Watching the changes

In 1992 I was both newly married and newly moved to a little town in the California's Central Valley, the kind of place that time had seemingly forgotten -- where we knew the cops by name and where there was (at the time) little crime or even news, for that matter. (The week the Taco Bell at the shopping center opened, it was front page news for several days, I kid you not.) 

It was sitting in that sweet, safe little town, in the comfortable living room of our rented condo, that I watched my hometown of Los Angeles fall apart, live on television, during the riots that took place after the Rodney King verdict.

While the 1992 riots were violent and therefore more shocking, I found myself once again watching my home state on the evening news last week. Only this time the news was about PG&E shutting off power to a million customers in Northern and Central California during the inevitable and (nowadays) annual autumn wildfires. It felt oddly familiar -- watching from a distance something that was having a huge impact on parts of my home state, where I still have family and which I will always love. 

I have a running theory that when major grid blackouts start occurring any place, whether it's Aleppo, Syria or Calistoga, CA, it's a sign that something is going on, whether the blackout is deliberate or not. In California, you could argue over whether the "something going on" is 1) climate change or 2) a corrupt utility that hasn't done its part to maintain its aging equipment, but the truth be told, it's probably both of the above. But it doesn't bode well for the future of the Golden State. 

Our new state of Oregon is not without its own issues, to be certain. In our state, it's bridges everyone is concerned with. Oregon's bridges are old, they lack seismic updates, and no one can agree how to pay for the needed repairs. But at least you can structure your life so that you can avoid needing to use a bridge, at least here in Salem. We (deliberately) chose to live east of the Willamette River, so the I-5 corridor and most of Salem is on our side of the river, so if a bridge were to be out of order -- or gone -- our lives would not be severely impacted, unless we wanted to drive to the coast. 

But avoiding a week-long shutdown of your electricity? It's hard to avoid that. You can have generators, candles, fireplaces and every other off-grid convenience known to mankind, but a week-long power outage will put a strain even the most well-provisioned among us.

It scares me a little that this is only the beginning of the pain of living with a climate that is changing, combined with transportation and electrical infrastructures not equipped to handle those changes. 

The only question is, how much pain will we endure before facing the pain of paying to keep our old way of life in a new world? I have no answers, just questions, like everyone else.

But if the fires of autumn and the pre-emptive blackouts are any indication of what's to come, we're in for a wild ride.

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.

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.

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!

About a Pine

Small damaged things...

So as I think I've written before, once our move to Oregon was a definite thing, I dug up the Scotch Pine I'd bought as a seedling from a friend's son (part of a Boy Scout Christmas fundraiser) a few years ago. 

Back when I received it, I tended to the pine in its tiny plastic pot until it was ready to go into the ground, and then I planted it in our backyard in Paso Robles. But after a year of typical brutal sun and wind, one side of the tree was completely scorched, to a point where I thought it might die. And since pines don't like alkaline water and our well water was high in alkalinity, even the manual watering I provided was just not to its taste. Literally. 

But I refused to give up on it. I have great sympathy - maybe too much -- for anything that is originally planted in the wrong place, because that is the story of my life. Born in the middle of the city, should have been in the country. I spent most of my childhood acutely aware that somehow, I'd been mailed to the wrong address, and yet I still stayed for 30 years or so before finally getting the guts to jailbreak myself out and into a small country town in Central California, which was better, but still not the four-seasons climate I always felt I belonged in.  

...become big and beautiful in the right places

So when I noticed the pine tree was failing, of course I decided to dig it up and put it into a temporary container and bring it along with us to the Pacific Northwest.

It is no easy task bringing plants along when you're moving 14 hours north. They take up a lot of space that could be used for other possessions and by nature, potted plants are not always stable when riding in the back of a car or truck.  But when Big Ag brought a bunch of things north a couple of months before we moved, I made him put the pine tree in the back seat of the truck and told him to find a shady spot for it someplace around the property we were going to be living on. Which, God bless him, he did. 

It sat here in Oregon for two months, with no water other than what the rain provided. But lo and behold, when I finally got up here, it looked better than it had during its entire time in Paso Robles. Lots of new needles, and the burned side (above) at least appeared to not be getting any worse. 

