The shoes that tried to kill me

I recently got invited to a very swanky country club luncheon, which doesn't happen every day when you live in the middle on a 500-acre vineyard in Oregon with no close neighbors except wild turkeys and deer. Making friends has taken some time. So on this important occasion, I got all dressed up in my city clothes, including a darling pair of suede ankle boots I've had for several years (and haven't worn nearly enough to justify what I paid for them).

What I didn't anticipate was the effect of walking on the cobblestones in our carport in those lovely ankle boots. Did I mention the boots have an almost-stiletto heel on them -- not so much in terms of height but diameter of the heel point?

Before I could even get my car door open I found myself thrown to the ground as one of those tiny heel points was placed in between the uneven stones and turned my ankle sideways. And make no mistake about it, ankle boots are completely unforgiving in an incident like this. They do not allow your foot to come loose from the shoe as you twist, so you wrench your ankle the complete 45 degrees before you hit the ground.

I laid there for a minute, kind of stunned, and then did what any self-respecting luncheon lover would do....I got in my car and continued on to the country club. Which I realized was a mistake once my ankle started really swelling and pounding about halfway into the appetizers.

But I soldiered on, in the name of all things Country Club. Priorities! And then hit the Urgent Care Center on the way home (by that time I was in agony). They had to bring me in and out of the facility in a wheelchair, and after an exam, x-rays and ultrasound, they discovered that I'd completely torn a ligament on the top of my foot and it wasn't working anymore.

I came home and had Big Ag put the suede ankle boots into the Goodwill box.

To be honest, this is not the first time these shoes have tried to kill me. I attending a wedding a couple of years ago, with the reception held around a magnificent old oak tree at a winery. Somewhere into the reception, I tried to get back to my table from the dance floor, across a few of the massive roots that protruded around the oak, and twisted the same ankle and fell to the ground. Some old man at another table leaned over to his wife and said, "well, that one's been drinking." But I hadn't. I had tripped on an oak root, but it was the ankle boots that caused me to fall completely flat on the ground.

And so now I'm in an air cast and wrapped up like a mummy when I'm not wearing that, due for physical therapy next week. The pain is better and the bruising is subsiding. The good news is, as long as it's not hurting, I have permission to drive, walk, and do anything else I need to. And even better, it's not hurting all that much right now, so all my holiday preps are coming along just fine.

But the sad thing is that I've almost considered digging the ankle boots out of the Goodwill bag, because they are just so darn cute and look so good on. But I've realized it's a toxic relationship and that it's counterproductive to love something that's trying to kill you. And so it is in life as well.

And so I bid farewell to yet another fashion trend I've had to give up due to age. If anyone needs me, I'll be out in the vineyard, hangin' with the wild turkeys and deer. For many reasons, that is probably where I most belong. But occasionally I reserve the right to visit The Other Side -- the one with appetizers, gorgeous couture and bright conversation. You'll know you see me there when you see a slightly-out-of-place looking woman.... with an array of appetizers in her hand, wearing very sensible flats.

Learning Curve

I think one of the most rewarding and fun things about relocating to a new state is learning a whole spate of new things -- about your new climate, about yourself, and about how to live your life, day to day, in the area you call your new home.

 Growing up in California meant that I never really experienced winter. In the places I spent most of my life we had seven months of summer weather followed by five months or so of slightly cooler, more unpredictable weather. You couldn't really even call it winter compared to this. It could be 85 degrees during those months, or 65 degrees. But it mostly tended to the warmer end of the spectrum, and it was almost always sunny.

Here it is chilly, windy, gets dark early, and gets a ton of rainfall, although the rumor that it rains all the time is completely false; we get a fair mix of partly cloudy and sunny periods in any given week and, for the last week, we've had nothing but glorious -- but cold -- sunshine.

