TWITTERPATED

Posted on June 15, 2011 by snowbirdredux

Bird on a Wire

The Robins are out and about everywhere you look.

I always thought of the robin as primarily a ground bird and they certainly  hop about the grass looking for tasty treats, but one very plump and twitterpated male is sitting every day just outside the upstairs window in the enormous ash tree or on the wire.  Yesterday in fact we observed, and didn’t even avert our eyes, the not-so-intimately-concealed mating ritual  of Mr. And Mrs. Robin UPON the high wire. Today he’s there again, singing endless trills.  Singing his heart out.   Just as Robert came up the stairs singing “Wake up you sleepyhead, get up, get out of bed…”  Which is a bit different than “Tweet TWEET tweet!

I Love My Garden! The maturity of the trees is something I always dreamed about, but wherever we lived there was either not enough yard or too little time to plant seedlings and have any hope of major development in our lifetime.  Castenada Lane had many mature oaks, among them the Angel Tree and the Magus, but little hope of expanding to include a range of species.

But here on Mt. Faith with a house built in 1882, the trees are grand and varied.  I was at a loss til recently, even armed with books from the local library but enter Rick, cousin’s Debbie’s husband who is a tree guy.  Now I know that there are Ash, Silver Maple, Red Maple, American Elm, Blue Spruce and a variety of Fir. We sit with our evening glass of wine each early evening and gape and gaze at the bounty and feel quite twitterpated ourselves over our good fortune.  I know, I know, wait til winter.  But in the meantime – here’s a parting shot from yesterday.

Posted in Birds, Gardening | Leave a comment

JOHAN’S PEONIES

Posted on June 14, 2011 by snowbirdredux

Grandpa Kristoffer Johan Pedersen

In an earlier post last March I wrote of Johan’s Journey, the story of my maternal grandfather who came to this country as a little boy from the island of Skarvik on the far north Salangen Fjord of Norway.  He was the mystery grandparent who had died of tuberculosis when my mother was only 18 months old.  He had been the husband of my grandmother Marie who is probably most responsible for influencing who I am today.

Almost a year ago, the summer we purchased this house on Mr. Faith and a year before we actually made the move, I went upon a mini quest to find his burial site.  It took some time given the many small country graveyards in the area.  In the small stop-in-the-road town of Comstock, Minnesota where my mother grew up, there had been two Lutheran Churches at the time – one for the Norwegians and one for the Swedes.  So of course they each had their own cemetery and hence the difficulty in locating Grandpa Johan’s gravesite as he didn’t appear to be buried with the Norwegians.  But in “walking amongst the Swedes”,  looking at Great Grandparents Jens and Kersten and all the extended relatives to Grandma Marie – the Bernhardsens, the Nelsons, the Andersons, the Jonsons – most from or descended from Varmland Sweden – there he suddenly was way back in the corner all by himself.  And his grave was covered by what I thought at the time to be a huge peony and wonder of wonders, it MUST have been planted by my own sweet Grandma Marie who was first and foremost a gardener of reckoning.  Who else?  And as it was late summer and the peony was far past bloom, I vowed to return this year to see the color, to celebrate and honor.

Norwegian way back in the corner with all the Swedes!

Relocated in Minnesota some three weeks now, I noticed the peonies beginning to burst forth about the neighborhood and Comstock being a good 45 minutes away and not a quick hop and jump, vowed to take the time and hoped the timing was just right.  And it was!

Fortunately no one was there to see the mad woman jumping up and down, shrieking and crying all in the same breath.  And there were TWO PEONIES.  One fully double dark pink and one single, just beginning, red with yellow stamens.  Huge and healthy and full of bloom.  One hundred years later!

And once again, I told my Grandfather Kristoffer Johan Pedersen what a lovely wife he had and what lovely children he created.

I took a bloom of each away for memory.  I’ll be back to weed and feed.

_________________________

ADDENDUM: PLANT QUIZ

Here is a picture of a shrub in our yard just beginning to bloom.

Rounded Shrub to the right of tree - approximately 6 feet high

Here is the flower.  It smells divine.  What is it?

Mystery flower ?

Notice my gift from Susan and Mary Lou – “How to be Idle” by Tom Hodgkinson.  Another Great Gifters of the Year Award.  They know me too well. Tom says – “it’s time to say yes to fun, freedom and pleasure.  In other words – Time is NOT Money!  You Betcha!