Sometimes the circumstances don't need to be perfect for us to leave and go to a new place; we just need to gather our courage, and go. As Goethe once said, "whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it."

And sometimes there is even more than one right place!

Since it's been growing each day since it's been here, today I transplanted the Scotch Pine into a new, larger container, which will hold it nicely until we find a home we like and can plant it on the property somewhere. The scorched needles have dropped, and slowly new growth is appearing all over the tree. So it is when you end up in the right place. Old wounds from being in the wrong place begin to heal, and you begin the process of growth again. 

But it's the beginning it that's the key to everything, I think. Dreams were not meant to stay dreams forever; that's not what we were given the dreams for. And that's true whether you're a little Christmas pine tree longing for the cloud forest or a human being longing for a new home.

Begin it.

There...and here.

There

Here

Moving to another state is a huge change, even if that state is right next to the one you were living in. I think each of our 50 states has a distinct culture and personality. You would definitely feel a different vibe living in, say, Nevada versus Utah (as an example) even though they are close, geographically. And Oregon is very different from California in a lot of ways. Big Ag remarked the other day that he felt like he'd moved to another country sometimes, and he's not too far off in that assessment. 

So right now, after we've been here all of three weeks, it still feels like we're on kind of a strange, long vacation, albeit one with all our material possessions coming along with us on the ride. While things are vaguely familiar (plenty of wineries, the beach nearby, etc.) not one of them is truly familiar to us -- yet. And with being in a rental place, there's a tendency to not settle in anyway, because we know we'll be moving again in a few months (God willing) to a permanent home, once we find it. 

But this is a great time to look back and examine why we left. You can't really embrace the present until you reconcile the past. I've met a lot of former Californians in the last three weeks -- you actually would not believe how many Oregonians come from my old home state -- and hearing them talk about the "old country" made me see we are not alone in our reasons for fleeing our former home.

First and foremost, we left because all the "livable" parts of the state (relatively temperate, lower crime, etc) had become too expensive for us, especially as we contemplate retirement. Sure, you can cut back on your expenses, but when you live in a "lifestyle destination" like the one Paso Robles became, you're then going to feel the pinch no matter how much you cut back. To drive this home, I got a hair cut last week. The same $60 cut-and-blow dry I used to get in Paso Robles, California set me back all of $39 here in Corvallis, Oregon. A $2,000 air conditioning system overhaul cost $900 here. And just for fun, we attended the "Cinco De Micro" microbrewery festival in Salem, the first weekend we arrived here. A VIP ticket cost us $25 each. In Paso, attending a similar event (The Firestone Walker "beerfest") would have set us back $200 for a VIP ticket, and $85 for a regular, no perks ticket. So whether you're grabbing breakfast, getting a quote on fixing something on your house, or attending a special event, if you decide to live in Paso Robles, you'd better be prepared to bring a fat wallet.

We also left because all those expenses mean only those with a certain level of income are moving into the area, and they are mostly Bay Area and Los Angeles refugees who bring their cities with them -- rude and aggressive driving being first and foremost on that list. As a former LA driver, I know it when I see it, believe me. When scenic Hwy 101 (built at a time when cars went an average of 50 miles per hour) becomes populated by crazy drivers who take it at 75 - 85 mph, weaving in and out of lanes and cutting people off, it's time to go. With age comes slower reflexes, and so it makes sense that defensive driving becomes more difficult with age. And don't even get me started on the fact that many of those "mad" drivers are my age or older, on who knows how many medications (or wine). Slower reflexes/crazy driving is not a good equation, in any case.

And there's also the ugly specter of climate change on the horizon. With longer droughts becoming more the norm, that brings challenges to the water table, along with increased fire risk. How much risk? How much challenge?  I have no idea. But we lived in an area surrounded by dry brush and dying oak trees, where the wineries are using more and more water every year. So we erred on the conservative side and decided to move our biggest nest egg -- our nest! -- someplace greener and with abundant water. Since geologic changes tend to take place over many lifetimes, the area may be fine for the foreseeable future. But we didn't wait around to gamble on that. 

So now there's nothing left to do but look back with some affection, some regrets, and move on into the future. Life is a lot like playing "21," with the trick being to add one more card, getting as close to perfection as you can, without going over the magic number. While I can't tell you for sure yet, right now it seems like we've managed to get really close to perfect here. A full year will tell us more, but we're hopeful we can finally "hold" and be happy with our hand. Having abundant water and greenery and economic health helps a whole lot, I can tell you that already.

