since Andrea subscribed to my letter blog back in the day.

I tell ya, that phone thing with AT&T and Sam’s Club just about drove me over the edge. Part of it was my knee-jerk idiocy at wanting to lower my costs from $111. But I asked the guy several times “The $48 (per month) includes the phone?” “Yes, sir.” And then to get the $143 bill was maddening. I didn’t go full-on Man from Bulgaria with AT&T yesterday but was close. It literally kept me awake all Sunday night. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve kept the iPhone XS and used it rather than fall prey to the iPhone 11 ‘upgrade’ and the two year contract. But to weasel them down to $45 per month was a victory. But before I bark about a victory, let’s see if the billing stays that way.

Reid, those pics of you and Kiersten up in the mountains are incredible. And to catch four trout in waters that get slammed is unbelievable. You’ve awoken a sleeping giant. There will be no containing her. You do understand that? And Ellen, Tim is Dad of the Year for taking those two camping. Those little girls sure love that fishing and being outdoors. They’re not falling far from the tree. Teach ‘em young and they’ll still like it when they grow up. You all are creating great memories. 

The COVID-19 thing is, unfortunately, gaining a head of steam in my county. I watch the New York Times coronavirus report every day and we’ve gone from 20 to 100+ cases in the seeming blink of an eye. It’s far worse in neighboring Henderson County, with 1,000 cases and 60 deaths. I’m no expert and will always defer to Dr. Fauci, but with the influx of tourists – tons and tons of Floridians (or as we sometimes call them, Florid-iots since they don’t regularly wear masks) – that most certainly has pushed the infection envelope. Robbie and I marvel that we’ve yet to go into a restaurant or bar since early March. But we don’t seem the worse for wear. Yeah, it gets old but we’ll just have to keep riding it out. With all this fishing swag from Kurt, I will gladly stay outside.

Love, Dad

After a 10 month absence, a rebirth of letters … thanks to a good-natured prod

After more than 17 years of weekly letters, I quit writing to Ellen and Reid last September. In fact, the date of the 800th-plus letter was the 24th. Don’t ask why I folded the tent, there really is no truthful answer. I just stopped. Nothing on their part; it was all their old man.

But recently, a miracle (aka ‘kick in the butt’) occurred. A few weeks ago on a visit to Reid in the Bay Area, the topic of letters came up in a totally unexpected way. While he and I never talked about the lapse in letters – indeed I have never once asked he or his older sister if they got the letters, let alone read them – his sweetheart of a girlfriend did.

She said that as they got to know each other, he spilled details about his life and interests and job. And that each week his dad sent he and his sister a letter. I took that to mean that he attached some importance, however trifling, to the notes that were never a topic of conversation. That was all it took to fire up the creative juices.

Alas, the recommitment comes with a caveat. Rather than swamp them with a weekly single page, I’d back off to every other week. It’s a schedule I can live with – and hope they can, too.

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July 2, 2019

Ellen/Reid: Wow, this is my first letter since last September. Lucky you. Reid, some credit goes to Kiersten since she mentioned to me that you mentioned to her that I’d written you every week for years. So that’s some of the impetus to start all over again. (I’m really not altogether sure why I stopped.)

But don’t sweat the every-week thing. It’ll likely be every other week. That seems feasible enough without flooding your mailboxes. 

These goody boxes are just holdover items for you both (except for yours, Reid, what with the birthday shirt stuffed in there). Not sure why I send coffee. I just do. Ellen, let me know what you want for your birthday. Your old man is completely clueless on that score.

The big news down here is Robbie and I will host a retirement party for our local friends Rachel and Connie. You met them both last Thanksgiving. They’re great people who announced ‘I’m-done-with-this-work-thing’ within a couple of weeks of each other and it was about that time we volunteered to host a joint 4th of July no-more-work soiree. It looks like we’ll have just short of 40 folks here. I hustled to get the garden walkway done and the rest of the back yard cleaned up and cleared out. A couple of pork butts will go on the smoker and a boatload of brats will be grilled. Everyone else is bringing some dish of sorts. Most people will bring folding chairs so we can wander into the common area to watch the fireworks show put on over at the Brevard College campus. It should be a lot of fun if the weather cooperates.

