My blog for 3/30/2014 Dahlonega Gold Coins

Above you can see what a Dahlonega Gold coin that was minted in 1855 looks like. " By law, gold coinage during the operation of the Dahlonega Mint (1838-1861) was 0.900 fine, meaning 900 parts per thousand  (by weight) pure gold.  The remaining 100 parts constituted the alloy (pure gold being too soft and malleable to prodce coins that would stand up to the rigors of circulation).  By law for that time period, the alloy for gold coins was copper and silver, provided that the silver did not exceed one-half the alloy.  Thus, the silver content could be up to 50 parts per thousand.  It was  therefore lawfully possible to have coins with varying concentrations of silver, about which we can today make observations relative to the coloration differences.
Generally speaking, a gold coin with 100 parts per thousand copper alloy is distinctly orange in color.  Gold coins with silver and copper tend to be less orange, and if the silver content is high enough, the coins do not look orange at all, possessing a light "green gold" color.  As a consequence of this imprecise specification for the alloy, the mints at Dahlonega and Charlotte had the flexibility to have a higher silver content than the parent institution, the Philadelphia Mint."  Carl N. Lester, GOLD RUSH GALLERY, INC.

Remember that when gold was discovered in Auraria, Georgia, in 1829 the subsequent gold miners had no place to put their accrued gold in a safe place.  There were no nearby banks.  No way to create their gold into coins.  If the miner traveled to a bank, then he might return to find someone else working his plot of land, i.e. stealing his gold.  Land with possible gold could only be obtained by lottery.  No choices of land parcels were available.  It was pretty critical that a mint be established in Dahlonega, about eight miles from Auraria.  The owner of a parcel won in a lottery could sell his parcel, often for an exorbitant price.  The owner would have to hide his gold, or possibly have it stolen or himself killed for it.  Auraria is actually quite small and there were some 5000 miners working to strike it rich at the peak of the gold rush in this area.

 

My Blog for 3/24/2014 Summer In The South

I'm so far behind with this travelogue, I've decided to put some new information that seems timely.




Summer In The South consists of fireflies darting through the lush forests at dusk; of air so humid it appears cloudlike in the heat and you can see what you are breathing.  There is a pervasive silence as the woods breathlessly await any passing gentle breeze for relief.  Even squirrels have better sense than the lazy bumblebees out making their living lethargically moving from flower to flower.

Begonias line my entry walk, thriving as usual, before the lavender Hostas and bright Day Lilies.  They all think they live in a greenhouse.  Canopy is the truly right description of the trees.  I look up through the lacy leaves to see the sky, grateful for the gentle filter of the heat.  My little Garden of Eden. 

The cicadas (also known as katydids) have at last begun their nightly chant, somehow relating that all is right with the world.  And the full golden moon now begins its helium ascent at 9:28 p.m.

My Blog..New Series..From Sea to Shining Sea. Part 15

October 18
The Columbia River gorge's cliffs are lined with windmills as it turns out.  The night before, all we could see were the lights at each one--they stood out like stars so far overhead.  The gorge itself makes you feel like you're at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  We found the windmills in daylight.  The river changes names as others merge with it.  We passed maybe four dams and locks, where ocean barges work their way inland against the current.  It's so amazing that the road we were on was cut through solid rock a couple hundred feet straight down, at the bottom of about 200' cliffs.  It feels like a huge wall.   At the top of Oregon, the river looks like an ocean and must be a mile wide.  It's all barren of trees and shrubs, with only a  little grass that shares space on the hills with windmills for another fifty miles or so.  A couple of green patches off on the Washington side must be watered from the river because they stand out like a couple of oases.  We think they're citrus orchards, but they were so far away we couldn't be sure, but there were jet engines planted we think to ward off frost.