Another California transplant -- this Giant Sequoia seems happy here at the Peavy Arboretum in Corvallis. 

Here for now

Allow me to introduce you to our temporary digs, Mouse Turd Manor. The garden and brick walkway actually look scarier than the house in this pic, but I've worked on it since then. 

The last two weeks have passed in a kind of haze. Isn't that always the way it is with huge life events? We may hang onto a moment or two from high-stress times, but a lot of it passes in a blur.

Every week here seems to feature a new form of help for the house, which is good because it needs it. I feel bad for this house. Someone obviously loved it a long time ago, but being a manufactured/modular home which stood vacant for almost two years caused it to fall into disrepair. If it was a person, it would currently be in the Emergency Room with a saline IV drip line, antibiotics, and full x-rays and a blood panel being done. It might even be feeling a little better at this point. At least the many fixes are happening, and at no cost to us.

But we are making sure we get out and have at least one day a week of fun, and one weeknight in town. Last week we went into Independence for dinner, and its simple beauty and friendliness made me feel like I was walking through a Hallmark movie.

Hanging flower baskets on the streetlights -- so pretty.

That sweet, small town feeling!

The Willamette

And last weekend we went to the famous Pelican Brewery in Pacific Beach for lunch and beach walking. Sometimes you need the familiar in your life, and the beach and ocean are that for me. It's still the Pacific, after all. 

A day at the beach!

Say yes to stress eating lol.

But this place is beginning to feel more like home as well. Next week I begin painting over these miserable colors and half-painted walls in a more neutral palate. This house is proof that some people watch way too much HGTV, and/or believe you can successfully replicate what the professionals do there in regards to paint. A 2,000 square foot home painted in 12 different colors is a little like a gypsy wedding (sorry, gypsies): Something old, something new, something red, something blue, something yellow, something gray, something turquoise, something orange, something black, something green, etc.....Yes, friends, it IS possible to love color too much. It works for The Property Brothers, most of the time. But don't try it at home, no matter what the Valspar commercial tells you.

Can you count the colors? Dark grey, gatorade yellow, and turquoise. Ick.

I've also decided the vegetable garden is beyond saving, but the flower garden in front is not. So I'm weeding the flower beds but won't be planting any vegetables this summer. I'm not really sad about it, except when I need some onions or parsley for a recipe and realize I have none outside.

And so it goes...a little at a time, in the garden and inside. Making sure I stop and take in the greenery on a regular basis. Because while you can have too much color, too much greenery is something I just can't get enough of right now.

A moving moment!

Well, this post will probably be the last before we officially become Oregonians. The house is packed up and while we have about 100 things to do before we leave in a day or two, we feel like we have things in hand.  Accounts are closed, new ones are being opened up, and we're readying ourselves for a 14 hour drive with our five chickens, two doves, one pigeon, one cat and one dog. 

The house looks a little forlorn right now, as most homes do when they're getting ready to be unoccupied. No worries though, if all goes well and escrow closes as it should, there should be new people here to love it soon.

For us, it will be nice to arrive, and even nicer when our furniture arrives a day after that. And of course there's internet to be installed and satellite TV to go up, because it's the last season of "The Americans," and I can't miss a single episode. Priorities.

People have asked if I'm sad to be leaving either the area or our house, but I am not one of those people who minds moving, as long as I have plenty of notice and help and I'm going somewhere I want to go. So while it's a little bittersweet, the sweet is the prevailing flavor -- right now, anyway. 

We did have a serious hiccup yesterday though. Our packers arrived and proceeded to work much slower than our moving coordinator had estimated, leaving us holding the bag with about 50 boxes to pack ourselves, after he mistakenly told us the ladies could have us packed up in about six hours. Nope. But we're not afraid of hard work. 50 boxes later, mission accomplished. 

Nice to know I can out-pack a trio of 20-something girls though, even at my age. If homesteading gives you nothing else, it will absolutely give you endurance (and very strong arms). 

I'll post as soon as I'm able from the great Pacific Northwest! If you are the praying sort, say a prayer as we travel, and if you're a "sending positive vibes" kind of person, those would be welcome, too! 