But I am learning how to take wet and/or cold weather seriously. I have two pairs of dress boots, for instance -- nice leather ones -- which had always been my go-to shoes in the rain, back in California. But when it's 38 degrees and really cold and wet -- those boots have NOT kept my feet warm enough. And so the other day I headed off to the thrift store to try and find some unworn, better boots and hit the jackpot, finding three pairs. (side note: You'd be amazed how many items of clothing I've found there that have never been worn. Most of the time the price tag is still attached, too.) Anyway, the fleece-lined waterproof boots I found make a HUGE difference in how warm my feet are, which in turn makes me feel a lot more comfortable. I also now wear fleece leggings under my jeans, plus gloves and earmuffs if I'm going to be outside more than a few minutes. But the boots and thermal underwear are worn all the time now. 

I've also had to re-learn what it means when the weathercaster calls for a "20 percent chance of rain." In California, a 20 percent chance of rain meant it was almost certainly NOT going to rain, much to everyone's disappointment. But in Oregon, a 20 percent chance of rain means you'd better pack your raincoat in the car and expect to use it. I'm glad I bought a new raincoat just before I moved. I wear it -- or at least bring it along -- all the time now.

But I think the hardest thing to get used to is the sunny, clear days. In my 57 years, those weather conditions always, and I mean always, meant you could shuck off your jacket,  because the temperature generally rose into the 60s at least. Not so outside California. Some of the coldest days I've seen here have been the sunny ones, especially when the wind is blowing. The fact is that Oregon has four seasons, and you're not going to get summer just because the sun comes out. Fine by me.

And so, as this holiday season approaches, I find myself thankful for the changes that have happened in my life, as I settle into them and the new things become more routine. A good friend of mine gave me a nugget of wisdom before I moved here. She said, "there is no such thing as cold weather...only inappropriate clothing choices." I'd say she was right. With fleece-lined, warm and dry feet, all things seem possible, no matter how hard it's raining. 

I guess when tackling a steep learning curve, it pays to start from the ground up...in this case, with your footwear. 

where you are

So we're onto looking at what must be our 20th prospective house (which feels more like the 500th), and just cancelled our second escrow in six months, this time because we put in an offer on a fixer-upper only to discover that the house was on septic, not sewer (as advertised by the seller's realtor) and that the aforementioned septic system had a tank exactly where we wanted to put an addition on the house. Meaning no more addition...meaning no house. (The first house we cancelled an escrow on went away when we discovered that in flood years the basement had two feet of water in it and, in fact, lay in a flood zone. Not something we wanted to deal with).

It would be funny if it wasn't so maddening. Our poor realtor, so patient and understanding, has been wonderful through all this, but she must figure we were born under a bad star or something the way our luck has gone.

This entire exercise, in moving to Oregon, renting our little vineyard house and then beginning to look at houses, has been a learning experience, as well as an exercise in keeping up what the Bible calls "good courage," which basically means a positive attitude.

Or perhaps it's an exercise in learning to be happy where we are. Not permanently, but until such time as the right house, or right piece of land for building on materializes. We've been enjoying our vineyard walks through fall and now winter. We've been chopping wood and raking the leaves from the 200 year-old Oregon White Oak trees in the back of the property, and enjoying fires in the fireplace and all the typical activities that fall has to offer here in the Pacific Northwest. That part of our journey has been wonderful, as has been the fact that Big Ag loves his job.

And now we're on the doorstep of the holidays, still here and apparently not going anywhere soon. So I'm determined to figure out how to just be where we are, until that changes.

To further that feeling of belonging, I've joined a local Newcomers Club as well as a women's group from our community. It's so important to set down some roots even before you have the place to rum them down deep, and meeting new friends is a great way to do that.

So while we wait, we settle in to winter in the vineyard and enjoy what the season has to offer. While I may regret the two offers on homes that eventually fell through, we have no regrets about the decision to move here. It's thrilled us, challenged us, and taught us things about ourselves, our marriage and the world we live in.

So we're settling into the season here on a little vineyard in the Willamette Valley. Hope that wherever you are, you are settled in, too.

