Vintage Post Card

Five Mile Landing, I am glad I got to meet you.

---Eulogy to Five Mile Landing---

They walk under the tall salt cedars,

the owl sits in his tree and hoots,

but they don’t look up, they don’t hear anymore…

In the sky above

a mesmerizing murmuration of starlings

form dark turning clouds across the marsh,

Below,

A flock of white pelicans float by,

but they don’t see.

They can’t see because they are gone…

I pull up in my little blue truck with its canopy filled with all my bedding and gear. On my roof is my kayak. I have asked to stay in the campsite under an old salt cedar tree. The home to a pair of great horned owls. This is not my first, nor my last visit…

I had a brochure for Kayaking in Havasu National Wildlife Refuge in my files for 10 years. A bucket list trip I guess.

I called. The phone number on the brochure was still good! I found out that they had camping within the Refuge. I made plans. I went. I fell in love.

For 10 years I had longed to see the marsh, to kayak its waters and see its beauty. I had heard stories of the great bird migrations and longed to see this beauty for myself. In 2009 and 2010 I spent many weekends exploring the marsh and the desert around it. I fell in love with this place and the people.

Five Mile Landing at Topock Gorge AZ

Then they were gone…

My mom

An oasis in the desert. That is what Five Mile Landing was. It was a campground to some and a home for a dozen or so souls. It was a landing spot for a few snow birds seeking a warmer place for the winter. And a refuge for a few down and out people.

There were travel trailers in neat rows under ancient salt cedars, electrical outlets with wires showing on old gray wood posts. Drifts of sand covered broken lawn furniture, rotten deck boards lined the peer. Not quite a handful of mostly retired boats, each in a state of repair or disarray. The only sound is of the wind blowing through the salt cedars.

Evening comes and the old washing machine drum fire pit in front of the “club house” comes ablaze with fire and people sitting on old ragged mix matched chairs. Boisterous stories are told, yet many say nothing, they just sit smoking, drinking their beer and making facial gestures showing that at least they are listening. Oh the stories they told!

The oldest resident, and one of only a hand full that lived in single wide trailers, was a very nice old black man with white hair. He was a good Christian man that helped out others that were not so good. He had a man renting a room from him, rumor had it that this renter would do store runs for him, but wasn’t paying rent and was stealing from the old man. Yet, he still lived there.

There was Wally, the grounds keeper, who drove a camo golf cart around. He did his job well, keeping the grounds and bathrooms clean. He was a quite man I didn’t hear him talk much.

Wally's

One lady I met, Grace, she lives in Montana in a tiny non-plumbed cabin with an outhouse on an island . She comes here in the winter to stay warm. There was usually a large jigsaw puzzle on a picnic table outside her place. People would stop by to help work on the puzzle throughout the day. We had many lovely talks and have even stayed in touch via email off and on over the years.

Across from her was Doug. He was a snow bird also. When he wasn’t selling “in season” fruit on a corner in a near by town, he spent his time restoring the airstream travel trailer he lived in.

I met Patty around the campfire one night. She lived in a small travel trailer with her teenaged daughter. Patty was a recovering drug addic. She showed me the scars up both arms. She was working and trying to make it. One night as a group of us sat around the fire we had fun dropping marshmallows into the pit. They would grow and expand into huge formations! It was hilarious! The next morning Patty shared that she had written in her journal about the marshmallow fire pit fun. What a blast it was!

There was a young couple who had a small child. They also lived in a very, very small travel trailer. She told me that her daughter had hyper issues and she didn’t know what to do about it. We talked different stuff, like diet change, exercise, stuff like that. I had never seen the child outside. I wonder if she was hyper because she was locked up inside a shoe box size house?



Tank, uploaded from 5 Mile Landings FB

The manager of the campground was Irene. She had a brown lab named Tank. Tank was great, and he loved the marsh. Sometimes too much! For some reason many carp in the marsh had died and you would see them bloated and floating around. You usually could smell them before you saw them. Well….Tank retrieved one of these bloated carp and rolled all over it! I think Irene about lost her lunch cleaning him up.