We headed to Pendleton--the place where super well made wool clothing is made.  We hope to see a lot of woolens.  We next passed Arlington with its little marina full of sailboats.  We were in Umatilla County, which I suppose is a Nez Pearce name.  A friend, Jess Wright, had a horse named Umatilla in my past life when we rode with him in the 1970's.  Hmm.  Of course there is a railroad track running along side the freeway.  All the traincars have graffiti on them.  I guess nobody is exempt.  Right where the snake river comes in from the north the land has flattened to desert, again complete with sagebrush and tumbleweeds--also a bombing range.  Which is across the Columbia from Horse Heaven Hills.  Go figure.

Next we were in power line jungles.  I would think the dams we've seen could power the whole United States.  But it looks like a bad day in  El Paso, Texas, the ugliest town I have ever seen.
Scrubby trees suddenly appeared--and ah!  A reason for the smog--a huge chemical plant mixing in with the wires.  A good place to leave--ugh.

Suddenly desert forests of densely planted tree farm trees that looked about fifty feet tall appeared as farmed crops mixed with hundreds of acres of trees, onions, citrus, hay.  Monster commercial agriculture.  Pacific Albus Trees, a sign said.  Whatever that is.  This area look like Southern California rather than Western Oregon--arid but just enough rain to make parts of it green, with oleander bushes, bottlebrush, citrus trees and lots of decomposed granite.  The temperature was 47 degrees.

On the overpass railings/fences, are running horse sculptures.  I guess there are wild horse herds in this area.  The Umatilla Indian Reservation includes Pendleton.  Oregon soon looked like Iowa--farmland to all horizons.  Half of Pendleton is a prison.  Home of the Pendleton Roundup.  Home of Pendleton woolens.  So we stopped and bought a blanket at the factory.  It's a beautiful piece of work we intend to use for a bedspread at home.  Pendleton is a cute, old-fashioned 1950's style Western town.  It included the Wildhorse Umatilla Indian Casino.  Next we continued off the flat mesas into the Blue Mountain Umitalla National Forest--a bald forest that's east on I-84.  We saw the longest horsetrailer in the west, as well as a triple trailer longhauler, which we'd never seen before.  They kind of looked like trains.  Trees there are at about 4000 feet--which includes snow fencing.  The hills looked like gold cushions with pines, cattle, deer and antelope.  No higher mountains were around us, but chain signs were required and we saw the occasional Sno cat.  The temperature changed to 53 degrees.  Baker, Oregon, has a sign that says we were half way between the North Pole and the equator.  I've been wondering about that.  I-84 is a good place to be if you don't want any people. I have a hunch that area's weather is treacherous.

Book Review: The Dwelling by Catherine Cookson.

Book Review:  The Dwelling, by Catherine Cookson.

Review by Melody Scott

 

 

The Dwelling is a story about how it’s possible to overcome an adverse life.

I loved the “voice” of the story, which includes the “gutter” dialogue between half the characters.

            It seemed to have several stories interlaced into one book.  The beginning of a family of 18 children and two parents in early England, whose dad and children worked  in the coal mines as soon as they were old enough to hold open underground doors--about 8-10 years old.

            The story begins after nine of the children, the mother and the father have all died from the current rash of Cholera.  Nine children, the oldest one 14 are huddled together in a house where they were evicted from, since the father held the use of the house as long as he was alive.  With his death went the rights to the company house.

            The options the children had were all awful--from workhouses to indentured servants, and the gallant eldest, Cissie, refused to separate the family.  It seems the elder boys who worked alongside the father were among the nine who died.  Two boys, nine and ten were useable, but only for conditions like death traps.

            It seemed to be constant winter with the second main goal was to figure a way for the last nine to not freeze.  Cissie found a cave in the side of the “fells,” which I never figured out.  I assume a cliff face above swampland.  She took everything from the house they children could manipulate and moved into this cave.  It was very tiny for nine, but it was deep and rather out of the weather.

            The kindnesses they received were few and far between, the cruelty and selfishness they confronted daily was rampant.