It’d be great if there were a lot more of these beauties in my future. Now that 18 months of heavy yard work is done, hopefully that will be the case. For crying out loud, it’s why I live up in the North Carolina mountains.

I guess the other news isn’t quite so joyous. With a bit of prodding from your mom, you both should know I’ll soon start treatment for depression. It’s been dogging me for many years and for the most part it’s been repressed as I’ve been hyper-busy around the new house and the new environment. But every now and then it rears its ugly head. There are drug remedies involved and while I’ve never been a particular fan of those it’s about time to consult my physician about both the benefits and the downsides. I’m not aware of anyone else in the family who’s been in a similar boat so that shouldn’t concern you all that much. Since I’ve successfully coped with/managed it for some time, there’s no reason to think that won’t continue. 

But I am super excited about all of you venturing down for Thanksgiving. That’s really something worth looking forward to. One of the great things is that you’ll all be flying into Asheville. That makes things so much simpler and easier. A-ville’s airport is only 20 minutes from here vs. Charlotte’s two and a half hour slog. That’s an enormous convenience for all involved. Reid, let Kiersten know she’ll get to dabble in fly fishing on Friday since a Headwaters Outfitters guide has been booked for the three of you. You guys can hike and head to Asheville, too. Ellen, we will book a trip to the Biltmore since Robbie and I are both members there. I’ll volunteer to watch the girls on Friday or Saturday night so you guys can hit the town for dinner and music. 

The garden space has been a huge drain, but in a good way, on my time. But with the walkway finally behind me it’s time for other things like more hiking and fly fishing and a bit more golf. I have found a couple of guys to play with and that gets me out a little bit more. The courses are very nice down here and not super expensive.

Okay, that’s enough for this refresher version of the letters. I’ll be in touch the week after next. I pick up Tom in Chicago on the 21st then we drive all the way to Jackson to start our two week trek. The packing starts in earnest next week. Give both sets of girls a hug.

Love, Dad

Have bags, will travel … but it’s always – always – good to be home

The first couple weeks in September were spent on the road or thinking about being on the road or prepping to be on the road.

But here we are, home again, home again lickety split. To be sure, I enjoyed both mini-vacations (New Hampshire and Nebraska) but with a hurricane that barged inland and a deck in the offing, there’s plenty of work to be done in these parts. 

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September 17, 2018

Ellen/Reid: It was good to arrive home unscathed last night; I’d been anxious to see how Brevard and the home held up. Seems both came through fine enough order. One of the first points of business after dumping my bag inside was to head to the rain gauge which showed a relatively paltry 3.7 inches. That’s a drop in the bucket compared to what the poor souls in eastern North Carolina have suffered, and are still suffering, through. Already, some hurricane snobs are lamenting the evacuations since the storm winds were not as high as expected but damn, it’s all about the water and not so much the wind. It was kind of sunny this morning and the clouds and rain have largely taken a right turn toward the north. 

At any rate, it’s good to be home. Gayle and Ralph were fine hosts, and I might not have attended the reunion without their prodding. But it was a fun and really well organized event. People change a lot over the course of 50 years yet it’s amazing how the connections don’t take long to re-establish themselves. That’s what was remarkable. Saw friends that went all the way back to elementary school. Things were relatively low key but I suppose that’s how those of us in our 60s – make that late 60s – tend to do most things.

In spite of Florence there was some progress made on the deck in my absence; the footings were poured which is a big step. Next up should be the treated lumber underpinnings of the faux-wood beast. Hopefully things will dry out enough today for that to commence. My checkbook will be at the ready. There goes part of your inheritance. But you can always sell the house to recoup your shares. Ha. The contractor seems a stand up guy. Hopefully it’s finished by month’s end.

My boy Brian is a stand up guy and one helluva worker. He gets deck things done (in spite of my meddling).