Just some pics

Nothing new, but just posting a few shots from around the property. 

Pinot Noir grapes really do turn black before harvest!

Who is looking at whom?

The windbreak of trees to the south of us is in full, fiery color. 

The colors and changes of autumn

Autumn is in beautiful, colorful full swing here in the PNW, and as a lifelong Fall fan, I'm finally celebrating my favorite season in an area which actually experiences it. It's heaven.

There's a crisp bite to the morning air, warm afternoons which cool off quickly in the evening, and things are hopping down in the vineyard, where harvest is progressing nicely. Apples are literally everywhere -- on volunteer trees by the roadside, in the parks, and around on this property, to a point where it's a bit like summer zucchini -- you can't give them away. There are just too many. And we've had over an inch of rain this month. A full inch -- just in September! So along with fall oranges and golds, there is also a lot of green popping up again in the fields.

There is also a ripe pumpkin field about a mile down the road which stretches as far as the eye can see, so much that these orange orbs should have their own zip code.

Our property search progresses, but we've re-tooled and will now add bare land to our focus, with an eye towards building on a couple of acres. The homes we've seen here have been disappointing, I'll be honest. Oregon's property tax laws are very odd, but one rule we now understand is that any significant remodeling triggers a reassessment, which could significantly raise your taxes from that point on. The point is, it discourages people from improving their property, other than required maintenance. (Which explains all the 1970's kitchens and bathrooms.) We have seen a lot of people remodeling right before they sell, so that the buyer and not them will face the new, steeper tax bill.  (which explains all the bad house flips.) So it might just be easier to build new and face the music, being given a tax amount based on comparable properties with no improvements needed, keeping our tax bill relatively stable.

And we've also figured out that rather than go south to towns like Albany or Corvallis, we really love the area we're in. Independence has all the small-town ambiance of a Hallmark movie, with friendly people, great little shops, and a really positive community vibe. So while we won't rule anything out, we'd like to stay close to where we are now. It turns out God may have known exactly what he was doing in finding us digs 20 miles from our intended destination. And isn't that always the way?

So if we do build, it looks like we may well spend a full year in this vineyard. Being plopped down here was actually key to us realizing we did not want to live in town if at all possible. But those realizations take time. I can't imagine what we'd have done if we would have had to choose a place up here based on just one or two weekends of traveling here from California and looking. 

So my advice to anyone thinking of relocating is to take your time. Your opinions, ideas and visions of what a place holds for you will change over the months you live there. So before making a permanent investment that could be wrong for you, take the time to rent somewhere before deciding. Big changes demand good data, and some revelations only come to you once you're in-country and living in the general area you are desiring to settle down in.

There seem to be a few people reading this who are themselves relocating or thinking about it, and so I will say that despite the time it's taking to find a place, this is still one of the best decisions we've ever made, hands down. It's been an education, an adventure and most of all, a huge improvement in both our lives.

Capitulation

ca·pit·u·la·tion

kəˌpiCHəˈlāSH(ə)n

noun

1. 
   

   the action of surrendering or ceasing to resist an opponent or demand.

As in, we have capitulated. We have realized that, with autumn coming on, we may not find our forever home before winter, when the real estate market drops off a cliff and no one really wants to move anyway because of all the rain. And so we have capitulated to fate, sighed a big sigh, and slowed down (but not stopped) our real estate search while settling in here for the winter, most likely.

Autumn is upon us!

Our capitulation began with little things. When we moved in, I vowed I was going to unpack no more than was absolutely necessary. The problem is, the longer you are in one place, the more things you evenually need. Things like your favorite summer tablecloth. Or your poultry baster. The stepladder. Those spare toothbrushes you know you packed.

And that's how it goes. Very gradually, you unpack more and more, and slowly begin thinking of your temporary digs as a kind of "home" rather that just the place you're resting your head for a few weeks. You fix things up and get to a mindset where that temporary place is someplace you actually don't mind coming home to....a place to which all other places are relative....a place otherwise known as Home. 