            The fellow who saved them from starvation pinched foods from the mill-owner’s daughter, who was homely and about whom he didn’t care for particularly.  They just had good manners with each other.  This Matthew sacrificed himself to marry the millowner’s daughter in order that he could keep his true love (Cissie) from starvation.  I think this guy was the hero of the story, even though things changed regarding that issue later in the book.

            As soon as the reader felt these people are going to be okay, something else would happen to make things even worse, as life sometimes spins out of control.

            The hard to believe part was how a person who had actually raped a young girl and caused a pregnancy could end up being the one the girl fell in love with.

 Even if he had supposedly grown up to be a decent man.          The  child from the rape became as a pawn between divorcees--who would raise him, who would have what rights, etc.  Cissie, for her part, agreed to never see the child again in exchange for keeping her brat sister out of jail for stealing, and sealing a deal for pay to keep the rest of them alive, clothed and in a house of her choice. 

            Well, life became full circle.  The huge number of conflicts, with no outcome being a good choice but only the best of the worst, Cissie bumbled through, keeping all the children together as she had said, in a cave the children shored up with rocks  mud and industry, i.e. the Dwelling.

            This story brought out the class differences, the hardscrabble life with a dirt floor.

You were either born into the gentry or you were not claimed by them as humans with needs.  They were seen as somewhere between a dog and a slave.  How could a fine

family even live with a homeless person in their house?  Yet the unfortunates waited on them hand and foot, with ten more ready to take their places if they messed up or even looked like they might mess up.

            It was an excellent read, though the premise I mention above seemed unlikely.

My blog: New Series: From Sea To Shining Sea Part 14

Mt. Hood
 Columbia River


Sunday, October 17
We arrived in Bandon last Tuesday, found Gary (the brother ) at the state park.  Gary already had a site for us and the weather was sunny at 73 degrees.  We walked a trail through underbrush to the Pacific Ocean and we were rewarded with a deserted beach cluttered with driftwood.  Abby was a happy dog tearing around like a coocoo.  Richard, our nephew and excellent artist, was there to paint which he'd been doing for two weeks. He intends to be a world class painter and I suspect he'll do it.  Gary and wife, Jean, took us sightseeing the next day.  Some amazing state parks with majestic ocean views, harbors coves and rivers.  But the temperature dropped and fog rolled in so it never got over 48 degrees for four day.  We were glad to head to warmer weather.  Their puppy, "Precious," was excited to see us and Abby, Precious's mother.  Precious has never met a stranger.  By Saturday she and Abby were doing the tandem run thing Cavaliers do with their playmates.  Also playing chase, they found a neighbor dachshund who participated with them.  Fun! for them and fun for us to watch the glee.

On our way out on Sunday, we decided to go ahead north as planned, even fearing more cold weather. We've never been on I-84 and thought it was about time.  The bleak desert didn't sound so good to us and we'd have to retrace through the whole state if we had gone south.  So we hit 5 North to Portland, Oregon. The Unipqua is a major river running all over the place.  More lumber mills were at Roseburg--I think we've seen five of them.  I'm not sure how forestry works but I suspect it's 100% controlled.  All of Oregon seems to belong to the government.  Everybody seems to work for the state.  I'm not sure how the state owns so much land.  Oregon is all about mountains and trees, good roads, tourist oriented, user friendly.  Fall is turning leaf many different colors, except for the pines of course.  Wildflowers are in bloom in little meadows between the tree clumps of Oaks, birch and cottonwoods, and we're weaving between the mountains and hillocks.  It's no wonder I've always been enamored of Georgia's forests.  The only forests I'd ever seen till I was 33 years old were California Pines and Oregon Pines.  It came to me how much we must be like Europe--their counties and our states so different one from the next.  We are totally impressed with the beautiful cities of Salem and Portland.  The freeways are showplaces--of course they are on Sundays.  Rivers make the Chattahoochee look tiny and the trees make us feel we're driving through a park.  It's all mowed and landscaped--green, lush and inspiring.  45 degrees and sunshine at 4:30 p.m.
          We were stopped in a traffic jam due to a crash for about a half hour.  People all got out of their stopped cars.  A man saw Abby in our truck and asked if I had a leash he could borrow to walk his lab puppy.  I gave him one.  We were there long enough there was no problem with him returning it.  I expected someone to ask about our restroom on wheels (the Coyote) but nobody did.  Sunday was a slick day to get around Portland.  Traffic heave but flowing well.  Tons of state parks are on the map on 84 after the city.  We planned to use one with wifi for a change. 
          Mt. Hood peeks at us as we drive through/around Portland.  It's 11,239 feet--it looks like the perfect Littering fine--$6250.00. I think these people are serious greenies..$97.00 seat belt usage fine.  Hmmm.  Washington State was right over there on the next hills to our left.  The Hood River is as big as the Mississippi and navigable with a series of locks.  We're dwarfed by the massiveness.  We're in Lewis and Clark territory.  A canoe on that river which becomes the Columbia River, would look like a pebble on a beach.  Our road follows this river.   Perfect Christmas Trees are everywhere.