The garden is sopping wet and whatever plants are left survived the drenching in good shape for the most part. I’ll poke around out there once this letter is done. It’ll mostly be propping up the drooping dahlias and re-staking the raspberries. One thing for sure, there won’t be much need for water in the next few days. The forecast mostly calls for at least some sun although the temps won’t climb into the 80s from what I can tell.

Some new blinds for small windows arrived while I was hobnobbing in Nebraska. Those will go up later today. There was a bit too much late afternoon glare in the living room. Not that anyone can peek in but it was all about the bright sun flowing through.

I’ve been in the house long enough now that it’s time to clean windows and such on the exterior. I keep the interior clean and picked up, sort of, but there are cobwebs and spiders and dirt and debris along the outside windows and the window frames, etc., will need a good scrubbing before the screens are installed. Why those weren’t put in before is sheer oversight on my part. With the fall temps about to be ushered in around these parts, it’ll be great to have light breezes waft through the joint.

Reid, send some interior shots of your new home and roomie. The outside looks fine enough. What’s the neighborhood like? Is it safe and are there some things to do around there? People have asked what you think about Oakland and all I can tell them is that you seem to like it out there. Haven’t seen much about the fires as of late. Those are assumably under control? 

Might head into Charlotte for the weekend to play some golf and hear a good band at The Comet. I played up in Omaha and just stunk. Maybe there’s a message there that it’s time to take two weeks off – and then quit. It’s that frustrating. And you know what? That wouldn’t bother me in the slightest. Be good, and I’ll see you in a couple of months. Remember Reid, you’re a sous chef.

Love, Dad

Florence knocks on the door … and there was no turning her back – nor the years, either …

Wouldn’t you know it.

A major hurricane barrels toward the Carolinas and, by sheer stroke of luck, the whim of a previously booked airline ticket pre-evacuates from the path of Florence. 

By the time she slammed into Wilmington I was safely hundreds of miles away in the Midwest for a 50th high school reunion. Alas, I could turn away from a raging storm but can’t turn back the clock on the years.

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September 10, 2018

Ellen/Reid: Looks like Florence will introduce herself to the Carolinas with a bang in a couple of days. Given that Brevard is a number of hours inland we might be spared the winds but likely won’t dodge a fair amount of rain. It might test how far I’m really above the French Broad River floodplain. Reid, what your parched No. Cal. environs wouldn’t have given for some good drenching rains not too many weeks ago.

But I should be gone by the time she gusts ashore. American Airlines sent out a travel advisory an hour ago and I was able to change my departure to six hours earlier, which ought to be enough time to get out of Dodge and therefore dodge the raindrops. That was good of them to make the change without any fees. The agent I talked to sounded weary and I asked if they’d been hammered but all she said was they’ve just been busy all day. 

3.5 inches was a relatively paltry rain total from a major hurricane. Brevard was very lucky.

We were in the market for rain here anyway so I hustled earlier to get the lawn (and weeds) mowed and the rest of the garden squared away before anything moves in this afternoon. The last of the cherry tomatoes were forlornly pulled out as were some more weeds, of which there is no shortage. The good news in the back yard is construction of the deck is finally underway, albeit the contractor only laid out fabric over the bare dirt and marked the footprint of the deck with string. He drills the footing holes tomorrow and then moves ahead with the concrete. The Trex is slated to be delivered around noon on Wednesday and then the barn doors ought to really open wide on the building process. The drop-dead date is October 2 when the Hemmingers and Dahlquists from Des Moines roll into town.

It’s imperative the deck be done since a quartet of strings will put on a concert on the upper part of the deck while my guests, including about a dozen folks from Brevard, sip cocktails and eat hors’dourves. Hopefully the weather will cooperate. I was the low – and only – bidder on the group at a silent auction a few months back.

Ellen and Reid’s mother reprised in oil one of my photos from the Camino de Santiago in 2017. It deserves a place of honor on my walls.

I marvel at the painting your mom just sent. It is truly a work of fine art. How she takes a photo from the Camino and turns it into something worthy of prominent display is incredible. And to think her artistic self was hidden for all those years. At least she’s got it going right now. I hope her little business keeps zooming. She’s really got some serious talent and now the real challenge is trying to find a place on the walls that is the absolute best placement to exhibit her skill.