Postcards from the edge

So here we are, our last full month here in California, and there's so much going on it makes the head spin.

As we are getting ready to move, we're enjoying some last amazing salad greens from the garden, the end of the crops we'll be growing here. It feels strange to not be planting anything right now. But I am conscious of the raised beds at our new place and how weedy they are probably getting since spring has also sprung in the Pacific Northwest!

Big Ag's job up there is also not as stable as we'd like, the company is going through a huge transition at this time, so there is some element of risk in pulling up stakes and moving. However, we've committed to leaving this area, so we'll deal with whatever comes from a vantage point closer to where we want to be spending the rest of our lives. Plus, renting a place has definite advantages over owning if you're not sure what's going on, so we'll be mobile in case something falls through and we need to relocate again (which hopefully will not happen, but which we need to be prepared for in case it does). But relocating twice in a year? With a bunch of chickens, other birds, a cat and a dog? Yup, makes the head spin.

Our eldest son just started a new full-time, career job (his first since graduating college) and simultaneously went through a break-up with his long-time girlfriend, so that's been difficult for everyone, since we were fairly sure she was going to be "the one" for him. Head continuing to spin, as I know his is as well. It's funny, but when you're young you don't think about the impact your breakups have on your family; parents get attached to their kids' significant others, and it's more difficult to say goodbye than you'd think (although we try not to put that on our kids; their lives are their own and I never want them to feel any pressure from us in regards to their relationships). 

It's funny, but most days I'm very content to sit in one place and read or putter around the house, getting it ready for showings, which is very unlike me, as I generally tend to enjoy being busy. But stress does that; you need extra time for sleep as well as just sitting in one place and absorbing change. So I'm granting myself that little privilege for now.

From a quiet and well-rested place, hope your spring is going well, too and your changes are all good ones!

I know that I don't know

I've noticed as people go through immense life changes that they tend to tell themselves they are more prepared for it than they ever, ever are in actuality. We're in the process of beginning to pack for our move to Oregon, and I'm currently feeling, like, "Oh, yeah. I've got this." I'm making some victory laps around town, joining friends for that one last lunch we'll have as co-residents in this county and I'm pretty cheerful about the whole prospect of leaving this place and starting over in a completely different part of the country. After all, spring is coming, which is a time of new beginnings, so it feels right. 

But at least at my age I have one advantage, and it's that I know how much I don't know. In other words, I already understand that no matter how many webcams I visit, pre-moving trips I take to my new home, or stuff I read online about where I'm going, it's not going to matter. I have no idea how much I will grieve leaving this place -- or not. And I have no idea what I'll embrace -- or not, in our new home in Oregon. 

That's because there is really no way to completely get our human brains around certain large changes in our lives. Moving, birth, death, gain or loss of employment, anything that rocks our world. Just like asteroids circling the solar system, we can study the few we're able to see coming our way, we can try and predict their impact, but usually once they hit, we find they were not only bigger than we'd initially realized, but also full of hidden surprises -- like chunks of gold or poisonous gasses.

I do feel it's safe to anticipate the need for a big, waterproof down coat. Everything else, we'll wait and see on. 

My stepdaughter just went through a similar experience. She was admitted to a prestigious university last fall and I watched her trying to anticipate what was coming. In the months before she moved up there, she was  constantly emailing her newly assigned roommates (swapping recipes they were going to try and bouncing home decor ideas off one another), checking the online site where she could view the layout of her campus apartment and re-decorating it 20 times a day, and buying what she thought she'd need both for her new school and new home. To say it consumed her off-hours during summer was an understatement.

Yet, once the asteroid hit and she actually arrived at school, most of the planning and dreaming did not matter. She was in tears during her first month over the culture shock. (And the word "shock" should be in capital letters) It turned out, the roommates were nice but not best friend material so the dreams of cozy meals together never happened. The campus apartment complex was loud (and the freshman building across the courtyard was even worse) and the classes moved at the speed of light compared to her experience at junior college.

Over time she reconciled the actual reality of college life with the virtual one she'd dreamed of and is now doing great, but it took time. As it does for us all. Because as much as we try and leave a clean slate for the future to write what it will on our lives, we also have a very real need to imagine how we think it's going to go; to create a travel guide for ourselves as we head into uncharted waters. 

