Hi again and here’s one that’ll eventually appear in a Friday edition of the Wisconsin Rapids Tribune’s Lake Country section.

Smokey the Bear is Watching You!

          The many, many trees at our place are again showing off their glorious autumn golds and reds, which I enjoy as much as anyone. But I still cringe over my first October in Central Wisconsin. I had moved here from Chicago to marry Ruthie in June and now it was four months later.

My bride beside me in the yard, I stood staring at the leaves ankle deep all over the place. “Good grief, sweetie! We’ll need a million leaf bags!”

She laughed, “You poor mixed-up Illinois people. Up here, dear, we get to burn them.”

          I was instantly all smiles at the thought of inhaling the wonderful fragrance of burning leaves, something I hadn’t done in years down at that other place. By sunset we had finished raking and I pictured us soon seated before a cozy fire roasting marshmallows.

Ruthie interrupted my happy thought. “Isn’t your burn pile getting awfully large?”

           Thinking-Nah, she’s worrying about nothing-I waved her off. “I’ve laid out the garden hose and besides, there’s not a breath of air stirring!”

Except? Topping it off with some tinder-dry pine boughs, I had to admit that yeah it was a bit large, but? Supremely confident of my old Boy Scout skills, no big deal.

Lighting some leaves near the bottom, I warned, “Stand back, she might flare up a little!”

Moving back myself, I frowned as it barely burned. “Nuts-too slow!” Impatiently crumpling up some newspaper, I nodded, “This’ll speed it up.”

She waved a hand. “No-no, better not!”

Too late, the dry pine caught and-Whoomph!

I yelled happily, “What fun, I haven’t done this in ages!”

          Not listening, she was staring at the flames leaping higher…and higher. Meantime, so help me, a stiff breeze chose this very instant to kick in. Suddenly burning leaves were spiraling up and drifting merrily toward our neighbors’ woodlot chock-full of dry ones.

Chasing off to smack them down with a rake, she hollered, “Use the hose!”

          As leaping flames were about to turn a nearby pine into an eighty foot torch, I frantically twisted the nozzle and? Out came a measly trickle-low water pressure!

I’d at least had brains enough to clear a large circle around the fire pit and my raging inferno soon consumed itself down to embers. Keeping it that way, we never did get around to roasting those marshmallows.

          It’s gone better since we’ve become, as they say, green conscious. These days we rake some of the leaves protectively over her flower beds and my rows of winter-hardy turnips. Harvested later from under the snow they taste great, by the way. Other leaves either get mower-mulched or stay put ‘til we do it again in the spring.  

Ruthie still lets me have my bonfires, but watches every second so they stay small and then just to roast marshmallows with our grandkids. If I’m urged to see a really big fire, she says, “Fine, Gilbert! If it’ll make you happy, go rent “The Towering Inferno”, OK?”

Which it does, I suppose. Meantime, dear readers, I made up a little poem dedicated to any of us having to deal with leaves;

          When branches are bare

And leaves are lying everywhere,

          Raking is such a care!

          But don’t whine this isn’t fair!

          Merely mulch and lose that despair!

           And if burning is still your fare?

          Watch out for Smokey the Bear!

         

P.S. And if roasting marsh-mallows, don’t singe your hair!

 

 

Annnd...what the heck, here's another shot of our other niece, ten year-old Katie, taking us to the 8000-foot summit over Paulina Lake filling the Newberry volcanic caldera near Bend, Oregon.

 

Come on, Auntie Ruth and Uncle Gib! It's just a little farther to the top!

 

 

 

We're back from having a great two-weeks out west with family in Boulder, Seattle, and Bend, Oregon. While busily putting together our book "Here and There-This and That" for publication (hopefully before the holidays), we'll post photos and comments from this last trip (and earlier ones).  Enjoy.

 

 

Last week; niece Laura leading us up a trail starting-can you believe it?-at the west end of a street in Boulder.

 

 

 

 

This end of the trail is just above downtown Boulder. From there she's taking us to the Rio Grande Restaurant that serves the best Mexican food imaginable! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hi all and here's a piece the Wisconsin Rapids Tribune will be publishing in their Sunday "Features" section either this weekend or the next.

There’s Gold in Them Thar Hills!

Ruthie and I pulled onto the loop road running through South Dakota’s Custer State Park. Soon as we entered the 71,000 acres of rolling grassland, piney woods, and pine-covered ridges our “Wow’s” began. Caught by the morning sun the granite peaks of the neighboring Black Hills just to our west glowed fiery red. Directly around us the prairie was covered with bunches of blue bells and orange Indian paint brush, and foraging among them were hundreds of buffalo.

I burst out, “Look at them all! I've never seen so many!”