We had a great time up in New Hampshire. Chiana and her new hubby really got a break on the weather. It was so, so nice after being in the mid-90s when we arrived in Boston. Sondra and Jody did a fabulous job behind the scenes to take care a lot of the details. We were the only people from the Carolinas to be at the ceremony so that was a great honor. Robbie and I drove over to Kennebunkport on Friday so she could see the ocean since she’d never been to New England before. The touristy seaport was just a zoo of cars and people so we kept on moving and found a beach to walk on. That was fun. Plus, I even had steamed lobster ($15) for lunch.

Ellen, let Tim know I’ll reserve you guys an SUV in Charlotte for Thanksgiving. That should make the trek a little bit more palatable for you. My Camry wouldn’t cut the mustard for you guys. Two and a half hours with five folks crammed into a sedan wouldn’t be a lot of fun.

And Reid, your new digs look really nice based on that photo your mom sent. I’ll send a package with a few things in short order. Jeez, it would be great to come out for a visit if you’ll have me.

Love, Dad

Dolt I, II and III says: two for the price of one … and a few lessons earned the hard – very hard – way

For a variety of scheduling reasons, today you’ll get two letters for the price of one. Free, of course. But not free of angst, anger and embarrassment.

The first covers a particularly galling episode. At no time have I claimed to be – and as no doubt semi-frequent visitors to this blog would attest – the sharpest knife in the drawer. 

The litmus test has been the toe-to-toe matches with the raised beds in the garden. The inanimate wooden boxes seem to have outsmarted and one-upped me with maddening regularity.

Letter #2 deals with frustrations of the neophyte gardener that are a recurring irritant in the weekly letters. Exhibits A and B are the two letters that follow. Owing to self-inflicted errors and mistakes, self effacement ought to be in any gardeners toolshed. Its earned a place in mine.

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August 28, 2018

Ellen/Reid: Circus magnate P.T. Barnum reportedly said “there’s a sucker born every minute” and if he did say as much he was undoubtedly referring to your dense-as-a-wood-post old man. Yesterday was full testament to my idiocy. It makes me the second stupidest person in the U.S. (behind you-know-who).

Robbie informed me there were healthy blueberry plants at a nursery about 10 miles west of here and that was enough for me to spring into action to expand the 4’x4’ blueberry plot. Last spring I knew almost right away the wood enclosure wasn’t big enough but there were other raised bed fish to fry. So upon news of the potted plants the plan was to expand the box by another six feet. It crossed my feeble mind to take the walk out back to do a measurement and count necessary nuts and bolts but I thought ‘nah, I’ve done this enough” so I shoved off for the five minute drive to Lowes. It’s at this point that it is worth recalling what a college journalism teacher, Larry Walkin, would caution/lecture those of us – over and over – in his news classes: “never assume anything.” Of course, his truthful admonition didn’t come to mind, and was completely wasted on me, until it was too late. This isn’t the first time I’ve recalled his sage advice.

The extension of the blueberry bed looks benign in this shot but trust me, it was a real SOB. Self inflicted, of course.

Somehow I inexplicably became addled when it came to selecting treated lumber. For the life of me there was no recollection of what I’d repeatedly purchased to fashion five beds (plus yours, Ellen). Rather than drive home to do the equivalent of ‘measure twice, cut once’ I thought “I’ve got this” and plowed ahead. 

Fast forward: I bought the wrong size wood – 12”x12” instead of the normal 12”x10”. And thinking I’d be ever so smart and save myself some work, Lowes cut the 12”x12” into six foot halves. Not until I got home did it dawn on me the wood was too big so I had to rip saw off 2” with a dull blade (or would I be the dull blade?). There’s another 30 mins tacked on to the job. Dolt.