Posted in faith, Family, friendship, Gardening, Immigration, In Memorium | Leave a comment

SUMMERFEST

Posted on June 12, 2011 by snowbirdredux

Turns out that Fergus Falls celebrated the start of summer yesterday and we stumbled upon it when we took a late afternoon walk.  Who knew that thousands of people had descended on the downtown streets until we got there and glimpsed the late-comers hurrying with their folding chairs and plastic bags.  Plastic bags?

It seems that the festivities had been going on all day unbeknownst to us new-comers, in the form of flea and craft markets, food booths, kiddy rides, and even a dog show, an ice cream social, a Battle of the Bands in the V.F.W. parking lot, the local Fireman’s Waterball Fight, to be followed by a street dance and Concert in the Park.

But we did get in on the Main Event – THE PARADE.  Downtown was rife with families thrilled to spend a couple of hours cheering on every manner of entrant – primarily cars and trucks simply riding by advertising their local business.  The highlight of the entire parade, however, centered around the used grocery bags wielded by every child who rushed into the street to grab at candy flung from every vehicle and passing parader.  In other words – Halloween to the maximum nth degree.  It was a long parade.

A bit of Americana at it’s best.  You be the judge. Enjoy the parade.

Waiting for the Parade!

THE LAST ONE’S FOR UNCLE LAWRENCE.  WOULD HE EVER BE SURPRISED!

J.I.CASE TODAY!

Posted in COMMUNITY | Leave a comment

GIFTS

Posted on June 11, 2011 by snowbirdredux

It is unusual for me to get a delivery from UPS, but TWO IN ONE DAY!  I feel blessed today.

After the squirrels destroyed my hammock at Castenada Lane, I decided that I needed to gift myself for Mr. Faith.  Today it arrived.

AT LAST!

Many a good book will be read under these trees.  Many dozing meditations.  And bird habitat blendings.  And swinging serenity.

The second package came from my friend, Mickey, who now gets the GREATEST GIFTER AWARD OF THE YEAR.  I saw a picture of my daughter, Noelle on his blog recently and commented that it was my favorite picture of her ever and one that I had previously not seen. Taken maybe 30 years ago, it nonetheless captured her very essence for me and featured a photo of my father on the table along with the conch shell he brought back from one of his trips to the southern climes along with a painting above her of the place she called “The Big Brown House” and the very place she grew up in Long Beach.

Noelle in repose with Jennings, shell and Big Brown House

Mickey sent it to me!  Along with other photos of Noelle and the two of them (she was the “best man” at his wedding)  AND a USB flash drive for my computer, which his son Ozzie reccomended.

Gifts, Friends, Blessings.

Posted in Family, friendship | 1 Comment

SYNCHRONICITY

Posted on June 9, 2011 by snowbirdredux

I suppose everyone has experienced one of those moments when they were thinking about someone just as the phone rang and that very person was  on the line. That’s a common occurrance I’ll bet.    I know it happens to me again and again.  Especially with my cousin Maryanne, but we’re pretty  atuned. And I don’t know if Robert and I experience more of those happenings than the average person, but it seems to be a fairly regular phenomenon in our life. So often, in fact, that we have a saying that we call out to each other whenever appropriate – “Synchronicity strikes again”!

Often it’s only about some fun, trivial coincidence but sometimes it’s some amazing thing which leaves us awestruck, in a state of surrender and appreciation to the gods that be, an acknowledgement  of  amazing coincidental events – like the Garuda practice and mask.

My cousin Maryanne and her daughter Kim arrived today from Minneapolis for a lunchtime visit and a first peek at the “before” house on Mt. Faith.  The side story to the day was neither laughable nor harmonious but involved a fast ride to the Park Region Hospital in search of oxygen for Maryanne, who needs it to survive and suddenly found the large canister in the back of their van strangely and mysteriously empty and so we had a strange and tenuous few hours before we actually sat down to our lunch.  We had vowed the day before that it hardly mattered where we ate because the important thing was being together again and being able to talk in person instead of on that synchronistic phone.  But after the worst of the panic had passed, we had to laugh that we were talking about choice of restaurants and hadn’t meant  it was okay to chat in the hospital! Yet that’s a lesson entitled – “Be careful what you ask for!”  – and most definitely NOT “synchronicity strikes again”.