Ruthie exclaimed, “Grazing with them, are those pronghorn antelope!?”

They were and in every direction were prairie dog mounds. Popped up from the nearest ones, dozens of the little critters were hoping we’d toss them snacks in passing.

It was Labor Day weekend and farther on all traffic had stopped for wild donkeys badgering motorists for handouts. Nicknamed Begging Burro’s they weren’t a bit bashful about thrusting their big toothy faces through open windows.

Holding up  an apple chunk for her beggar to chomp on, Ruthie told it, “My-my, what big teeth you have!” As one slobbered over my chunk she warned, “Count your fingers!"

They swiped all our fruit snacks and it was noon before we reached the Visitor Center. Ruthie pointed happily, “Good, there’s a Subway and I’m starved!”

After wolfing down my Italian-sub, I waved a brochure from inside. “There’s a gold-panning demonstration down at the creek! They have them every day!”

She nodded, “Let’s do it! One nugget would pay for our whole trip!”

At 1:00 PM sharp Ranger Meghan, employed by the Dept. of Game, Fish, and Parks led several dozen of us down the hill to Grace  Coolidge Creek. Next she told us, “After handing out your pans, I’ll circulate to show you how to do this.”

Her accent sounding familiar, I asked where she was from.

As proof to world growing ever smaller she answered, “You’ve probably never heard of it-Antigo, Wisconsin? (A little over an hour north of our place). I graduated from UW-Stevens Point over there this last May.” (My alma mater too).

Someone asked hopefully, “Has anyone found gold during your demonstrations?”

“Sure! Yesterday a woman found three little gold flakes and some garnets!”

We grabbed our pans and waded in. The day had grown hot and the icy creek felt wonderful on feet finally free of the sweaty boots. Panning for an hour got us nary a flake, but Ruthie had kept a pebble the stream had tumbled until well-polished.

When shown to Meghan she grinned, “A nice blood-red garnet! Good for you!”

Our day of surprises wasn’t over yet. Just down the road traffic had stopped for a buffalo herd to cross over. In no mood for people messing around on his road, a gigantic bull shook his horns at the car in front of us. Then he charged it! As the driver quailed behind the wheel, the bull stopped to snort angrily at him, then resumed shooing along the herd.

                                                 Get off my road people!

When we stopped for another herd, an expensively dressed woman in high-heels got out of her car with a camera. Clearly posted nearby was a sign practically shouting in big block letters; “Buffalo are dangerous! Do not Approach!” Good fortune smiling down, she snapped a couple close-ups of the one-ton monster glowering at her, then strolled unconcernedly back to her car and drove away.

Later homeward bound we agreed that our impromptu day-trip to this area hadn’t done it justice, not even close.

Frowning, Ruthie declared, “Next time we’ll definitely get into the Black Hills! We barely saw them today!”

I nodded, “Yeah and I bet those streams up there are loaded with nuggets!”

Brightening again, she rolled her eyes and laughed, “I’m sure, dear! Remind me to bring some gold pans!”

 

 

 

Hi people and sorry to have been away so long. Anyhow, here's one of our recent daytrips to a nearby place which is practically one of Central Wisconsin's best-kept secrets. Enjoy!

                                    Bicycling Eau Claire County’s Dells-or Not 

            More the bicycler than me, Ruthie keeps me sweating to catch up whenever we ride together. Anyhow, this last 4^th of July she wanted to go someplace new.

“Dear, let’s see what they’ve got up at Wausau!”

She also likes taking on hills. I thought-And go pedaling up Granite Peak? “It’ll be crowded, sweetie. Let’s just go fishing here on the lake!”

            But once fired up for biking there’s no stopping her. Two hours later and bikes mounted on our car, we pulled into the Dells of Eau Claire County Park. Tall red bark pines towered overhead and directly below, the Eau Claire River was churning through gigantic rock palisades and cascading over waterfalls. Much more than we’d bargained for, this was nature at its cleanest and uncluttered best. And nearby was a trail.

                                                Rock formations and waterfalls, let's go!

            Ruthie exclaimed, “It’s gorgeous! Let’s grab our bikes!”

            Now pretty excited myself, I’d have pedaled anywhere she wanted at this place, hills and all. Then I spotted the sign.

“Oops-Foot Traffic Only! Let’s try the other entrance!” 

            She spotted a ranger. “Wait, let’s ask him!”

            A young personable guy, Jordan handed over his last trail map. “There’s no biking on these gravel trails. But this two-miler is a good hike up the river and back on the other side.”

            A trail this short would show us only a little of the park’s 190 acres of hilly woodlands. Still, some was better than nothing, so we belted up fanny packs and water bottles and set off. Photography Ruthie’s other passion (besides me), her disappointment at not biking vanished the instant she broke out her camera.

