Finally-finally back. Now that I've finished with fixing up the travel tales and humor columns, Ruthie is working through Create A Space to turn these into a book ASAP. Meantime here's a "turkey story" from this last Thanksgiving. It might also show up a couple of weeks from now in the Lakes Country section of the 'Rapids Tribune's Friday edition. Enjoy.

Are Turkeys Dumb? Or Not!

          This past year a large flock of turkeys has been visiting our back yard. And whenever they do, they definitely don’t act or even look like the brightest of our feathered friends. Then again, it’s taken them no time to learn that ready and waiting to be gobbled up beneath our pole-mounted feeder is a smorgasbord of seeds kicked down by the smaller (and smarter?) birds. So, how dumb is that?

          Anyhow, this last Thanksgiving we had two dinner guests, son Kevin and Ruthie’s friend Delores. Looking outside she exclaimed, “Ruthie, you’ve got lots of turkeys out there, you know that?”

My avid bird watcher nodded happily, “Yes and I like them! With their wings spread they’re actually pretty!”

An even more avid hunter, Kevin grinned, “They probably taste good too! Next time I’ll bring my bow!”

Both women got busy setting the table. Meantime, I noticed all those big, dopey-looking things just standing around under the feeder. In fact, looking anything but dumb, they seemed to be patiently waiting for more seeds to be kicked down. In any case they were out of luck, the feeder box was empty.

The instant I stepped outside with the seed bag, the turkeys ran off every which way. Squawking and nearly knocking each other down, they gave me a hilarious little show like circus clowns. It came right back, my original opinion-Nope, they’re dumb all right! Pouring in more seeds, I saw them re-grouping way over in our neighbor’s yard. Then I noticed a lone female standing much closer with one eye cocked my way. I wondered-She can’t be figuring this out. Can she?

I rejoined everyone at the dinner table. Ruthie had prepared roast turkey of course and we all dug in. Ready to take a bite, I saw Ruthie staring behind me. She whispered, “Dear, you won’t believe who’s watching us from our deck rail. All of you stay still ‘til I get my camera!” Sneaking off, she was back in seconds and aiming it over my shoulder. Click-click! “OK, everyone, turn real slow.”

We did and so help us, that female had flown up to the deck rail and was now watching our every move. Looking down at her plate, Delores laughed and shook her head, “Good as this is, I’m not about to eat it with her watching me!”

Kevin said, “Mom, she acts so tame that you guys should name her.”

That started a go-round; Tania? No, doesn’t sound right. Tessie? Nah, that’s a little girl’s name. How about Tallulah? Great! Hoisting our glasses, we toasted her still perched out on the rail and maybe Tallulah liked it too. Giving us one last look (I’m not making any of this up), she flew off and landed back at the feeder.

A couple weeks ago I went out to re-load it and yep, all the turkeys ran away, except guess who? Well, she also moved off but only a little ways and then watched me empty the seed bag. Finished, I had no sooner crossed our lower deck to the door when so help me, Tallulah was already back under the feeder.

As we watched from inside, Ruthie said, “Dear, next Thanksgiving how about roast pork instead?” Laughing, she added, “There aren’t any wild pigs around here, right?”

“Let’s hope not!” I said. And meant it. Even smarter than Tallulah and far less lovable, they can be crazy-mean. We sure don’t want our meal interrupted by one of those critters peeking in and throwing a fit.

 

 

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!”