However the major synchronicity began with her housewarming gifts.  For Robert a bottle of Cabernet, which she hadn’t noticed when it was selected that it was from a winery in Paso Robles, California which is practically in the “backyard” of Atascadero.  A Minnesota gift which came from our old stomping grounds in California and back to Minnesota. 

For me, she brought my first Mt. Faith rose.  I said we were atuned.  And I have to describe it, for it is too, too Minnesota.  In fact, it was one of four shrub roses which were developed by the University of Minnesota. They are named Lena, Ole, Sigrid and (mine) Sven.  Sven is described on the tag as “strong as he is good-looking” and “don’tcha know, he has the strongest fragrance of the whole darn bunch”.  But you are reminded that if you “get the other three, it’ll be a veritable smorgasbord of color”  because “They’ll make yer heart melt like butter on lutefisk!” Robert I can tell you, has had his last lutefisk, no matter how much butter.  But I’m really looking forward to Sven who will make a handsome addition to the front of the house on Mt. Faith.

The full circle of the serendipitous day however occurred when Cousin Curt called to invite us to Aunt Lilah’s birthday celebration at – Are you ready?  OLE & LENA’S PIZZERIA in Rothsay, Minnesota. (Are they talking about lutefisk pizza?)

All I can say is –SYNCHRONICITY STRIKES AGAIN!

If that sounds like a strange possible combination of culinary treats however, let me describe the  Uffda Pizza – “Piled high with pepperoni, Italian sausage, Canadian bacon, and beef.”  UFFDA!  And the Prairie Chicken BBQ – “No endangered birds were harmed in this zesty favorite.” And Ole’s Steak and Mashed Potato Pizza – “this is one pizza all midwesten folks will appreciate.”  But Aunt Lilah and I settled for Lena’s Hotdish Pizza (cream of mushroom sauce, wild rice, beef, Italian sausage, onions, mushrooms and cheese.)  YUM!  It couldn’t have been more delish.  Tak fur maten.

Posted in Family, food, Gardening | 1 Comment

MT. FAITH

Posted on June 6, 2011 by snowbirdredux

Most Scandanavians, particularly those who grow up in the upper mid-west, are Lutherans through and through.  It’s born and bred and a part of the gene pool, just something “we are” like having a sing-songy accent and Nordic features and a liking for pickled herring. It inhabits the community.  Even though I grew up in California, we were Lutheran.  You betcha.  In fact, if you are old enough to remember the Mrs. Olson of the early television commercials, she was our pastor’s daughter.  Really.  Or rather the actress who played Mrs. Olson.  That’s California for you.

We went to the local Lutheran Church until we went to the Presbyterian for a time.  And that was because it was just a few doors down on the corner and I liked to hang out with Reverend Hudson  who had a lovely Victory Garden by the side of the church and my best friend Peggy  went to that church, so we were in Sunday School and church camp and choir together. And it didn’t hurt that I won the essay contest when I was ten for writing the best piece on What Love Means and got a silver dollar from Reverend Hudson who read it out loud at the big service and Georgia Higgins had a hissy-fit because she thought for sure she would win.  But then we were back at Our Saviors where the ladies made lefsa each Christmas and Pastor Bjorke was an inspiration.  In Long Beach, I don’t remember another Lutheran Church except for the Missouri Synod which was where the Germans would worship.  Here in Fergus Falls there are 16!  SIXTEEN LUTHERAN CHURCHES!  You could spend four months of Sundays going around and sampling. That’s Minnesota for you.

I have always had a faith.  Just like my daughter, Noelle, I was just born with a natural yearning and fascination with all that is holy and mystical in the heavens and the earth.   And because I took it so seriously it was doubly disturbing to have my childish enthusiasm dashed to bits of embarrassment at an early age.

When I was seven or there-abouts we visited family friends who lived in what seemed to me an enchanted canyon in a remote area of Orange County, California.  Surrounding what had been an old rustic lodge were tree shaded and hedged walkways amid enormous aviaries. It was magical.  And inside the lodge they had created an Indian museum which commemorated the tribe that had once flourished in that area.  I was mesmerized.