Turtle Rock

Irene introduced us (my mom, Larry and I) to Pat. He lived at the marsh in a small travel trailer with his dog, Merlin. He was always barefoot. He did oddball work for Irene. He became our tour guide. The first thing he showed us was Turtle Rock. We drove across the desert to where he would try and find this “rock”. When my mom and I got out of the truck our eyes grew huge! All around us was beautiful rocks! Before you knew it we both had our nose to the ground hunting. While we were busy, Pat found the “Turtle Rock”. This rock, about the size of a large watermelon had an ancient Indian petroglyph of a turtle carved into it. There were other carved rocks also in different areas that overlooked the marsh. The locals keep it quiet so they don’t disappear.

Photo from internet 

One of the best places for lunch was along Route 66, Linda’s Café. We got to meet the owner, Ron. He had beautiful photos of many of these Indian petroglyph rocks for sale in his café. Ron made the best garlic hamburgers’ ever! Ever! He talked with us about his dream to own his own restaurant. Linda’s Café along the famous Route 66 was this dream. Ron knew a lot about the area and its ancient Indian history. It was a pleasure to get to meet him and his wife. Unfortunately, in February 2012 an explosion killed Ron inside the café. Officials think the blast was caused by a gas leak. Ron was only 58.

Fishing View

My first trip to the marsh I tried fishing. I put my kayak in before daylight and spent a few hours out upon the marsh, with no bites. This was before I knew how shallow the marsh was, about 3-4 feet in most places. This meant that I would need to find a deep fishing hole. Being out on the water at sunrise was awesome, that in itself!

There was an older man, he didn’t live at the marsh but he came often and launched his small boat for a few hours of fishing. He would always check the barometric pressure gauge that hung on one of the patio posts of the club house. It told him if the fishing was going to be good. I would stand next to this “gauge” and it never told me anything. Hahaha

Fisherman Returning

He had a “special” fishing hole, that was his. There seemed to be an underlying understanding that it was “his” spot. The times that I was visiting he always came back with his limit. Thankfully he was generous and would share and there would be a big fish fry. Everyone would bring something to share and hang out at the “club house”. I believe the fish were Crappie or Sunfish. It was quite the social event, and boy was that fish yummy!

Larry and I

Out in one area of the marsh there is an island. On this island live some large feral pigs. Legion has it that a long time ago there was a train transporting pigs that derailed. These island pigs are said to be the descendants of this train wreck. While kayaking near the island I did see hoof tracks where animals came to the waters edge to drink. I did not land on the island for I was warned not to because these “hogs” are big and are not friendly to people. I did see a coyote along the shore. He followed me for awhile. On my way back I was blessed to see a murmuration of starlings! This took my breath away! It was so amazing to see thousands of birds flying through the air like a school of fish! That is something I will never forget.

Mr and Mrs Owl

I would always request the spot under the owl tree. The male, he was smaller, seemed to hang out in the nest tree area a lot. From dust on he called and woo woo wooed his lady. She would answer him back, woo WOO woo. Then all at once they would take off in flight to go night hunting together. It was hard to sleep, I didn’t want to miss anything.

One early morning while sitting around the fire a bald eagle flew to a nearby tree snag not to far out in the marsh. The eagle sat there over an hour preening and cleaning its feathers.

One of my most favorite things to do was to hike around the area. There are many great views as you follow the lay of the land overlooking the marsh. One area has a lot of small sand dunes. I went out one early morning after a large wind storm had passed through the night before. The sand had been blown smooth, as if no man had ever been there, and in the sand was tracks of all the night animals. There were trails and foot prints everywhere. You could even see the tracks from snakes. I had a grand all time taking pictures of all this beauty!

Sand Dunes after the wind storm.