Shooting a bridge spanning a waterfall, she grinned, “This’ll show our kids whose boss with Face Book!”

            Winding our way beneath tall pines and hardwoods, we reached a spit of rock jutting into the river. We plunked down out there and while munching our trail bars, Ruthie cupped an ear at the rushing water. “Hear that? Talk about washing away any cares and woes!”

           Farther down three young girls were hopping across large boulders to the other side. Their watching mother yelled, “Be careful out there!”

            One hollered back, “Woo-hoo! See you on the other side, mom!”

 Showing itself off beneath blue skies, the park had everyone out here pumped up. Coming toward us, a couple and their daughter met Ruthie walking ahead of me.

            Jerking his thumb at her, the guy fed me a laugh. “She says you should walk faster!” He added, “We have no idea where we are! But what a great day to get lost, right?”

            As we crossed a bridge for the return leg, Ruthie stopped to aim her camera at a huge turtle sunning itself on a rock in mid-stream. She gasped, “That’s the biggest I’ve ever seen! A snapper you think?” Whatever it was owned this part of the river.

            Five teenaged girls stopped to our right and the tallest-probably the oldest-yelled to a younger one dashing ahead. “Stacy, come back here and look!”

            The young one pouted. “I’ve seen it!”

            The older girl motioned at the blue water twisting through the huge rock formations and plunging over the falls, then pointed straight up. “Someday the world will be covered with smoke and stuff and you won’t see this! So get your butt back here!”

            We smiled at the same thought-from the youngest comes the wisest.

Once back at our car, we met Jordan again. He said, “I make two rounds a day to make sure everything’s picked up. We work at seeing it stays that way.”

This place even had a beach and across from it, a pre-teens girl was coaching a small boy how to swing out on a tree rope and when to let go. The woman watching them told us, “This place is perfect for my two grandkids. Swimming, bird watching, looking at pretty rocks, and you name it, they do it all here! And me too!”

Incoming rain ended our day but we’d come back first chance. Later over coffee in Wausau I kidded her. “Too bad our poor bikes…ha-ha…never got to ride your lovely hills!”

            She laughed right back. “Oh? Well, dear, once we’re home they’ll have clocked-in a two-hundred miler! Ha-ha…without even smudging their tires!”

Canoeing Crystal River-Part Two

More white water excitement began as we picked up speed at a narrow bend and sluiced through some more rapids. Pushing off from the rocks and yelling “Whoa!” or “Look out for that one!” we broke clear.

No sooner done when Ruthie warned, “Here come some falls!”

Though dropping only a foot at most, their approaching line looked ominous. Plus, by now we’d stowed our sweaty life jackets beneath the seats. Fat lot of good they’ll do us there--I thought.

Fighting not to tip, over we went and splashed down, the water flying everywhere! Right back to drifting easily again and grinning faces dripping, we high-fived like dare-devils who’d survived Niagara.

 Farther along we passed large boat piers and atop the bluffs stood some very impressive homes. Well-tended flower beds and lawns merged with borders of wild vegetation along the water’s edge. The owners obviously took care to keep landscaping and gardening from intruding on the river’s natural habitat. While considering how to better do this at our place, my thoughts were interrupted.

“Look at all these perch!”

As named, Crystal River clearly displayed the large school of dark-banded perch gliding over the   gravel bottom. Keeping company alongside, they ranged from eight inches to over a foot. No doubt, the homeowners often came down here to hook quick and easy meals.

The river next forked into a Y and we steered into the left branch. Rounding the bend, we sighted the stone bridge with its two arched tunnels. Drawing steadily closer, we obeyed Jake and aimed for the left one.

“Does the top of that tunnel look kind of low to you?”

“Yeah, we’ll have to duck our heads!”

“It’s dark under there, too!”

Too late to turn back, the sped-up current pulled us ever faster to the arch growing ever larger. Crouched down with paddles pulled in, we both yelled, “Hang on!”

We needn’t have ducked, there being at least two feet of headspace. Seconds later and no time to think about it, we came out and bounced over another waterfall! It was lower than our first one but after slowing down we traded more high fives anyway. We were now rapids-riding, waterfalls-plunging, tunnel-shooting river devils!

Grinning like happy idiots, we looked back with the same thought-Want to do it again?

Chickening out, I shook my head, “Better not push our luck!”

Ruthie nodded, “Besides, there’s the portage ahead.”

Rejoining the river after a short carry over the neck of land, we merely steered while cruising through a wooded residential area. Showing how quickly its mood could change, the river suddenly swept us into the closest thing to big time rapids we’d seen yet.

We got through okay, but I looked back. “Whew!  What’ll this river hit us with next?”