We've had a few glorious sunsets.

The real estate market was insane this summer, with premium prices being demanded of sub-par housing, almost nationwide. Now that we're into autumn, that has thankfully scaled back a bit and the market is correcting. The people who asked too much for their homes are seeing them linger on the market, and things are looking a bit more reasonable again for those wanting to buy.

And so to the end of being wise financially, we are sitting back and not rushing. Besides, we've really loved taking long walks in the vineyard in the evenings, and wherever we do end up, we'll be hard pressed to find views like these again. So we may as well enjoy them while we have them.

The Pinot Noir crop is looking amazing.

Next week the chimney sweep is coming to clean the fireplace and get it ready for winter. The chickens are settled in within the shelter of the carport, and so they'll still be able to enjoy scratching around when it's wet outside. And at 2,500 square feet, this house will have no problems housing our tribe over the holidays, should we still be here then.

We even bought a new sofa, after swearing we'd wait until we were in our permanent home before doing so. Turns out, you can only put up with a lumpy, springs-broken sofa for so long, even on a temporary basis.

And so we capitulate to wait on fate and enjoy what's around us now. Which, all things considered, is not a bad place to be at all.

Looks like home...for now, anyway.

1. 
   
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The Recycling Conundrum

So I'm not sure how it is in the rest of the country, but here in Oregon there has been a monumental ground shift in how recycling is done, and it's changing the way we do things around the house here.

For a couple of months when we were just getting adjusted to living here, we did absolutely no recycling here, and felt awful about it. Milk jugs, peanut butter jars, cardboard boxes...all went into the dumpster on the "farm" end of the property. As the area we live in is not considered a residential area, there simply was no recycling pick-up, just industrial trash, which we were allowed to put our trash bags in.

But about that time, Oregon trash pick-up companies also started notifying their customers that recycling rules were changing, due to the fact that China was no longer accepting mixed recycling. This was a shock for many, including ourselves, as we had no idea all that recycling waste we all created was being put on massive container ships and sent overseas. Talk about having a huge carbon footprint! And for garbage, to boot. 

So the new rules here are that you can ONLY recycle plastic containers marked #1 or #2 (milk or large water bottles), and only if they are 12 or more ounces, and only if they are washed thoroughly and dried before being put into the bin. Clean paper and cardboard is OK. Shredded paper, egg cartons, styrofoam, dirty pizza boxes, and clam shell packaging are not recyclable at all. Cans and bottles are. 

The biggest thing for us is that all those "other" plastic containers, either with other numbers or that are small, will no longer be acceptable. Everything from the orange extract bottle you have in your cupboard to your yogurt carton, your "cardboard" milk carton, to the big plastic container of pretzels you got at Costco last month. Into the dumpster they go, for all eternity or however many thousands of years it takes them to break down.

Were we foolish to imagine there was someone at the recycling center sorting our #1 gallon water jugs from our #5 single serve yogurt cartons? I guess it's financially unrealistic to think of someone either here or in China doing so. 

Anyway, on a brighter note, we've managed to find a waste transfer station close by that accepts recycling, and we've started up again with what we can recycle, separating everything, washing it, and then running it down to the center to be put into separate bins. But while I feel better about the things we are once again recycling, I feel pretty disappointed about all the things we can't recycle, especially since most have the circle with the number at the bottom, meaning it is, in fact, possible to recycle it in some theoretical universe.

So how are things in the blue can in your town? Have the rules changed, or is it business as usual? One of the basic tenants of homesteading is to reduce one's carbon footprint, but I feel with these new rules our footprint just got a lot bigger, and I'm not sure what we can do about it. 