Another amazing thing is the rocks. The rocks in this area are beautiful. Many have small fossils in them. Some rocks are split open, just laying there broken like puzzle pieces, others look like they exploded. I was told that this is thermal stress weathering that can occur in a desert climate that is hot during the day and cold and night.



I loved this rundown place, with its rotting dock, hodgepodge electrical boxes, half buried lawn furniture, and soap-opera drama stories. It was just right for this season of my life. It was refreshing. It was real. I came to get away from people, but found people I looked forward to seeing with each visit.

I believe it was in the fall of 2010 that Five Mile Campground closed, The USFWS placed a 14 day camping limit on the marsh, this basically forced out the owners of five mile, because all the trailers that had called the place home and the people who lived in them had to move out, so then there was no way they could pay the fees required by the feds. So they had no choice other than to close it down. Everything was removed, everything but the trees. Gone.

Five mile landing is gone...

Glad I got to meet you.

There are many things in life that impact us. Places that we visit, people that we meet, they can be metaphors for other thoughts and feelings. In 2009, Walking about an abandoned antlerite mine in Mohave County, AZ, in the desert below the Hualapai’s, great sadness but hope overtook me.  I wrote down my thoughts. This is what came out 2 years later... 

The Last Breath of a Mine….     She is still BREATHING! I felt her breath! I see it in her eyes… To use someone, then discarded them like rubble. To tell her that she is your love, then you’re gone- Leaving her without breath. Abandoned. Disillusioned. Why didn’t she see it coming? Does anyone care? To use the land, to take from it. To haul large machines across it and mar the view. Leave scars…. She cries herself to sleep most nights. How could someone she trusted, do this?  They bored deep holes and erected large wooden structures... to remove her insides. He told her not to tell… Know one else would understand… They hauled out tons and built a warehouse of cores. Copper stones lay about on the ground Oxidized. The smell of sulfur burns your nostrils. Her inner parts spewed as they mined. Dug though. Only needing small pieces. Waste, so much waste. He was suppose to protect her… Like track lines of a heroin addict they cut roads all over her body. Looking, hunting, boring. Destroying her soul… Whoa to the abandoned mine, to those that take, and abuse! They made her feel special, then they took only what they wanted. Left alone, exposed, her soul torn apart. Traumatized! I walked around. I picked up beautiful core samples that came from deep inside her. She looked away, embarrassed, yet, in need. She seemed dead. Used to death, my guess. I lingered. I Waited. Yet, as I waited, I felt a breeze, not from up above, but a movement of air... it was cold outside, yet, this breeze was warm. It was coming from deep down! A vent of life, deep inside the earth! It smelled of sulfur. It smelled like the rocks that were thrown about, not wanted. It smelled like a tormented life… The look in her eyes, begged to talk, to share…. Yes, she was still alive, still breathing! There was still a chance! She could grow strong again! Her discarded parts could be used! They were beautiful, they had value. She could be made whole again! Why did the miners not see this? Why so much waste? Why not make every piece useful? Reclaim her. Love her. Show the world that she is beautiful. Able to be whole. Polish her cores... gather the stones... She is still alive! Build a thing of beauty with them! Show her honor, that she is still valuable. Show the world the beauty of the inside!

Lunch with Billy.

For the second time this week I needed to drive into Vancouver Washington to pickup/drop off meat rabbits from our farm. Everything is a “drive” from our home in the “woods”, but Vancouver is a two hour drive from home. So after the long drive and then taking care of farm business it was time for a pit stop. Literally right before getting back on the highway to head home was a Burger King. This was a prefect place to pit stop. They even had cute little signs on the doors that very much explained how I was feeling!

I was in a hurry. Run in, run out.