She laughed shakily, “Whatever it wants to, dear!”

And it did, switching us from slow parts to whirling us through boulder-filled turns, on and on, until finally emptying us out onto a wide glassy pond. Bordered with broad clusters of dark green lily pads topped with bright yellow flowers. It was a pretty sight. Even prettier on the far shore, a banner read; Ding’s Dock Landing. We’d made it!

When we called in it was Jake who answered. “OK, be there in a few!”

As we waited I bragged, “Sweetie, are we a couple of river devils or what!?”

Completely ignoring me, Ruthie saw Jake’s truck coming. “Good-here he is and I’m starved!” Facing me, she smiled, “Dear, the first restaurant we see, you’re treating us devils to dinner, right?”

 

Here’s one our most fun travel adventures. I’ll thrill you with Part II next week.

                                             Canoeing Crystal Creek River-Part One

               Feeding into our end of the lake, Roche A Cri Creek is handy for Ruthie and me to enjoy paddling our canoe. Thing is, it offers no special thrills like rapids to bounce through or little waterfalls to go splashing over-none of that. Looking for one that would and not also try to kill us, we found an ad for Ding’s Dock Canoe Rentals on Crystal River near Waupaca.

We got there Tuesday morning with no crowds and sunny skies promising great weather. Better, the manager said we'd be paddling downstream for the whole eleven mile course.

               Young Jake, our river guide, piloted us and the rental canoe on a pontoon ferry across Columbia Lake. Raised here and familiar with these waters, he shared some lake lore. “See how clear the water is? Our aquatic plants do the cleaning action and the lake is spring fed. The fishing is good, too, and you’ll see all kinds on the river.”

               Navigating us through a connector to the next lake, he pointed at the sizeable homes all around it. “We’re on Long Lake, the biggest on the chain and those places are plush. Even the winter fishing shanties are fancy.” Noting our lettered Wisconsin t-shirts, he laughed, “Not broke like us, they're mostly from Illinois!”

            Ankle deep beside our canoe at the launch site, we listened carefully as he instructed, “Just stay left-left-left all the way from here, on through the portage and to the landing site. Use the phone there to call us and we’ll come get you.” Looking up at a cloud, he shrugged, “If it rains you’ll like it, because you’ll be really sweaty from paddling. Oh, and when you get to a bridge with two tunnels, take the left one!”

               Leery of closed-in places, Ruthie said, “Tunnels? Uh-oh!”

               Jake reassured, “Avoid the right one and you’ll be fine. Probably.”

               As he motored away, we were already in the canoe, our paddles poised and…? There we sat-grounded on the shallow bottom. Grunting and lunging, we inched forward a bit.

I groaned, “We could be in for a long day!”

But more grunts and lunges broke us loose to be carried away. I crowed, “It’s a float trip! We just have to steer!” Suddenly speeding up, the river said otherwise.

Ruthie called from the bow, “We better do lots of it! Rapids are dead ahead!”

Like from a slingshot we were hurled into boulders and churning white water. While not like A-class rapids in deep canyons, these gave us all we could handle. Frantically fending off from rocks and digging deep, we surged through and slowed back down. Water was sloshing in the bottom of the canoe and we were dripping wet…but still upright.

Not bad and I said so. “We’re natural born rapids runners!” 

She shot back, “I hope so! Here come some more!”

Canoe bouncing and paddles flying, we made it through this stretch, too, but the next one wedged us between two boulders. Unable to push off, we climbed out and freed it by hand.

Totally delighted Ruthie grinned, “Jake was right! This cold water feels wonderful!”

Widening again, the river slowed to drift us along and leisurely take in what passed by. Onshore, wildflowers and reeds were overshadowed by tall pines and hardwoods. Mostly hidden were a few rooftops and we heard a train go by somewhere beyond. Civilization had vanished and other than bird calls it was peaceful and still as an uninhabited wilderness.

I was entering this very thought in my notebook for stories like this when Ruthie whispered, “Psst! Look at that!” She pointed at what seemed a gray-blue statue of a large bird perched on a branch off the bow. As she unobtrusively began snapping photos, I still hadn’t dawned it was real.

The Great Blue Heron craned its neck. Caught off guard I blurted, “Wow!” Startled as me, it took to the air with a Whoosh!-of its great wings and flew out of sight.

 

What will the river hit our intrepid pair with next? Find out in Part Two!

Blackberries and Whales? (Part II)

Now we’ll get to do some whale-watching! What a thrill!

Ruthie took her turn with the binoculars. “I see something but it’s hard to make out.” She passed Rich our pair because Cec was using theirs. “You look, brother-dear.”            

Suddenly bouncing around, he yelled, “Yeah, I see them! Those are adults with their young ones! There, I see one rolling over!”