That escalated quickly

So I'm the direct opposite of a fighting kind of person, but when I do go to the mat, it's usually when someone is trying to spread lies or take advantage of people. I just read a facebook post from a winery trying to sell its wine by scaring people away from other wines. They claimed their wines have no sugar and therefore no hangover (most wines do not have sugar, the sugar converts to alcohol in the fermentation process and THAT'S what gives you the hangover). They claimed most other wineries are actually, secretly owned by three large corporations (again, not true) and finally, claimed other wineries regularly add things like fish bladders, corn syrup and purple dye to their wines (nope).

Anyway, I fired off a snappy retort and then wondered if I should have gotten so riled up. Injustice is a big deal to me, and either presenting yourself as something you're not or presenting someone else as something they are not will usually get my blood boiling.

So to calm down, I'm going to come here and post some lovely pics of the late Oregon summer. We've been walking in the evenings, and a good walk in the vineyard, a park, or by the ocean will soothe even the strongest urge to sort someone out online.

I should probably go for walks more often -- for many reasons -- soothing the savage beast of injustice being just one of them.

Golden fields of harvested grasses.

These Pinot grapes are coming along nicely!

A little early fall color.

Sunset in the vineyard.

The Oregon Coast Scenic Railroad in Tillamook.

 

Tillamook Bay.

Rockaway Beach, Oregon.

Watch the skies, people.

A Word About "New School" Veterinarians

It was my birthday this last week, which meant I received a years' worth of texts, phone calls and messages from friends and family. In a way, it puts me to shame, because I'm the worst person for remembering others' birthdays, but my tribe is a forgiving sort, and so year after year they continue to remember me and my day anyway. 

But with one of my friends, our birthday conversation turned to our animals and the veterinary care they receive. I stated that after our current dog and cat pass away, we're going to take a break from domestic pets for awhile, in no small part due to troubles we've had with veterinarians "over-serving" us. It's a "New School" approach to treatment.

She concurred, and told me she and her husband have decided the same thing. They recently took their terminally ill dog into the emergency vet's office on a Sunday afternoon to get the dog some pain killers, since he had awoken that morning in great discomfort. Instead of just dispensing the meds, the emergency vet basically ran every test the original vet had to confirm the diagnosis (at a cost of nearly $1,000) before agreeing to dispense the pain meds. Yes, even though the tests had already been run and a diagnosis of a terminal liver tumor had been confirmed, the emergency vet insisted he had to run all his own tests before agreeing to provide pain medication to the dog, who was clearly old and suffering.

Here's an example another friend of mine recently experienced: She has a cat that appeared to have a bladder infection -- urinating constantly, seemingly in discomfort. I happen to know her Old School vet personally, and worked for him for a time. I know for a fact he would have seen the cat, done a general physical exam and then sent Kitty home with some antibiotics, telling  my friend that if the cat was not improved in three days to return for more testing. And with 98 percent cats, the antibiotics would do the trick.

Unfortunately, my friend saw a New School Vet. New School Vet saw Kitty and ordered up a complete blood panel, a urinalysis, a kidney ultrasound and an overnight at the animal hospital before diagnosing a bladder infection and, you guessed it, sending Kitty home with  the same antibiotics Old School Vet would have given her. 

Old School Vet's treatment plan would have cost about $65. New School Vet's protocol cost about $1,000. My friend is a senior citizen on a fixed income, and this devastated her financially for the month. Yet both scenarios ($65 versus $1,000) end with the same result -- Kitty going home with antibiotics and getting better.

The problem is that New School Vets take advantage of us by 1) blocking the way to treatment by demanding extensive testing, and 2) preying on the responsibility we feel towards our household pets. And honestly, it's gotten to a point where I no longer feel comfortable having a pet in a vulnerable state where both of us can be taken advantage of. 

So while we'll continue to keep chickens and other small livestock, we'll probably be taking a pass on any animal that may someday require a trip to the small-animal vet. Because you just never know anymore if you're going to get Old School or New School, and while I appreciate that both probably think they are doing the best for their four-footed patients, New School Vets leave me feeling victimized at a time when both me and my best animal friend are in distress -- a time when our only option is to trust the doctor we see. And with Old School Vets hitting their senior years themselves and retiring, we're going to see more and more New School Vets on the scene. 