But……..on the way in I notice that outside, kind of hidden next to the door, was someone sleeping with a blanket over their head. I did the run in, run out thing and was almost back to the car when I was reminded by God that I am to feed the hungry. I reasoned in my mind, that person is sleeping, and I am in a hurry to get on the road, and… and… yes God, I know what I told you…every time I see a homeless person sitting next to a restaurant that I would feed them. I must have looked funny as I walked back and forth in the parking lot trying to make up my mind. Then I remembered when I have not obeyed. That doesn’t feel good. So I went and stood by this pile of bags and blankets and started talking to it. Are you waiting for someone? Yes, it answered. Are you hungry? Yes, it answered. The blanket moved and a young, very young looking man got to his feet. I asked him, how old are you? 19. He looked 16. He gathered his belongings and we went inside.

Inside he ordered a #7 and I got a Pepsi. We sat in a booth while people stared. I’ve done this many times, so it doesn’t bother me. I love to hear peoples stories. Everyone has one. Some are pretty sad.

His name was Billy. He was dirty. A baseball cap covered his shaved red hair, and he had on a very wrinkled winter jacket. He ate.... I asked questions. He was from a Christian home. He started messing with meth at 14. He is suppose to be on probation in Portland. But, he is in Washington. He says that they have given up on him. He says he can’t go home until he takes care of some things….

As he eats and we talk his eyes show hopelessness. He knows the Bible. He knows that he can be forgiven. He is not ready. He is in bondage. Billy shared that he likes helping others, he “found” a package of new blankets and is looking forward to passing these out to others. He has a kind heart.

Near the end of his meal a “friend” showed up to talk with him. This guy was no good news. I told Billy this when he got back. “That guy is just using you.” Billy said, I know…

I talked about freedom, Gods plan for his life, turning his life around, new starts, and getting away from this “user friend”. He picked out an orange New Testament and zipped it into a side pocket of his jacket. He said someone ripped off his Bible! Can you believe that! He said. In that booth in Burger King I prayed for him. I spoke truth and freedom into his life. He covered his eyes because they were wet. Then he thanked me for lunch and headed off down the street, alone.

If I was a man I would have driven him someplace safe. God has a plan for this boys life. Please pray for Billy, for that is why I wrote this. His life matters.

Abbynormal Memory----Library Books

I recently bought another used book online. Not a big deal, many people buy books online. Most books I buy are hardback with their dust jackets on. I always remove the jacket and put it someplace safe until I am done reading the book. I don’t want to damage the jacket. Then when I am done reading the book I replace the dust jacket and place it on my book shelf next to other books of the same category. I have kept record of all the books I have read for many years now. About 16 years ago I was reunited with my high school librarian, Merilyn. At the end of each year she sends out a letter and it always includes a list of her most favorite book reads of that past year. I loved this idea and started keeping track of my books also.

Lunch with Merilyn in 2007

Well, back to the recently bought book. It was used, like 99% of my books, but this one was a past library book. It had on a plastic jacket protection cover put on by the library to keep the jacket safe. When I opened the book and heard the sound of the crinkly plastic cover a flood of memories flashed past. I loved that sound! I had forgotten about it. I remembered back to when I was a Library Aid in high school and how much I loved handling all the books. I loved when new books came in and the plastic cover was extra crinkly and the smell of a new book. I think only readers of books can appreciate that. It is a very relaxing sound, turning pages and hearing the cover make crinkly noises. Very close to the feeling of sitting next to a fireplace.

On the inside of my “new” used book was a little pocket with a card in it! Back before scanners they used a hand stamp . The librarian would open up her ink pad, gently tap her stamp upon the ink, then carefully lining up the stamp with the proper line on the card she would stamp the due back date. How fun! It was almost like getting your passport stamped. It meant that this book was to be read, if the book had lots of stamps you knew it was loved!

I am going to go put a log on the fire and open up a good book!

Please feel free to post your own book loving memories in the comments below.

Walking the Streets of Las Vegas.