Born and raised here, Cec knew about the ocean and what swam through it. Lowering the glasses, she snickered to Ruthie, “I think our whale boys are hallucinating!”

Rich and I drew a crowd with our carrying on. Using their own field glasses, they too started hollering; “They’re right! I see them!”--”Yeah, there’s at least a dozen of them!”--“Wow, one came way up out of the water!” (Every word of this is true).

Eyes now used to the distance, I saw more clearly and lo, those whales were beginning to look suspiciously like low-lying rocks with waves breaking over them and shooting spray in the air.

The light also dawning on Rich, he muttered, “Hmm, on second thought…”

Meantime assuming we two clowns knew what we were talking about, everyone else was gathered around us.

I whispered, “Rich, we better sneak out of here.”

He whispered back, “And quick! They come to their senses, they’ll toss us in!”

The following week we were at Seattle’s airport and waiting to be checked through the security gate. We’d had a great time, especially the three days spent gobbling blackberries. Ruthie and Cecelia had made scrumptious cobblers and pies, we had heaped the lovely things on cereal and ice cream, and between meals we had scooped them from serving bowls to munch as is. By all rights we should have been heartily sick of them by now.

But no, as we stood in line for the security check, I carried a large storage box crammed full of them to keep enjoying once home. The box being transparent, I figured the NSA guard would see just berries inside and no problem.

When I stepped up to her, she was amiable at first. “Sorry, but I need to look inside that box before you bring it aboard.”

She didn’t sound all that serious. It having somehow slipped my mind that NSA people are never anything but with carry-on parcels, I kidded her by pulling it closer. “Nope, can’t have them-they’re mine! Ha-ha!”

Now feeding me a cold stare, she went curt. “What’s inside that’s so important?”

I thought-Me and my big stupid mouth! Now I’ve done it!

Having a lot more sense, Ruthie smiled, “We’ll be glad to open it if you want. They’re wild blackberries we’re hoping to take home to Wisconsin. During our visits here we go totally crazy over them!”

The guard broke into a wide smile. “I’m nuts for them too! I’ve lived here forever and still can’t eat enough of them! Don’t you have blackberries in Wisconsin?”

Laughing, Ruthie shook her head. “Not like these we don’t! Your wild ones are the biggest and tastiest we’ve ever had. We couldn’t resist bringing some home.”

Now all grins our new-found pal patted the box and jerked her thumb toward our gate. “Go on through, Wisconsin, you’re cleared!”            

 

 

Here’s the first half of a travel piece that asks a riddle; know what whales and blackberries have in common? Me, neither. If you figure it out, write in and tell me, okay?             

                        

                                Blackberries and Whales? (Part One)

After flying in to see son Craig in Seattle, Ruthie and I broke away and drove our rental car south to visit with her older brother, Rich, and wife Cecilia in Vancouver, WA. It was mid-August, the coast’s prime growing season, and lining both sides of the road were patches of wild blackberries so loaded with fruit the branches bent to the ground. Prior visits had made believers of us berry lovers that these kind were the tastiest we’d ever had. Now running more hog wild than ever, they were doubly enticing.

I burst out, “Look at them all! The highway department can’t keep up with cutting them back!” No sooner said when our tires scrunched a berry-covered creeper stretched onto the pavement. Gawking from side to side, I swerved a couple times.

Ruthie tapped my shoulder.  “Dear, zigzagging the whole way to my brother’s place is a no-no. Let’s just stop and pick some.”

We’d known enough to bring buckets and quicker than it takes to tell it we were snatching up blackberries with both hands.

Scratched from neck to ankles in a tangle of brambles and caring less, I held up my bucket and crowed, “Bet I’ve got a gallon already!”

At least this much in her own, she laughed, “Looks like they’re mostly on your face and t-shirt!”

Same as her, I had eaten one for every two I picked, just messier is all. But we were exactly alike in one thing, anyway; not being scared off by their prices in those little-bitty boxes at the store.

She frowned. “But we’re not showing up with you all stained, so change, okay?”

I probably sounded like a six year-old, “C’mon sweetie, they’re as nuts for these as we are! That huge patch in their back yard will have them stained when we get there!”

When we did they weren’t, but Rich laughed, “Gibber, once back from where we’re taking you guys, I’ll look worse than you. There’s patches coming and going!”          They wanted to show us this incredible lighthouse they had been to last month. Next eyeing my shirt, Cec wagged a finger at me a half second before Ruthie did. “But Berry Boy we’re not going anyplace ‘til you change that thing!”

Before long we were at Cape Disappointment, famous for its lighthouse high atop a rock promontory above the mouth of the Columbia River. After climbing the lighthouse stairs to the top, we were met by guide Barbara.