My blog--new series, From Sea To Shining Sea, Part 13

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Tuesday, Oct. 12.  Last night we had dinner with cousins in Medford, Oregon. A lovely chicken stew with homemade noodles, which was a first for me.  Today we went to his sister's house and we met Cindy.  I find it interesting how differently people live.  On this property of a few acres, Ted keeps his huge shop.  He builds airplanes from scratch for people who can afford it.  Some say they would never get inside a plane that Ted hadn't built.  The owner has a problem and doesn't bend so well to get in and out, so Ted made doors that open upward, like a DeLorean car I saw once.  And standing outside this building was Ted's 28 foot boat that he took up to Vancouver Island on a five week trip.  It looked like a fishing boat with a cabin and very deep hull.

Medford is a gorgeous city, especially in the spring, even with all its growth.  It looks all brand new, like there's been no recession at all.

Mountains and hills endlessly spread around chains of valleys with rivers and almost solid trees.  I hadn't remembered just how beautiful Oregon is.   The next day we took off on I-5 for about 120 miles then West on 42 to the coast and Coos Bay.  We had called Darrel's brother earlier, who works as a campground host each October.  All we had to do now was find him.  So we looked for some bars on our cell phone.  We passed through Roseburg which is a whole city lumber mill--probably two miles of pine 2 x 4s and plywood stacked four stories high.  The little town is crouched around the lumber yard's perimeter.  Traincars stand  loaded with wood ready to be hauled to Iowa.  Huge pines that make 12 Georgia Pines each.  Gas is $3.48.  Hiwy 42 is a log truck road but incredibly scenic Aspens and Cottonwood trees are just coming yellow.  It's 61 degrees. Expresso kiosks are on every corner of the little towns.  The largest buildings are fire departments.  Pines are managed and mountainsides display stripped areas that have been deforested but looks like a green quilt with other stages of new growth remaining.  The current fire danger, which this entire state monitors, is low.  We felt lucky.

The closer we got to the Pacific ocean, the more lush and green the woods became.  Abby is still sleeping from her trauma with Grace the English Bulldog at Cindy's house, who smurfed Abby first then launched herself on her rope swing, hanging by her teeth.  Abby was mesmerized.

My blog--New Series From Sea To Shining Sea Part 12

Mt. Shasta


Okay, I'm  very past my due date to continue this series:

Mon. Oct. 11  We headed back over the mountain to find some civilization so we could continue our journey, but stopped first to wash clothes at a Laundromat.  First thing out of the hat we ran across some people also over doing business from Cedarville.  Unfortunately I felt the need to keep a firm grip on my mouth--no easy feat.  Something had happened in the past with these folks that caused so many people to change their faith in mankind.  Rudeness didn't nearly cover the whole problem.  It's hard to erase people from your mind, but I'm still trying with these folks.