But that was just the start of a job gone wrong. As per usual after drilling 60-plus holes through 2”x10”s and 4”x4” corner posts for lag bolts in prior beds, I typically slid a big washer over the bolt so when it’s pounded in with a hand sledge, the head won’t dig into the wood. That was then, yesterday was now. Only after I’d drilled the 8th hole – and pounded the bolts through the full 6 inches of wood, did it dawn on me I’d neglected to slide on the washers. Now the bolts would have to be screwed out in reverse with a Vise Grip. It was so tedious in the 86F heat, bright mid-day sun and high humidity.  Thank God the kids next door weren’t outside because I erupted like Mt. Vesuvius. Jeez, I was pissed. There’s another 70 minutes tacked on to the job. Dolt II.

The rest went according to sweaty plan but I still fumed/raged every stinkin’ minute. A minor irritant was walking 100+ shovels full of dirt 7-8 yards from a pile of good soil to the newly expanded box. That didn’t help my sour, and overheated, attitude. After more than 90 ‘penalty’ minutes were tacked on, the nearly four hour job was a wrap.

I was completely spent. All I could do was droop on the back porch, sweat profusely on an Adirondack chair and slurp ice water, only to sometime later retrieve a beer from the fridge to continue my sulk. It’s just maddening to do the same thing in relatively smooth fashion time and again only to just go brain dead at the wrong time.

Today, however, he new blueberries are in, fertilized and mulched. The $15 plants better survive because if they don’t, it’ll be Mt. Vesuvius redux – and Dolt III.

Love, Dad

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September 5, 2018

Ellen/Reid: The otherwise gigantic and healthy looking tomato plants just got replanted (aka tossed in a fit of anger) into the compost bin because they were filled with holes from some sort of voracious worm that cored its way to the center of the fruit. The whole season there weren’t a dozen completely-bug free tomatoes. Which made me livid because I tended to those beauties every day with heavy mulch and water, et al. I didn’t want to sprinkle a poison such as Sevin since that toxin would have made its way through the system to me or folks who might be on the receiving end of the red, purple or yellow fruits. I didn’t look online for pesticide-free remedies since it was so late in the growing season. That will come next year. The plants were on their last legs anyway and the garden does look a bit neater but it does frost me that there weren’t as many BLTs as there rightfully ought to be.

The garden taught me a boatload of lessons this year (notably I didn’t know what the hell I was doing most of the time other that watering). It apparently is not enough to plunk a plant in the ground and hope that it might make it to maturity. Hey, bugs gotta eat too but why my plants? Eat your fill but leave something for me. I’m really not sure how your grandpa and grandma managed such lovely fruit for all those years. But they did and I didn’t.

So here’s what I’ve learned the oh-so-hard-way: 

• Don’t plant tomatoes within 18 inches of each other. They were too crowded and became so intertwined I didn’t know which plant was producing what and the diabolical bugs had a ready path from one plant to the next.
• Stick okra in the ground earlier in the hot part of the growing season. The three plants were again planted too close to each other. I can get away with that but it’s no way to garden.
• Plant more blueberries and raspberries. The 4’x4’ boxes, while well intended, were too small for a real crop. Plus, blueberries need the presence of other varietals to really cross pollinate and perform. Hence the boxes were expanded to 4’x10’ with a great amount of sweat – serious sweat – equity. Same with the dahlias: too close and too small a box. Would’ve been waaaaay more efficient to make 4’x10’ boxes right out of the gate.
• Put down reemergence on the entire supposed-to-be-lawn area. The one real bumper crop to be found is a stand of crabgrass. It’s state fair quality. There’s no sicker feeling than mowing weeds since that’s all there is back there. Drives me nuts.

You can sense my angst and residual anger/frustration since a little reading AHEAD OF TIME would’ve yielded a far better yield. Robbie kind of shook her head when she saw in the spring how I’d proudly planted things. She knew better but kept her ‘I’ll tell you so later’ remarks to herself. She made some of those remarks in the past few days.

So this winter I’ll bone up on the extension service literature and, perhaps, do a better job come next planting season. There will be some collard greens (really?) planted at the end of the month and perhaps some other cold weather plants. See prior comment on extension service literature.

Scraping away perfectly good grass to make way for a deck was arguably the hardest physical labor I’ve ever done. 