She told us, “The winter winds can get up to 160 mph. here and have caused lots of shipwrecks.” She pointed to where the mighty Columbia spread out even wider into the Pacific. “Many of them are still down there from years ago. Even a ways inland the winds are strong enough to make it the wind-surfing capitol of the world.”

After coming down, we went to the overlook. Rich said, “When we were here last month she said that whales are out there pretty often. We didn’t see any that time, but stay ready with the binoculars.” 

Fascinated by these great, intelligent creatures, I had never seen any except on the Discovery channel. Eagerly scanning our little corner of the Pacific, I jerked up. “I think I see some-maybe a whole pod!” My so-called pod was quite a ways out and obscured by large, choppy waves. Still, whatever-they-were sure looked like humpbacks spouting and diving out there.  

                       

                   “No, people, open your eyes! They're way bigger than porpoises!”  

(Wow, how exciting! Find out more with Part 2!)

Many thanks to those of you who've signed up so far. As Ruthie said in her PR e-mails, getting followers for this blog is a big step in the right direction for publishing our book. Also, the more comments made after each piece the better, whether you liked them-were bored-or whatever, so keep them coming. Within the next week I'll be posting another of our two-part travel tales. Enjoy. 

You're right, I've been away too long. So, here's one of my "This and That" pieces which I'm also sending to the Rapids Tribune. Enjoy.

                                    Is It Spring Yet?

            Someone, a poet I think, once wrote, “Oh springtime, such blessed renewal!” It seems to have sprung here in Adams County and lots of us feel the same way.

            Ruthie does, like yesterday when dancing around her newly sprouted tulips. An avid bird lover, she even chirped like one while putting up feeders for her hummers.

            On a roll with this springtime renewal stuff, she found a bunch of other things around here that could use it. With me watching, she walked back and forth over a section of our boardwalk in front. Stopping, she shifted from side to side.

             “See, dear? The wood runners are rotted under these boards. They wiggle and sag when I walk on them and it drives me crazy!”

            I admitted, “Yeah, they’ve done that lately with me too.”

            She gave me that look. “Gilbert, what exactly do you call lately!?”

            Any who’ve read this column know what “Gilbert” instead of “dear” means. I’d soon be sweating and straining to replace the boardwalk. Cleverly-to throw her off balance-I shot back, “Okay, a bit longer (a couple years) but we can still walk on it!”

            You might also know where my protests get me. An hour later I had two eight-foot 4x4 replacement runners in the garage. Soon as all this rain takes a break from renewing everything I’ll put them in.

            Our car had also made her renewal list, she telling me, “Dear, it was used when we bought it eight years ago. Now there’s almost two-hundred thousand miles on it. You’re the astronomer. Isn’t that the same as from here to the Moon?”

            New car prices are scary and I hate having to buy them. Very cautiously I said, “It’s 240,000 give or take.”

            Eyes wide, she gasped, “Nearly a quarter of a million? We need to go car shopping ASAP!”

            She threw in that “million” to make it seem even more, I bet. But there was the upside; a newer car would let me off the hook with repairs. Better yet, there’d be no more of her renewal schemes to duck and hide from, not for awhile, anyway.

            Except nuts, I forgot last week when she was frowning at the walls and trim in the living room. “Dear, when was the last time we re-painted in here, six years ago?”

            It had been longer. Dreading what was coming next, I mumbled the number in a bare whisper so she couldn’t possibly understand or even hear it.  

            “You’re right, it was eight! But by putting a fresh coat in here…” She paused- “…and all the other rooms, we’d renew the whole inside!” She waited for my answer.

            This time I just grunted and shuffled my feet.

            She nodded enthusiastically, “Right again, dear, you’re a genius! A new-looking inside would only make the outside look worn and old! So, we’d also have to .etc.-etc.”

            Meantime, I scratched my head-I said all that? Maybe I should renew my brain!

            By now you’ve had it up to here with my renewal of this and renewing that, and me-too. Let’s end it by saying that Ruthie and I, along with our friends really do have fun seeing my babblings appear here in the Rapids Tribune. So, a reminder; be sure to…renew your subscriptions when due, okay? (Sorry-couldn’t resist). And finally (if it makes up its mind to arrive)-Happy Springtime!  

                       

            

            Hi all and letting you know-I’m suddenly buried with sprucing up my travel pieces and compiling them into a manuscript that's presentable to a publisher. Ruthie and I are convinced, naturally, that soon as it hits the stands at Barnes and Noble it’ll be a runaway best seller. As we work to make it happen, you’ll see remarks about how we’re doing right here…including any pain in the butt problems we’re having, whatever we do accomplish, and yeah my whining about Ruthie’s nagging to get it done. Meantime I'll keep posting now and then excerpts from the travel pieces…but not many (otherwise you won’t buy the book later on). Starting today our blog will include other stuff like my occasional humor columns for the Wisconsin Rapids Tribune. Finally, any comments you'd like to make following any of these pieces are most welcome. That’s it. Enjoy!