The friends told me that the Indians of that sacred place had been shocked when they first saw the new people at the Mission (probably San Juan Capistrano given the proximity) go indoors and bow down to worship their god.  They believed that one must go into nature and raise their arms to the sky and look up into the heavens and let the sun and the rain touch them and say “thank you”.

I was stunned!  And my seven-year-old epiphany seemed enormous. It became so big in my mind, in fact, that I could think of nothing else all the way home.  And I couldn’t wait to get to Sunday School and reveal this new truth, and of course at that age I didn’t think in terms of Evangelical Enlightment or Divine Revelation – but simply that I  had something so big and exciting to tell.  So when the time came I wiggled in my seat as I remember, and my hand shot up and I stood and took a deep breath and told with all the enthusiasm of my being – this new thrilling idea and even, I fear, suggested we try it!

Given a more enlightened Sunday School teacher it could have been a “teaching moment”.  Instead I was left confused and dashed and embarrassed by my misplaced audacity and suddenly a bit suspicious of the whole religious experience.

But I persevered.  In my youth I even tried Catholicism for a time because it seemed so serious and sure of itself and steeped in history, although ironically it represented those very same Catholics who worshiped with bowed heads in the San Juan Capistrano Mission.  And then in  college I embraced existentialism with a passion and acknowledged the absurdity and uncertainty of life  (but always with the more positive slant of Sisyphus who kept rolling that rock up the hill no matter how many times it slid backwards).  And then I discovered meditation and my life for the past forty years has been influenced by a wide and universal range of esoteric thought and  practice.  So now I can go outside and raise my arms to the universe, sit in my little meditation nook AND shop around for four months of Sundays.

Just before we moved to Minnesota (and the whole point behind this tale of personal faith) I discovered through my friend Mara, a spiritual practice which I liked more than doing yoga or even Tai Chi. It’s about fifteen minutes of physical “moves” and a bit of chanting and Tibetan syllables and I simply felt the energy and peace and even got to raise my arms to the universe.  It’s called Shiva Garuda and Lama Nobu, the Tibetan monk who most beautifully raises his arms to the heavens, explains that in today’s world we face challenges and obstacles and inbalance in our self and in our world. One could confidently say something profound here like – “Duh”. That’s self-evident.  And he describes it as Dragon energy which must be transformed from turbulent to peaceful as symbolized by the great Phoenix Bird of myth and potent symbol of many cultures.  The Phoenix, we know, rises out of the ashes so that the old and turbulent will become new and peaceful.  And bear with me for here I’m not proselityzing, but merely setting the stage for a personal story of omen and faith.

The first day we arrived at Mt Faith, we were met by Laura, our real estate agent who after welcoming us, apologized for the strange, sort-of “creepy” mask that the previous  owners had left upon the wall.  I noticed it and first, thought it an unusual and inexplicable “discard”.  Gift?  Then I acknowledged and assured Laura that it was okay as I rather liked folk art.  I later, just for the fun of it thought to google Indonesian Masks and, here my heart pitty-pats a bit just to remember the moment – I discovered that this gifted mask happens to be the embodiment of the Phoenix and is called Garuda.  It is prominent in many cultures – Tibetan, Hindu, Asian in general, as well as Christian.

AN OMEN, A GIFT, A POINT OF FAITH ON MT. FAITH.

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KEEP THE FAITH

Posted on June 4, 2011 by snowbirdredux

I’ve never learned the lesson of moderation in spite of the fact that I often quote and profess to the philosophy which espouses the “Buddha’s Noble Middle Path”.  Somehow it’s just not in my gene pool.  I tend to embrace favorite spectrums of life with intensity and passion and impatient doggedness to boot.  So naturally, if there is a task at hand, I madly plunge ahead determined to reach the end goal without even a breather.  And that tendency all came home with a vengeance last night after two days of over indulgence in the moving-in ritual.  Uff Dah!  My body is screaming at me today.

But we took a long drive around Battle Lake and Otter Tail Lake (the largest in the county of many, many, many lakes) and reveled in the lovely, rolling green of the terrain and regaled in our good fortune to land in such a wondrous spot, and came home renewed and re-invigorated.