Not a good scenario for either ourselves or the house pets we love.

If it's been flipped you must (not) acquit

So here we are in the middle of an Oregon summer, on a seemingly endless house hunt. As of this writing, we are still in our rental, which has become very comfortable, homey and livable...especially considering we do not pay any utilities, and have been watering the grass furiously (no shortage of water here) and setting the thermostat at 75 degrees through some warm (90 degree) days.

But we'd like to find a real home; a place we can list as our permanent address, where we expect to be for years to come. But despite looking at quite a few houses, it just hasn't happened yet.

Part of the problem is that we're still learning our way around the region. Every time we go to an Open House or to see a house with our realtor, we discover a new neighborhood. Doing this has allowed us to narrow down our search, which has been great. But it's also been a little like going on 20 first dates. It's enlightening finding the neighborhoods, but sometimes a little depressing when it comes to the homes themselves.

Yes, the homes. Let me tell you.

One place we toured, built in the 1940s, was glorious...original plaster walls, huge garden, but updated with central air conditioning, heating AND solar. The fly in the ointment was the teeny-tiny one car garage, which MIGHT hold a mini-cooper if you had nothing else in there. Big Ag's comment: "Cars were big in the 1940's. I don't get it." While I've read KonMari's Tidying Up book just like everyone else, I still refuse to get rid of my Christmas decorations and patio decor, so garage space is mandatory, especially when you figure most of the patio furniture will get stored once the rains come. (Actually KonMari lost me when she wrote how she'd gotten rid of her tools and now used a frying pan to hammer nails into the wall, instead of just keeping her hammer. We clearly live in different universes.)

Hello, Garage. Might there be a house hiding somewhere behind you?

 Another place we saw was a home on a nice piece of land at the right price point, but was the victim of a terrible remodel, where the garage was extended forward and forward until it completely eclipsed the front of the house. And the new kitchen was placed so that as you walked through the front entry, you basically walked into the enter of it all. Considering the state of my kitchen most days, that's not the way I want to greet guests.

And then there are the many, many bad flips we've seen, all done in the Chip-and-Joanna style of Everything Gray, white subway tile in the kitchen/gray quartz counters, and taking out the shower and soaking tub in the master to put in one GIANT open shower. Oh, and the vinyl wood-look flooring, which is not too bad except when it's gray, like the walls, counters and tile often are. Truly, we've seen about 10 homes like this and want to shake the flippers and take away their HGTV-watching privileges. Don't they realize that buyers know these things are a trend, same as "open concept" once was, and that like most trends, not everyone is interested in them, long-term?

A flipping awful kitchen, with repainted old cabinets, subway tile and gray granite. Because Chip and JoAnna said so.

No tub for you. Gray shower for you.

And so there you have it...our new hobby, house-hunting. If we don't find anything in the next six weeks or so, we may be in this house until spring, when the market picks back up. Of course I can find lots and lots of houses I'd love about 200K above our price point, but isn't that always the way? Maybe I'd better start playing the Mega Millions lotto. 

Unclenched

This is what "unclenched" feels like.

About six months ago I was talking to a friend about anxiety -- something we've both experienced on a chronic basis at different times in our lives -- and she described it as "clenching." As in she'd wake up and think of some task that needed accomplishing in her classroom that day and get a tightened-up feeling in her solar plexus that would radiate throughout her body and create a "fight or flight" reaction.

She was clenched. Clenched over bulletin boards and history papers. Like a fist, ready to strike out and get done what needed to get done. I've been clenched at various times in my life, for things both greater and less than those things. 

Those times in my life include, for some reason, the last few years or so, where I felt that way most of the time. Clenched describes it perfectly.