Here’s a timely piece for “This and That”

Goodbye Winter-Hello Spring!  

            Now that it’s finally warming up, it’s time for growing our tasty veggies. Ruthie and I are so nuts for our home grown ones that half the yard is a garden for them. And yeah, it’s still too cold for tomato and cucumber plants. But last week I planted seeds outside for the hardier stuff. When finished I had seed rows of carrots, radishes, and onions-quite a few actually-in our planter boxes.

             Seeing me bent over the boxes late the next day, Ruthie came over. “So, Garden Boy, what are you doing?”

            Eyes glued to the rows, I groused, “Nuts! Nothing’s sprouted yet!”

            She rolled up her eyes. “Honestly, Gilbert, they just went in yesterday!” (She calls me “Gilbert”, never “Dear” when seeing me act a bit…strangely). 

            “Well, the seed packets claim these are very fast-growing. I’m just checking.”

            Shaking her head, she laughed, “It’s getting dark! If you’re going to keep standing here…ha-ha!-want the flashlight?”

            She was right, I was being a goof. It was getting darker by the minute and the temperature was dropping. Then I groaned, “Did I just see a snowflake?” The weather guy had said it might snow, but only a little. Suddenly nervous I added, “Maybe we should tarp over these boxes.”

            “Gilbert, a little snow cover won’t hurt them. Let’s go inside.”

             I got up early the next morning, looked out the window, and? A little my eye! We'd been hit with six inches! Fortunately, the seed packets had also said these carrots and stuff are tough enough to handle it-which left the big question. Could I?

            Ruthie couldn’t. She yelled, “Get in here! Your radishes will survive but you’ll catch pneumonia!”

            Resigned, kind-of, I settled for peeking at the seeds I’d also planted in basement boxes beneath fluorescent lights. And lo, there they were, sprouts from our broccoli, cauliflower, beets, basil, and Ruthie’s dumb marigold seeds-jillions of them!

            Joining me moments later, she gasped, “Good grief, Gilbert, how much broccoli did you plant?” (I’m also called that when she’s ticked off).

             And yeah, I might’ve overdone it a tad. “Well, I’ve already thinned them, so no problem.”

            “No? Well, Garden Boy, that still leaves…” She started counting.

            Having already done that, I finished for her, “…thirty-four.” (There are. I just now went down and recounted them). And sure, much as we love the stuff, I had to admit-that’s a lot of broccoli. Not counting the cauliflower, another three dozen or so. As she went back up the stairs muttering something about having to buy another freezer, I did a double take at the beet sprouts. Already a couple inches tall and very healthy-looking, there had to be three or four hundred of them. Luckily, our pal Rita likes them, or else we’ll be buried beneath beets. She’ll be good for five or six bushels-I hope.

            Anyhow, I can’t wait ‘til a few weeks from now. Then I can zoom over to our local nursery for the delicate varieties of seedlings; tomatoes, cucumbers, squashes, peppers, and you name it. The only problem; I’m restricted from going there without adequate supervision-by you know who.

            Meantime this morning I looked at the outside boxes and yep, the snow is gone and all that stuff is poking up. In fact, Ruthie just now went out there to see them, too- which might be my other problem any second. So, can any of you readers come over in a few weeks for some carrots and radishes-lots lots of them?  

            “Gilbert!!!”

           

              

Part II; star gazing fun continues and even includes...a UFO?                                                

Waupaca Star Party

            Seeing my struggles with the planisphere, Rick said, “Bring it here and I’ll help you.” Examining it, he reassured, “It took me three years to figure mine out. Suddenly one night I was doing it! Keep at it and you’ll be fine.” He held up what looked like a thickened pen. “This laser is another helper.” Shooting its bright green beam skyward at what he called the Keystone Formation, he scribed a line from the star Vega on one side to Arcturus on the other. “The line between those pointer stars locates the M5 star cluster in the Keystone. It’s not visible to the naked eye and your binoculars will only show it as a tiny smudge.”

            He was right. Through our binoculars M5 was just a pea-sized bit of fog.

            “Now try it with my ‘scope.”

            Out burst more of our “Wow’s!” as we took our turns. Seen through his 14” Meade, the cluster’s bright center of closely packed stars had a lovely halo of outlying ones. After re-aligning his ‘scope, he next showed us the Dumbbell cluster and the Swan nebula.                      

            Jeff called to us from atop his ladder “Come up and see it with my twenty-two inch!”