Today is 63 degrees and sunshine for a beautiful driving day.  However, Abby had decided to bathe in some serious caca, so she needed both a hosing off and a real bath.  I was not impressed.  But what are you going to do when you take a city dog into the country?  So now she's fluffy and looks like a molting sheep, and is sleeping off the 10-day party we had back in Cedarville with such loving friends.  She had to compete with two dachshund puppies.

Mike and Darrel were able to fix the Coyote's lift brake problem just before we left town.

The Oregon Mountains pine forests look almost exactly like southern Georgia's pine forests.  Northern California is a bigger political mess than Georgia.  Stupid is rampant everywhere, I guess.  But I understand they finally made a budget after way too long and much borrowing.  With this budget the young people in Cedarville will still have jobs, since the only employer of consequence is the Forestry Svs.  All their jobs were scheduled to terminate without that critical decision being positive.

In the National Forests, which is most of southern Oregon and Northern California, the BLM is cutting out all of the Juniper trees felled among the pines in all directions.  Apparently Junipers draw all the water from the soil and dehydrate plants and land.  We've picked up a peculiar smell in the air which turns out to be a million acres of harvested onions which grow near Klamath Falls.  Street banners advertise the potato festival in Merrill.  Piney hills gave way to farmland separating medium height mountains.  Klamath is known to be five feet deep in snow in winter.  Fortunately we're a little early for that.  From Alturas, Mt. Shasta's snow peak can be seen at its 14,162 ft. height.

Oregon law states a person may not fill his/her gastank with gas. Only the attendant may do that.  Maybe that's why the price is even higher there than expensive California gas.  I called my cousin Peggy in Medford Oregon to see if Abby will be a problem since she's a hair factory.  She said not if her cat doesn't attack.  So I warned Abby, who had never met a cat.

We went over the Klamath River then the GPS changed our minds for us and directed us through Keno and Ashland.  A beautiful mountain drive.  Darrel is only clenching his teeth a little bit.  an amazing amount of underbrush has been cut throughout these woods, we assume to avoid fire exposure.  The pines here are about a hundred feet high.  It looked like the road from Cumming to Hiawassee in every way but pine trees instead of hardwoods.  As the altitude decreased, the pines became shorter.  The Klamath River was again before us to be re-crossed.  My parents took us to these woods when we were children so we could camp in the rustic woods.  My mother canned blackberries which she had picked while I invented horses from fallen logs and my dad fished.  I have no idea what my brother did.  We were seeing what looked like creeping cedar along the roadside, which I didn't expect to find in Oregon.  This endangered ground cover shouldn't be in a dry climate..I will have to investigate that.  We were over the 4551' summit of this Cascade Siskiyou Mountain Road and back into pinelands along Oregon 66.  It looked like we'd left the desert behind on the other side of the mountains we'd just crossed.  Now I'm confused--in front of us were Oak Trees? and switchbacks as we head into Ashland on the steep grade (down)--so glad the brakes were repaired on the Coyote.  Ashland is the home of the Oregon Shakespere Festival then in progress.  We saw ski slopes you wouldn't dare to steer wrong or you'd plaster yourself on a tree.   Steep is in.  No more pines next--only scrub oaks.  Steep as the devil.  I'm glad we were on the inside lane as we entered the valley.  We were struck with golden hills and dense clumps of oaks both green and gold--my favorite.  The Pacific Coast must be right over those hills but it's really 70 miles away.  Monster clumps of mistletoe cling to the 20 foot oak trees.  Seriously dry "Emigrant Lake" was on our right. And breathtaking majestic land with towering mountains practically blocked the sky from the road.

We've only seen five cars since we left Ashland.  Could it be the winding switchbacks?  Then we were thrown back into the 5 freeway north to Phoenix outside of Medford where we parked for the night.  Not bad for one day.  Ashland is so gorgeous we were delighted.

My Blog--Series: From Sea to Shining Sea, part 11.

This is the valley floor which has a saline lake that is about four inches deep and 120 miles long.  This is looking from the California side of the lake to the Oregon mountains on the other side.  When there is a drought, that lake disappears.