Yes, I was a street walker on the streets of Las Vegas for about 4 years. I was a single mother with bills to pay, and walking the streets paid good money. It allowed me to own a home and help my kids with college bills. Walking the streets of Las Vegas was not an easy thing to do. There were the cars always slowing down or stopping to ask you questions, people staring as you walk by, there were always lots of howling and wolf calls from vicious man eating dogs. Of course then there are those boiling hot summers that can get up to 117° and winters easily get down in the teens, plus my mail truck didn’t have air-conditioning and was more like an oven. Can we say “Fried Brains”!  Yes, I was a mail carrier with the USPS. I preferred the old fashioned walking routes over the sit in my truck all day routes. Yet, the walking routes had dangers that truck routes didn’t usually have.

Can we say, DOGS! Little dogs, big dogs, sneaky dogs, bold dogs, fence jumpers, gate openers, and mail chewing dogs! I didn’t have a fear of dogs, until I became a mail carrier. Dogs don’t like it when someone comes up to their domain and touches their house day after day. They just don’t like it. I think dogs think that we are teasing them, “I can touch your place and there ain’t nothing you can do about it”! Day after day we violate their space and their anger grows. They wait, not patiently for their opportunity, their chance to get BACK!



photo from internet

With most walking routes the mail boxes are right by the front door of the house. There is nothing comfortable about walking up to a house to deliver mail while a very large pit-bull repeatedly slams against the large front room window trying to get out. Not a nice feeling, even as I write this years later.

Little dogs are just annoying, unless there are two or three and they gang up on you. It seems that if people have little dogs, they never have just one. Like the guy with 4 Chihuahua’s. He had a small fence around his front yard with a gate near the street. His mail box was next to his front door. I would try and sneak through the gate and get his mail in the box then sneak back out the gate before he would open the door to get his mail. As soon as he opened his door those 4 Chihuahua’s would bolt out after me. One time they had me cornered as I worked my way toward the gate, another time I was closing the gate as one was flying through the air at me, he hit the gate instead.
 

photo from internet

Then there was the dog, that I never saw. He lived inside his owners house. These people didn’t have a mail box. They had a mail slot in their door. These are little openings with a little flap, you open the flap and push the mail into the house. This is a very secure way of getting your mail. Unless of course there is a furry animal on the other side waiting. This dog must just sit there all day staring at this slot in the door, waiting and waiting. As soon as I push the mail into the slot it is violently pulled from my hand by the furry creature that I never see on the other side. Sometimes there was a growling or a vicious shaking sound on the other side of the door.


As the mail is sorted in the morning, many mailmen file a bright yellow card close to where a bad dog lives, so you have time to get ready. I didn’t have my own route, I filled in for those who had days off or were on vacation. I always had dread when I would look over the stacked mail and see lots of yellow cards filed through-out the mail. There is nothing like walking on pens and needles all day. Every leaf that blows by you jump…

photo from internet

Sometimes it is a first offense and you have no warning. I was on a long walking route one day. I had one ear plug in and was listening to my Go-Bible. I had one ear listening to everything else. I was on the sidewalk getting ready to cross the street when I heard nails digging into the concrete and a low long growl. I spun around just in time to see a large Rottweiler charging me at full speed! I swung my mail bag repeatedly at him to keep him away from my legs! At about the same time a lady drove up and honked her horn, this caused the rott to run away. The lady in the car called animal control for me. After she drove away, I had a hard time walking to finish this loop, my legs felt like rubber and my knees were soooo weak.

My last mailman story for today will be about the smart dog owners! One such owner stored dog treats in the mail box. This made the dog happy to see you. Sometimes I would get to do a driving type route. These are routes where you sit in the mail truck and reach out your door to put mail in the boxes. Or, the routes where you would pull up to the curb, put on the emergency brake, curb the wheels, and turn off the engine, take off your seat belt, then hop out and walk three feet over to put the mail in the boxes, then get back in, put on your seat belt, take off the brake, start the engine, don’t run over anyone, then drive about 30 feet and do that again. I HATED those routes. Ug On one of those routes I was getting hungry and I noticed that the regular mailman had left a canister of cookies in his truck. I thought, he wouldn’t miss a couple of little cookies. So I eat a two or three. They were kinda plain, like they didn’t have sugar in them. I didn’t think to much about it, till one day I was turned in my seat getting the mail for the mail boxes across the curb when all of the sudden, a big golden lab laid its head in my lap! My heart did a leap, but this was a big very friendly golden lab. She sat down on the curb with her tail wagging like she was just waiting for something. Then the owner appeared and he told me that the mailman always had doggy cookies for her. Doggy cookies? Then, it all made sense. That is why the cookies tasted yucky, they were doggy cookies! Want a cookie? Hahahahahahaha


To be continued...