            Fascinated with the cluster’s greatly magnified image, I kept staring at it ‘til Ruthie tugged my pants leg. “OK, dear, let someone else have a turn.”

            Our exclamations were echoed by others all over the site as they, too, zeroed in on whatever they were itching to see. Better, the viewing was enhanced by perfect conditions; no interfering moonlight, a clear sky, and the cooler air temperature.

            As a surprise add-on to the excitement someone yelled, “Look to the west! What is that!”

             A very bright object was blinking on and off at regular intervals in its orbital trail across all the other stars.

            “I’ve never seen a satellite do that!”

            “Without red and green running lights that’s no plane!”

            A “Close Encounters” fan just went ahead and said it. “Maybe it’s a UFO!”

            As it winked out of sight, one of the pro-astronomers was a party killer. “Nah-it’s a satellite tumbling end over end. The panels are reflecting light from the sun that we can’t see.”

            Finally, Ruthie nudged me. “It’s been great fun, dear, but its way past midnight. Let’s go home.”            

            As we headed for the car, I kept raising the binoculars for final peeks at the Andromeda Nebula. I’d spent many a frustrating evening failing to even locate it. Tonight these NCSF people had taught me where to search it out and then shown what it looked like when brought closer in their ‘scopes. Seen now through our 7X50 binoculars the huge spiral nebula was still only a small patch of brightened haze. Even so, it looked awesome.

            As Ruthie waved me towards our car, I thought-It’s definitely time to give our stingy kids some stronger hints about that new ‘scope!  

            I’m tired of all this cold weather. So, here’s a travel piece not so much about the place but what was above it…on a nice summer night!

                                                Waupaca Star Party

            I stared wide-eyed at what was all around us. “Ruthie, look at all these telescopes!”

            It was an open field at Waupaca’s Hartman Creek campgrounds where the Northern Cross Science Foundation (NCSF) was holding a weekend star gazing event. Until now we-two star gazers had scanned the night sky with only the binoculars and our dilapidated little two-inch telescope on its wobbly tripod. NCSF encouraged the public to join in with them here, so we’d jumped at the chance. Tonight we’d get to peer at planets and stars through more powerful ‘scopes with their owners lending their expertise besides.

            At near dusk we hurried for the “Public Telescope Viewing Section” like kids to a toy store. The first ‘scope we came to stood eight feet tall on its Dobson mount, a wide platform based solidly on the ground. Beside it was a stepladder for looking through the eyepiece on top.

            Owner Jeff looked down at us from the ladder. “Like it? I built it from scratch.” Rightfully proud, he added, “My reflector has a twenty-two inch mirror-the largest one here. When it’s darker, come and see some great close-ups of fantastic star clusters!”

            There were still only two points of light in the sky, the most brilliant being Venus over the west horizon, while fainter and directly above was Saturn.

            Catching us looking up, another NCSF member, Rick, called us over to his 14-inch Star-finder Meade refractor. “It’s still a bit light out, but I’ve got Saturn zeroed in. Take a look.”

             First at the eyepiece, Ruthie exclaimed, “Wow!”, then looked some more as I fidgeted for my turn. When it was, a “Wow!” escaped me, too. A totally mesmerizing sight if ever there was one, Saturn’s banded image stood out clearly against a background tinted deep blue in the fading light. Shown edge-on, her rings were a sharp line dividing the planet in two.

            As Ruthie and I were wowing back and forth, a group of youngsters were doing likewise at a 4-inch refractor on a nearby table. Owner Charlotte was switching the kids back and forth between this one and her homemade 10-inch reflector. When we joined in, I was already thinking about buying us a new ‘scope. I asked Charlotte, “Which of these do you like best?”

             “Both have their good points. My refractor’s like a ship captain’s telescope and gives double the magnification than a same-sized reflector. But my reflector’s mirror catches way more of the light from these objects and has a larger field of view.”

            Someone beat me to the punch. “How much?”

            “This Dobson reflector goes for $350. Not bad considering what they used to run.”

            Fired-up to get one some years back, my buying flame had been snuffed out at seeing the cost. Whereas-now? I muttered to Ruthie, “Let’s give our cheapo kids some birthday gift hints.”

             “Dear, they’ve been ignoring your hints about ‘scopes for years.”

            Soon the Milky Way was a great highway of brilliant points across the night sky. I had our plan-i-sphere, a plate-sized astronomy tool for locating the constellations at the right dates and times of night. Not as easy as it looks, I had to orient myself directly north, dial the proper setting while holding it over my head, and shine a low interference red-filtered penlight to read it. Assuming I knew which constellation I was using as a reference to begin with.

             I growled, “Sweetie, I need three hands with this thing!”

            Continued in Part II; how we did and what else we saw.