But at least with age we know, deep down, that the waters are uncharted, and can leave a wide berth between what we imagine and how different we know the actual reality of our new world will be. 

Pack the boxes but keep an open mind, friends.

A Year at The Vineyard House

View from the vineyard house, looking over the dormant vines to Mt. Jefferson.

How, exactly, do people buy homes in far-flung areas they are not familiar with? I see it every day on "House Hunters International," but still don't really understand it. There are so many subtle nuances to different neighborhoods, and for me the fear would be buying a home in Neighborhood A, moving in, and then discovering over the next several months that the best fit for us would have actually been across town, in Neighborhood B.

So Big Ag and I have been mulling this dilemma in looking at Oregon properties. The fact is, we just really don't know exactly what area we want to settle down in, and we have about a 60 mile radius we can choose from. But the answer to a prayer came this week, in the form of a lovely, 2400 square foot house sitting in the middle of a vineyard owned by Big Ag's employer, just a few minutes from the town on Independence, Oregon. It's a nice four bedroom house with raised beds and a big barn, with plenty of room for all the animals.

We've decided to rent the vineyard house for several months while we familiarize ourselves with this new life, explore neighborhoods and see what areas work best for us and where our hearts want to be. I'm guessing if it works out well, we may be there a full year, so 2018 - 2019 will be our year at The Vineyard House. Stay tuned, as I'm planning to keep up here with all the triumphs and travails in the vineyard, along with each season, from bud break to harvest, along with our "forever" house hunt. 

Living room with a view.

Big Ag has already claimed the barn.

Yes, for one year you may refer to me as The Queen of Manufactured Housing!

My plan is to run a full tub every day with no guilt about wasting water. Plenty of water here in Oregon.

The raised beds need work but I'm bringing my shovel. I'm definitely not used to this much greenery.

Now that the house issue is settled and we can move in anytime, I find I have tremendous peace and a happy excitement about this move. There are still lots of logistics to coordinate, but knowing there is a home waiting for us which we can move into anytime definitely takes a lot of the pressure off. And of course our next move, from the vineyard house to the forever house, will be a simple crosstown move, so we'll probably leave about half our stuff packed up and stored away.

Sometimes you catch a life-changing break in a stressful situation, and I feel like that's what's happened here. So stay tuned as we pack up and move this homestead north this coming April, from one wine country to another. It's gonna be a grand adventure!

The Year Without a Winter

Today I am canning some strawberry jam, because canning is one of my favorite things to do in winter and the first local strawberries are just hitting the market. But I'm also doing it early in the morning, because later today it's expected to be about 70 degrees. Gotta grab winter when you can find it, and this year winter has pretty much been restricted to the hours between midnight and 6 a.m. We've had scant rain, except for one colossal two-inch storm that buried a lot of fire-ravaged Montecito (about two hours south of us) in mud, after the Thomas Fire of December burned away all the underbrush holding the hills down there in place.

To say it's been a weird winter is the understatement of the year. But it seems like they've all been weird in recent memory. Do you know anyone, honestly, in any part of the country who would say the last five years have been about average, normal, etc.? I don't. The times, they are a changin'. And quickly.

If you remember from my earlier blog posts, we were dining al fresco for Thanksgiving, and wearing t-shirts at Christmas, which certainly was pleasant enough, yet weird. Nonetheless, I am mindful of the future. I keep looking at those puffy, waterproof winter coats on clearance at Land's End and wondering if I should buy one. Since we're moving to Oregon in a few months, I logically know I should, but sitting in the middle of a 75 degree day it's pretty hard to get my head around it, and so I keep browsing instead of buying.

I also am starting to try and decide what plants will come with me and what ones I will give to friends here in CA, where the weather will be kinder to them. I have several citrus trees in pots that will possibly stay here, or if we have a sunroom or greenhouse in our new digs I may try and bring them along.