Abbynormals Pet Bird---Introducing Sparky the Starling.

When we built our chicken coop we included 3 built-in wild bird nesting boxes of different sizes with removable backs for cleaning or peeking. A couple of years ago a pair of starlings started nesting in one of these boxes, right above the chicken door, almost at eye level. They are bold birds! With each clutch there seemed to be one baby that would always fall out (maybe pushed) not sure. So I researched and I found a great web site about starlings and their care. http://www.starlingtalk.com/index.htm 

I discovered that they can make great pets and even learn to talk! They are not a protected bird, meaning people can destroy nests and even shoot them, whenever they want. Soooo, I decided that I would raise up a starling as a pet and thus I set forth learning and getting ready for my new baby. Baby birds imprint at around 8-10days old. So I calculated hatch date by the pretty blue egg shells on the ground below the nest box and the sound of hungry baby birds. Eight days later I became a mother!

my little Pterodactyl

I named my little dinosaur looking bird “Sparky”, which would work for a male or female. She ended up being a female. The first thing Sparky got was a dust bath for mites, then she got fed. Starlings are insectivores and need a high protein diet. So a mixture of cat food, hard boiled egg and applesauce was her main meal.

I am hungry, AGAIN!

It didn’t take long before she was eating a lot and often, about every 20-40 mins during the day that first week, then about every 60-120 mins till 6-8 weeks or until she was feeding herself. I have raised up orphaned baby birds before, but some how you forget how much work it is. Sparky went everywhere with me those first 6+ weeks! When I had a trip to town, she went also. With her cage strapped into the seat and food to go, we went. When she was still very tiny I would tuck her in the middle of my sports bra. That would keep her warm and I am sure my heart beat was soothing to her. When she got hungry, she would let me know by loud chirping. I would then stop my shopping and head out to the car to feed her.

She grew fast like all little birdies do. Her first feathers were a boring plain gray. No “sparkles” till around 60+ days.

See my spots at 74 days & always hunting

I would give her flying lessons in my room with my bed as a landing spot. She learned fast and loved exploring my room. Starlings are like having a flying 2 year old in the house. She was and still is into everything! They are hunters in the wild, and all she does is hunt and hunt! Everything goes into her mouth, just like a toddler. She uses her beak to lift, open, poke, prod, and flip everything! Everything! AND she really loves toes!  She goes after every crumb or speck on the floor. So before letting her out of her cage I inspect the room/house and keep it childproof. Hahaha. Starlings can fly up to 50mph! That said, I keep windows covered when she is out.

Unlike parrots and other “pet shop” birds, starlings don’t like to be petted or touched. But, they want to be on you all the time, unless she is hunting or getting into stuff.

Removing book marks.

When I walk from room to room she follows me and rides on my head or shoulders. Sometimes she gets a wild hair and she goes zigzag flying around the house at warp speed and screeching! It is funny to watch. I have watched her catch bugs mid-flight. Our house is mostly bug free thanks to her.

At around 4 months of age Sparky started talking. She was very shy at first and would practice her words in private. As time went on she got bolder and we noticed that if we put music on or when I am washing the dishes she would talk more. Her first word was, Sparky. Now she says, “Sparky is a good girl, yes you are” and “Jesus loves you”. Plus many other noises and whistles.

She is very entertaining and when we watch a movie (after the popcorn is gone) she joins us. She usually finds a high spot to sit and talk during the movie.