This is looking across the lake on a beautiful day, toward the Nevada mountain range.

This is half of Cedarville downtown.  The residential part of town  (about 50 houses) is tucked into the California side among groves of trees.

Donna, Mike, Kevin, Lorin, Cassie, Jackie and Eric, Charlotte, Kirstin , Can, John and Jess Wright were all there when we arrived for Thanksgiving.  Everybody had driven 16 or 12or 7 hours or  five days to get to Cedarville for Thanksgiving.  We sat around and told lies and ate Mexican food for Thanksgiving dinner.  We celebrated my and Darrel's anniversary again, and Kirstin's birthday.  Then we took five minutes to tour Cedarville, then had a constant game going on for several days in the center of the dining room table.  It was 40 degrees and snowing outside.  Two days ago we were all dying from the heat.  We parked the Coyote at the fairground, which doubles as an RV park when there are no rodeos in town.  But the wedding pavillion will be busy Saturday night.

My Blog New Series--From Sea To Shining Sea--Part 10

Thursday, Sept. 30.

We got on the way north to Cedarville, a little place located right in the corners of Oregon, California and Nevada.  You can stand in the middle of the old volcano valley and see all those states at the same time.  We’ve got 200 miles to go up I-395.

Passing old desert homes, we preferred the front door, so to speak.  Gerlach is all we’ll miss, and there is so little traffic this way we’d all ready gone 100 miles by 11:00  The temperature is a lovely 74 degrees. There are truck weigh-ins from time to time.  Darrel thinks there should be people weigh ins too.

The valley near Susanville spreads flat and golden all horsefarms.  Alfalfa farms, great squares patch the whole valley in farmland.  Dotted for shade around the houses, are glorious clusters of trees.  Which, of course, makes me homesick for the used-to-be.

Just before Alturas the land is volcanic rocks, soft gold grass, short pines and sagebrush.  We were climbing--8000 ft and 82 degrees.  The old train track that used to run beside the road has been removed--at least the greenie Californians have taken the asphalt away.

But its old track bed is still there.  It’s probably a wonderful horse path.  I don’t know who “Lardass” is, but he’s apparently responsible for a store that’s too close to the road, according to the sign out front.

With 35 miles left to Alturas the trees are dense and taller.  We got over the edge and started down into Alturas’ volcano valley.  The town of Likely boasts a population of 200 and is straight ahead at 5000 feet elevation.  All that’s needed for a perfect picture is a tribe of Modoc Indians riding by on their pintos.

I ate my peanuts and watched the circling hawks shopping for lunch.  Ha!  Now we passed the “Most Likely” Cafe.  I love fun words.  We passed the school with two cars in the parking lot at 12:20.  A volcanic rim surrounds as, as I already mentioned.  But to see it seems kind of moon-walkish.  We saw a radio tower but no radio station beneath it.  The pond covered with ducks was more interesting to watch.

New Blog Series: From Sea To Shining Sea Part 9

Wednesday, Sept. 29

We arrived in Carson City last night.  It was dusk, so we hastily parked in Michaeleleah’s driveway and all went to Mexican dinner.

Since her husband’s death a few years ago, she’s responsible for the whole ranch.  Fences, corrals, garden, dogs, horsebacking into the mountains by reservation, handling the horsetrailer, the truck, the house and its contents, and let’s not forget she’s a competitive distance horse rider.  That means she spends most weekends adding more miles to it on horseback.

Carson has become a megalopolis and the traffic is shocking since our last trip through here.  New freeways under construction add to the clutter.  While Mike goes to work the next day, we did housekeeping, shopping and car washing.

And today Abby met a real dog.  Shorty is an Australian Shepherd.  Abby made the mistake of assuming all dishes on floors are her domain.  But alas, Shorty had to straighten her out about that.  Abby ran to the trailer and didn’t want to come out for the rest of her life.