But one little plant is definitely coming with us...this little Scotch Pine. I bought it when a coworker's son was having a Boy Scout fundraiser, and ever since I planted it, it's been suffering in the summer heat. One entire side (the one you can't see in this pic) is scorched brown, yet it has survived and has actually grown a little bit. Last weekend, Big Ag and I dug it up and potted it so we can take it to cooler, wetter Oregon, where I think it will grow more and be happier in general. Isn't that just what we all want out of life, when it comes down to it? Anyway, I just can't take off for cooler climes myself and leave it behind here to burn, when it would rather be where we are going. So it's about to move states, along with us.

I've been around thrift stores less that usual, mainly because I have no idea what to buy -- except flannel. Flannel seems to be the unofficial tartan of The Clan Of The PNW, so I'm keeping an eye out for that anytime I see it. But I also snagged this lovely tablecloth on a trip to Goodwill recently. When I got it home, however and examined the label on it, it said the size was Full/Double. Yes, I am currently using a sheet as a tablecloth. Oh well. It's gorgeous, and perfect for this no-winter, early spring we appear to be having, so why not. And if you should happen to fall asleep at the table, I guess it can do double duty.

Hope whatever season you're in, it's going well, too.

Heading North

Follow the water, baby.

My blog postings have been scant for the last several months because there was some big news I was unable to share publicly until it was official, and it's very hard to write about small news when there's a proverbial Big, Life Changing News Elephant taking up major square footage in the living room.

The big story is that in three to six months, we will be leaving California for Corvallis, Oregon, so Big Ag can take a new job where his main task will be planning and development in converting conventional farmland to organic acreage.

We've been working towards the goal of moving north for awhile now, and it was either odd or serendipitous that we somehow ended up in Corvallis, Oregon for the total eclipse of the sun last August 21. We've had plenty of friends and family move to that area, but had never visited. It was a totally unplanned detour on eclipse day (a good one!), and after we visited we couldn't understand how it had escaped getting on our radar before now. 

Did I also mention that my former mother-in-law lived in Corvallis for years and could never get me up there for a visit? Truly, God gnashes his teeth at the hints we don't take even when he spray paints them on our wall. Anyway, the hint was finally taken when, about a month after we'd returned from Corvallis in August, a head hunter contacted Big Ag about a position there. No coincidence, I believe. God can begin his teeth-restoration program now. We finally got the hint.

We've been talking about leaving California for awhile now, as we begin setting ourselves up for retirement. As in most places, the nicest, most temperate parts of California are also the least affordable. And as far as unaffordable goes, this is already one of the most unaffordable parts of the country to live in, so you do the math. You get squeezed from just about every angle.

The other thing is the climate here. Let's be honest, a lot of people come to this area and fall in love with the warm "seasonal triumvirate" -- our mediterranean/desert-like springs, summers, and autumns. They are combined with mild winters (so mild that out-of-control winter wildfires are still possible in December, apparently). 

People who hail from places like Pennsylvania and Wisconsin come here and see heaven in a lifetime of never having to shovel snow again or don a parka in daytime, drinking wine,and sitting on their patios in January. I will stand and confess it now: I am not one of those people. Probably from being a native and having too many 80-degree Christmases growing up in Los Angeles.

Do you sit inside and watch the fire at Christmas time? We do in California, too.

And, as you see above, there's a price to pay for all that hot weather. I believe this geographic region is the canary in the coal mine as far as climate change goes -- we are seeing the hot temperature extremes first. Last summer we had our first 115 degree day, which was bookended by 110 degree days for a few weeks solid.  So, to me, that canary is singing loud and strong at this juncture in time, trying to warn us, although others might disagree. Being in agriculture -- but not as large landowners with established vineyards and fields -- we are lucky in that we can respond to climate change by moving closer to where the rainy weather and water has retreated to. Corvallis receives about 46 inches of rain and four inches of snow a year, it's a definite four-season climate, and there are abundant rivers, streams and creeks. And where there is water, there is agriculture and viticulture, and therefore, to me, life.

Vineyard and winery near Corvallis, in Philomath, Oregon.

Crossing the Cascades by train last week.

And so hopefully now that the cat is out of the bag I can come back here and talk a little more about what's going on. We'll be looking to establish a home in Oregon with our chickens, our vegetable garden, still making soap and preserves and enjoying the home arts. Moving a homestead is not easy, but as so many pioneers have done before us, it is certainly possible (and unlike them, we have professional movers!).

So stick around as we hitch our wagons and head north.