In other news, a roughly 15’x15’ area of grass has been scraped off to make way for the footprint of the deck. Honestly, it is perhaps the hardest physical labor I’ve ever done. It was excruciatingly difficult and tedious and just plain awful. I used a square shaped shovel but didn’t really make progress until Robbie – who else? – loaned me some kind of pick. Still hard work but it saved me hours of labor. She has good ideas on most things. If only I, and most men, would listen to the sage advice of women.

Love, Dad

All hands – at least mine – on deck … plus a great big fish as art …

If you’d of asked me at this time last year if I’d move, let alone move to Brevard and let alone get caught up tons of house stuff, well, you might have heard utterances best reserved for mature audiences.

But here I am, in a semi-rural outpost in western North Carolina, living the retiree life. Not that it should be any other way.

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August 20, 2018

Ellen/Reid: In about an hour I’ll head toward Asheville to visit a building supply store that specializes in Trex decking. Everything has to be ordered ASAP; the contractor has moved my job to the top of his list and I want the thing to be done before my Des Moines guests (and you guys and the girls) arrive. Not that I’ve dawdled but time’s a wasting. Ready for it to be started and done. The materials and process seem somewhat complex to me so it will be good – hopefully – to have a live human being walk me through the scenarios and process. My builder it guy and seems of good character. He’s a Brevardian and has done work for several friends here. Plus, I want to ‘buy local’ as they say. 

Still no word on if my Blue Ridge CC classes will start tomorrow afternoon (the second is Thursday night). My hunch is there won’t be enough enrollment and at least one of the two will be scrubbed. If sign ups reach the threshold that’s cool but if either course is deep sixed that’s okay, too. 

Ellen, that was so nice of you and Tim to host a going away party for Steve and his family. That had to mean a lot to them. Good neighbors will come and go but that doesn’t mean you can’t stay in touch with them. Your house is ideally set up for such things. Robbie and I had a few folks over last night for smoked ribs (tell Tim he’ll have to have his A Game on display over the Thanksgiving weekend since we have to smoke something.). And Reid, you’ve been designated as the co-chef/sous chef for the Thanksgiving meal. We will likely have a couple of ‘orphan’ friends/neighbors join us for the meal if you guys don’t mind. Kind of a more-the-merrier thing.

Played golf with Sondra and Jody and Luke on Saturday near Charlotte. It was a lot of fun and the trash talk ran deep and, as per usual, your dad finished in last place based on points in our little game. But it was good to see them for even a little while.

September is going to be a heavy travel month. The wedding in New Hampshire via Boston, my 50th reunion and perhaps another foray to Charlotte. And then, before you know it, Thanksgiving will be here. Time, it’s just flying by. And to see that cute pic of the girls and their back porch morning attitudes was just too much. Don’t ever lose that photo. It may come in handy as retribution/revenge as they grow older.

Reid, I need your advice about how to get photos from my iPhone onto the walls of the house. There are quite a few pictures from the Camino de Santiago and the Tour du Mont Blanc that would be good material for display. My guess it’s a fairly simple process but since I’m too lazy to really look it up on the web I’ll instead lean on you. When do you move? And how’s all that smoke from the California fires. Jeez, we were just up that way not too many weeks ago.

I need to figure out how to get photos like this – a chunky rainbow trout caught and released by my good friend Dave – on my walls. Reid, help!

I can’t wait to send Davis something. Nice they included William in the name as a tribute to Pops. Ellen, Kristin gave me their address but any suggestion you have as to a usable gift would be appreciated. He’s too young for a White Squirrel t-shirt. Maybe there’s a layette or something like that. I offered for them to visit here any time.

There’s a healthy stand of crabgrass out back surrounding the garden beds. The infestation begins where the lawn ends. It’s still on my property and in a way it’s my fault since I totally neglected to put some pre-emergence down last spring. My bad. I got so caught up on the raised beds that I went to sleep on the basics of lawn maintenance. What the hell, there’s always next spring. I did get another load of dirt to extend two beds. Yeah, I’m a nut. Deal with it.

The dahlias are an unexpected pleasure and Robbies been making the most of the cuttings. I wasn’t aware I was a flower kind of guy. Deal with it II.

Love, Dad