It still seems something of a daunting task to imagine ever actually getting settled here.  So much to do.  There are no easy solutions.  Every room needs re-wiring and cupboard building and furniture that will “fit”, not to mention paint.  And some rooms  are even in dire need of wall-busting reconstruction. In particular the kitchen, which makes life especially unhandy.  That is not to say that we are displeased with the house.  It actually feels more like a home we like every day in spite of the upheaval. If I close my eyes and start to imagine what it could be and will become, I am even endeared.

But there IS the mess and I am not good with messes.

That is why I am so grateful to the Oxalis.  It came to us years ago – maybe 15 – from our friend Trudy who had treasured this little houseplant so much that they took it with them as an adornment and bit of greenery in their motor home as they traveled around the country.  She loved to tell the story of how, in coming back from Mexico on one trip, they realized that they couldn’t take a plant back across the border when they returned to this country.  And panicking, Trudy quickly dumped out the dirt and washed it out in their camper’s sink and put it in a strainer because she realized that the roots looked like sprouts that you add to a salad. It passed!  And as soon as they were free and clear she stopped at the first market and bought some potting soil and the little trooper revived and re-grew in no time.

An Oxalis takes a number of forms in the plant world, but most familiar is the common clover that often plagues our lawns or the lucky Shamrock or four-leaf-clover of legend, or the Redwood Sorrel we so love in California when it spreads a lustrous green blanket  beneath the trees.

When we moved from northern California some years ago Trudy  gave us her Oxalis as a going away gift – a gift that was definitely from the heart given the history.  Robert took it upon himself to nurture and care for it and my son Kevin painted a pot that it has lived in ever since.  So when we were ready to move this time, with nearly of week of driving in an overloaded van, it seemed problematic at best.  But Robert decided to try Trudy’s trick and he dumped out the soil and washed it off and put it in a zip lock bag which ended up somewhere or other jammed in with a mountain of suitcases and futons and pruning shears and tomato cages (which the movers forgot!) and Cosmo’s box and every manner of flotsam and jetsam.

It must have been a week later after our arrival that we discovered the small plastic bag of indescribable muck, which did indeed resemble dirty sprouts, but Robert found it’s pot and added some soil and put it in the window.

I must admit I had my doubts.  After all it wasn’t just across the border.  It was across many borders and many miles and even many days.  I hoped for the best, but I was prepared for the worst.  And then, of course, we just plunged into the unpacking and I even forgot about the little Oxalis.

Until today.

THE KITCHEN FAIRY MIGHT HAVE HELPED!

Silently under the soil, all this time, it was regenerating and growing and getting ready to burst into a new life.  But in “plant life” it took it’s time.  All in good time.  The Buddha’s Noble Middle Path.

Posted in Gardening, introspection, MOVING | Leave a comment

TOMATOES AND HERBS

Posted on June 3, 2011 by snowbirdredux

I promised myself that the priority at the moment is INSIDE and I dare not get too worked up about peonies and tiger lilies for now, but one can unpack and repack boxes for just so long until a kind of moving mania sets in.  When I say  “unpack and repack” it might sound counter-productive, but since we’re jumping right into a remodel of the kitchen and also here-and-there much needed storage additions, it would be foolish to clutter the house with any more than the barest necessities.  Yet I need to FIND those necessities and they seem to be interspersed in a very piecemeal and helter-skelter manner with the whole of our belongings.  Hence – I unpack and then repack and sometimes do it all over again.

After more of the same this morning, we were much in need of  garden vibrations.  And so we used the one little raised bed which was already here, and since it already had a large garlic chives and of course the greedy sprawling mint which had survived and thrived throughout the long Minnesota winter, turned it into our herb garden.  They may be a bit too close for comfort, but we tucked in oregano and thyme, more chives and dill, along with a basil and two rambling nasturtiums all ringed with 4 six-packs of marigolds.  It will be anyone’s guess who gets to reap the harvest first, but my odds are on the bunny.

I wanted more tomatoes but settled for three which we put into improvised tubs ($5.49 18 gallon rope-buckets from Home Depot) holes punched in the bottom and set into the ground.  There was no contest in selecting Juliet first – our best performer in California, the first and the last – a high yield winner with profuse clusters of grape sized fruit. Hope she likes it here.