But not anymore. I noticed the other day I am definitely un-clenched. For some reason, I've relaxed, which I only realize when I compare myself to where I was before I came here. 

Our locations, to some extent, define us. And even if we hold ourselves apart from those places, they still rub off on us. We breathe them in, we bump up against them in the market, and we drive along their roads. We pay our taxes to them. It's as if we are water and our location is the rocks around us that we flow in response to. Whether we like it or not, our location shapes us and defines our boundaries.

Rocks that define us (in this case Proposal Rock)

These days, I'm honestly no longer bothered by the little voices that used to chide me always to do more, to be more, to drive faster, work faster, and keep up, keep up, keep up. Make no mistake, although people talk about how "laid back" California is, that's probably the greatest myth about my home state. Californians live hard, drive hard but, to their credit (or detriment, depending on your personal philosophy), they play even harder. Which is why the wine country regions of the state are such a rousing success. Work hard, play harder. 

And I think living in what became one of the "play harder" places in the state just did not agree with me. Hence, a very primal kind of clenching began, which was nothing more than a soul trying to tell its person that they both needed to be someplace else, not soon but rather, yesterday.

And while it's hard to see things that could be in places you are not, pondering/exploring those futures is something worth thinking about if you're less than totally happy where you are now. For years I thought my anxiety was purely biological, or a product of upbringing, or of age. But it turns out a good part of it was where I was living. Not only did I need to slow down, I needed to live in a place which gave me permission to do so. I also needed to live in a place with a more gentle climate in summer. Because most of us are, as it turns out, defined by our location. 

Chickens are clenched, but I think they like being that way.

At this point I'm not sure what this area is all about, but everyone doing their own thing and giving others space, respect, and kindness seems to be high on the list. For me, this made it OK to finally relax and draw inward a little bit more without feeling like I'm either missing out on something or slacking off. 

And so, from an unclenched place, I wish you a good mid- summer.

Neskowin Wildlife preserve is extremely unclenched. 

Summer notes

So western Oregon is in that transition between spring and summer right now. Temps are mostly mild, and we've had a few little rain showers here and there that have helped keep things green.

This was taken at 3:45 am the other morning. Short nights here!

One thing we're having a hard time adjusting to is the length of the night. This part of Oregon sits at about 44 degrees north latitude, like parts of Minnesota, which means our nights are short this time of year. Sunset/rise seem to be at fairly normal times (9 pm and 5:30 am, respectively) but there is a lingering twilight/dawn that lasts a few hours on either end that has made sleeping eight hours a challenge. At the same time, getting up to close a window at 4 am gives a peak at the beginnings of a two-hour sunrise, which is very cool.

But you want to hear something else cool? The latitude of the Willamette Valley also sits on a parallel with Provence, France. So those tall pine trees and fields of tall grass Van Gogh painted also appear in our landscape. Vincent would feel right at home here. 

The girls are finally out of their enclosure and free-ranging for part of the day, which lifts my heart and probably also the nutritional content of the eggs they lay, so that's good.

Just don't crap on the chaise lounge.

I am kind of surprised how much my mood has changed since living here. It seems I'm just consistently in a mellow, congenial kind of attitude, with almost no angst at all. I've realized that's because through most of my adult life I've always hated summer; hated when it started early and stole from spring, hated when it was in its triple digit height from about July through mid-October, and especially hated when it wiped out autumn entirely. That's a lot of hatred and, hence, the angst. 

And the  brush fire danger has gone away, too. I recently took down the three-part list I had posted on the fridge with what to gather up in a wildfire evacuation if you have 5/30/120 minutes to pack. There will be wildfires in Oregon this summer, to be sure, but probably not where we live. 

A Van Gogh kind of summer

Back before we moved here I used to wonder what I'd miss about California, and the answer is nothing...except the people we left. Luckily we've had no less than four friends come to see us since we moved, and more are on the way. Some are just visiting, and others are looking at possible relocations themselves. Either way, it's nice to see familiar faces in new places!