Daniel built Sparky an indoor aviary. So when she is not out with us she can explore and fly about in her cage.

 

Starlings love water. I keep a small tub of water within the bathroom tub for her to bathe in. Sometimes she is in that water 5-6 times! She loves her baths. But, of course, after she bathes she has to land on our shoulders and shake! After each bath she spends a good amount of time preening her feathers and making herself beautiful.



Sparky all sparkled out!

She is 8 months old now. She is nothing like what I thought a pet starling would be, yet she is much more then what I could have imagined. She can never be set free, for people are her flock, and she has not learned how to survive in the wild. Starlings can live around 18 years and there are some neat stories, videos and books about them.

One book I read is called, "Arnie the Darling Starling" by Margarete Sigl Corbo and Diane Marie Barras.

A beautiful Wild Starling, Photo from the internet.

Sparky is now 3 years old. Here she is checking out her Birthday Present.

For the Love of Rocks-- An Abbynormal Relationship---


I have always loved rocks. Some of my youngest memories were hunting for rocks. I believe it is an inherited trait past on from my mother’s mother. When I was young and living in Oregon our place was across the street from my grandmothers. She had tons of beautiful rocks that grandpa and her went out and found. They also had Indian arrowheads and bowls with grinding stones. Some of the rocks were huge and full of crystals. Some were small and full of beautiful colors. Agate, Jasper, Quartz, and petrified wood, were the ones I remember the most. Rocks are important to some of the other members of my family also, so much so that my grandmother’s rock treasures are already spoken for when she passes away.

When we moved to Las Vegas , I had to readjust to the rocks you find out here. Many weekends during the summer, my parents would take us out to the lake. I would spend a lot of time looking for special rocks and fossils. I loved fossils and wanted to be an archeologist when I grew up. I would search, and search until my back ached hoping to find the big one, a dinosaur fossil. I never found the big one, just a few sea floor fossils and small interesting rocks. I never quit my hunting. A few decades later and I am still in love with rocks. In fact, rocks are my favorite gifts to get. I tried to teach family and friends in my life to bring me rocks as gifts when they were out of town. This was quite the problem for some of them. They did not seem to know how to hunt for a rock. Was this too simple? Maybe it was not enough of a challenge for them. Maybe they needed a moving target. Did they feel that they had to spend money? I am a simple person and I do not need someone to spend money on me, yet to give me some of their time, that is special. It takes time to hunt for rocks. One guy friend I had drove an eighteen wheeler. He brought me rocks from each state from here to Louisiana . When he would stop at the rest stops, he would go out hunting for rocks. He remarked about how it was crazy to be looking for rocks, yet there he was wondering around hunting for the “right one”. He rather laughed when he found himself scanning the sides of the road as he drove, hunting for rocks.

Some of my mighty hunters have done well, bringing in rock trophies equal to that of a mighty elk. Some on the other hand brought me road kill. It is the thought that counts, right?…

Rocks hold memories of the beautiful places I have been. In addition, unlike souvenirs that collect dust around my house these can be kept outside in the garden.

In the fall of 2008 I took a trip to Carmel California to see the Tor House, a rock house and tower that the late poet Robinson Jeffers built for his wife Una. He put into the wet concrete mortar of the walls of his house special rocks and souvenirs from places that his wife and he had visited from other countries. The place was breathtaking! My creative mind was screaming. What love a man must have to build such a beautiful place for his wife!

While at delivering mail one day I came across a house that had the whole outside done in rock. Not just your normal all the same type of rock, but a wide variety of rocks. Like someone’s rock collection!  I stopped and talked with the owner of the house one day as she came out to get her mail. She told me the man who did this many, many years ago went as far as New Mexico and Arizona

to gather rocks. Whenever I am delivering mail in this neighborhood, I stop to admire his handy work. I feel a sort of kindred spirit when I am near places like these. To know I am not alone in my creative abbynormal feelings.

http://www.torhouse.org/