After dinner, it had become dark, naturally, and when we turned in we opened the door to the trailer.  We hadn’t realized the closest corral fence was about 18 inches from our open door.  As I said, there wasn’t much room.  Darrel jumped a foot when Rascal, Mike’s half Arabian pinto whuffed in his ear then nickered at him.  Inches behind his head.

We celebrated my birthday again with more cake on Tuesday, then Mike made us breakfast--an amazing steak dinner on the front porch, where the stove lives.  We were instructed to go out to the garden and do a little digging to gather our potatoes, which was something I’d never done.  Then I was presented with my birthday present--a  sure-to-kill-them fly swatter.  I didn’t know there were flies large enough to justify it.  But it will not get lost.

The next day we took Rascal out of his corral to have a good talk with him without all the mules stampeding us while we discussed the weather.  Rascal is extremely social and had taking up staring in our windows asking us to come put and play.  We brushed him and took some pictures, fed him carrots.  He’s not very big as horses go, but he’s an endurance horse with a documented 50 miles ride on his resume.  He’s 18 years old, born where he stands, five gaited and darling.  If it hadn’t been so much work to get him brushed, saddled, bridled, stirrups adjusted, we would have taken him out for a little ride.

My review of "Wonderful" 1/18/2014

Review of “Wonderful”

by Melody Scott

I was told a long time ago that babies are born as little animals and the parents’ job was to civilize them.  I think “Wonderful” substantiates this.

It’s a story about several things:  1. Overcoming adversity--and what stages are involved.  2.  How much environment plays in a child’s development.  3.    4. Is it worse to be disfigured or mentally crippled?  4. To treat an obviously abnormally challenged child as a normal child--realizing that at some point they have to be in a normal world environment in order to learn how to handle it.

I have two personal stories (at least ones I’ve monitored for years), whereby two sons of relatives had retinisis pigmatosa and would be both blind at some point in their childhood.  One child approached it realistically as encouraged by his parents, and “got ready” by learning trades he could do without sight.  Pretty amazing.  The other child was mired in self-pity and decided he couldn’t handle it.  He was a casualty of life.

Another was a child of friends who was born with a bunch of defects, the worst one being constant seizures.  He was therefore drugged to avoid as many seizures as possible, turning in him into somewhat of a zombie.  He was given no slack by his family and expected to participate in all the other three childrens’ activities.  Halleluiah, this year (at his age of 50) a medical cure (surgery) (only one surgeon in the world--praise his hands!) was found and he has had NO seizures since.  John currently is working on eliminating the drugs a little at a time that his body is so accustomed to.

In “Wonderful” we saw a metamorphosis from all reactions being negative to acceptance of the situation August was afflicted with.  I think, since children accept physicalogical abnormal looks, August’s parents made play dates for him with other little children, who then grew older as August aged.  They were already friends before the abnormality was noticed.  This stood August in good stead with Summer and with the sister’s friend who was older, but understood August’s challenges and supplied him with a helmet, among other things, so he could be anonymous for pieces of time, then watched all he went through growing up.  She wanted August’s family for their overwhelming love given to whoever was nearby.

There were the parents who sympathized and understood the challenges August and his family faced, and there were parents in the school who had taught their children that challenges were so abnormal that they could not be acceptable.  The children were really reflections of their parents’ attitudes.

Overall, August’s  parents were the heroes in this book in being willing to throw August to the wolves and send him to a private/public school when he was 5th grade level.  The children reacted in every possible spectrum and it took a year for acceptance to win out because of the characters of the children--both those who wanted to be admirable people and those who thought they might “catch” something from August.  I’m not mentioning the mean kids because they were trying out meanness to see if it would work for them I think.  But of course it was a failed experiment in the end.

My blog--New Series--From Sea To Shining Sea Part 8

Tuesday, Sept 28

Ely has a Shoshone Indian Reservation and “Jail House” Casino.  We’re out at 8:00 a.m. toward Carson City, Nevada, 325 miles west.  I called Michaeleleah and she sounded great.  I went to High School with her 100 years ago.  We had art classes together.  She’s a year younger than I.  I haven’t seen her for five years.