Robert wanted a Yellow, so as the resident personal chef he gets his way.  The reviews for Golden Jubilee were effusive. “Makes great salsa!” – We like that.  And “Not as acidic and good for juice”.  Aunt Lil  cans the best tomato juice.  I’ve caught a cousin or two sneaking down to her basement to bring up a couple of quarts for Bloody Mary’s.  I’m not sure if I want a Golden Mary, but it just might make a trendy statement.  Kind of California Cuisine.  And Aunt Lil promised to teach me to make tomato juice.  She says it is SO SIMPLE.  Red or yellow, I’m game.

Our third tomato was a new trial for us also.  Big Beef.  But  I read – “Outstandingly productive!”  And “Very best of large varieties!  Seems you can’t go wrong with Big Beef.

I’m still longing for peonies and tiger lilies.  What California girl wouldn’t.  But I had a great day  in the garden.

ROBERT DIGGING HOLES FOR THE TOMATO BUCKETS

Juliet, drooping at bit on right - Big Beef and Golden Jubilee

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QUICK FIRE

Posted on June 2, 2011 by snowbirdredux

If you watch Top Chef on Bravo you will know what I’m talking about.  Robert often declares “Quick Fire!” when he rustles together an exceptional meal with throw-together-from-the-refrigerator and use-up-all-the-leftovers while he is constructing a sensational gourmet meal.

I feel like a quick fire tonight.

After the movers arrived unannounced and deposited our belongings we began to sort through and unpack and repack and plot and plan and still it is an overwhelming task. But  – Quick Fire – here’s our day.

Monster Van - Not all ours!

Neverending unpacking mess

Sutro Baths Akimbo

At a certain point it was overwhelming, so we went out and took care of the van which had lost its brake lights and threatened to engender a ticket before long.  Welcome – Olson Auto Electric!  And Rick, who informed us he didn’t answer to Mr. Olson because he was a German and Mr. Olson was a Norweigian who died in 1974 after establishing the business in 1937 and “why try to fix it unless it was broke”.  But he was really proud of the 1937 voltage tester.

Mr. Olson's Voltage Tester

While we were waiting for Rick to test the voltage, we took a walk just a block away on the Otter Tail River.

Bend in the River

That’s my Quick Fire.  Good night.

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IT’S A TWISTER TOTO!

Posted on June 1, 2011 by snowbirdredux

Well, not really.  But it was our first experience with the Big Weather.  We had just spent an hour or so, sitting outside by the pond with a glass of wine (or so) enjoying the warmth and sun of the early evening.  But just before dark, as if the Great God Thor awoke in a cranky mood, the wind began to blow in all four directions at once, and the skies became serious shades of grey, black, and charcoal and the thunder and lightning was fierce, and at the same time  -SIRENS!

UH Oh.  As a California girl, I haven’t heard sirens like that since I was five and the air raid warnings signaled us to turn off the lights and hide because the enemy bombers were coming.  I know my mid-western cousins would say – “Get used to it”.  And I’m sure we will.  But for our first-time tornado warning, I have to admit it was a bit of a panic.  For one thing, we don’t really know the drill yet.  For instance, if the sirens stop, does that mean the danger has passed?  And if they start again – is that the “all clear”?   Or does that just mean that another twister is on the way?

Fortunately I talked to cousin Debbie’s husband Rick, who kept me informed of the approaching “line-up” (severe weather coming up from South Dakota straight at Fergus Falls) and said, “No, we don’t need to go to the basement yet, but watch for flying things or the sound of a freight train.” So we pulled our futons downstairs and set them up CLOSE TO  the door to the basement and gathered up my purse and flashlights and the cell phone and Cosmo, and also got dressed just in case we had to be rescued.

I know tomorrow we will go to purchase a new TV so that we, too, can be hooked into every nuance of the gathering gloom. Mary Lou tells me that the “National Weather Service makes just about any weather condition look like Armageddon, but it rarely is that terrible.”  I hope she’s right.

We all have our areas of expertise and home base comforts.  In Big Sur, for instance, I reveled at my knowledge of every twist and turn of the coastal highway while uninitiates often blanched at driving along that famous and spectacular coastline.  Yes there were rocks in the road, especially in winter, and as we know, massive slides at times, but I would rather drive that familiar roadway any day than traverse the freeways of L.A.  So it’s all about familiarity and home base.  We’re looking and hoping  to eventually ease into that here too.

We’re definitely not in California anymore Toto.

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