Nevada looks like Nevada, like Southern California without people.  We passed a shepherd’s trailer out in the mesquite that’s about the size of our Coyote.  The shepherd had parked a huge water truck next to his trailer, which we had not seen before.  The sheep get thirsty and they aren’t likely to find water on the ground in this location.  A little further up the road we found his sheep--about 500 of them.

Mike said she’d be at work today.  The house, the gates, the barn, were all unlocked so just help  ourselves.  She’d be back at 4:00.  I think today she was training somebody else’s horses.  It must be nice to live that way--her house is 500 square feet.

This road has zero litter or junk--there’s a posted $2000 fine for littering.  Next comes the Illepah Reservation.  Through high rolling hills we travel to Eureka, at 51* it’s mostly a ghost town.   A beautiful desert drive today--nobody out here but us climbing Little Antelope Summit, 7738 feet.  We see lots of deer crossing warning signs and no road fencing through the passes.  The peaks are over two miles high.  20 miles later, at 72*.  The radio tells us the west cost is having record 112* heat--more than 20 degrees above normal.  

My uncle Carlos--actually my mother’s twin brother, had TB in 1948 and thought he was dying in the hospital.So hetook himself to the desert and moved into an old miner shack.  I think he lived out there for a year or two.  How he managed water, food, and heat, I don’t know.  But he got over the tuberculosis, moved to San Diego and got a job as a mailman so he could walk everyday to keep healthy.  In those days, mailmen walked.

We visited him a few times in the desert.  I thought it was odd he’d live in a see-through shack when I was 5 years old.

Police have pulled us off the road for an extra-wide oncoming truck to pass.  Static electricity has attacked our shirts, noses and dog.  I’d almost forgotten that stuff.  Eureka is unfortunately under construction so we aren’t taking pictures.  It was a silver mining town as I recall and this road is called “The Loneliest Road In America.”  A huge backhoe blocks the opera house.  Eek.

Abby’s ears are sticking straight up with static electricity.  We’re laughing at her as I mop her down with “Bounce” Sheets.

Austin, Nevada, 7200 feet, is a Pony Express Station. We ate at the Toiabe Cafe and had a wonderful lunch.  This time we’re taking a few pictures--at least it’s not under construction.  Silver mines dot the hills by hand diggers.  An ancient town is nestled in a canyon halfway up a mountain.  It has a boot hill cemetery and Pony Express Roping Arena.  The Pony Express was only in operation from 1860 to 1861 and was outdated by steam locomotives.  The riders used to ride full tilt on a horse for 20 miles to the next station.  Then they would rope another horse from the herd at each station then run another 20 miles as fast as the horse would go.

We’ve now traveled 300 miles, straight as a string, and I’ve counted 18 cars besides us.  We’re grumpy.  We see the Piute Shoshone Reservation at Fallon, and keep on going.

Fallon looks like where I was raised in southern California--rolling barren hills--except for Springtime when the hills were covered in flowers and grass.  But not in September.

Fallon looks like an efficiency only dirt laden town.

My Blog--New Series--From Sea To Shining Sea, Part 7

 

Monday, Sept. 27

Happy Birthday to Meeee

We’re on I-70 West, right through the middle of a red rock mountain in Utah. Gas cost is $3.05 today.  Cliffs are fenced so the rocks won’t fall on the highway.  Dramatic nothingness plateaus with alluvial fans at their bottoms, bald mountains and rocks every shade of whites, taupes, creams, reds, greys, browns, yellows, and greens.  Within 20 miles around Salina, we’re back to wheatstraw fields and sage wilderness with sage mountains all around us.

The valley at Salina looks just like Cedarville (a town we know at the Nevada, California, Oregon border), except the shallow lake at Salina is fresh water and Cedarville’s is saline.

Now at Delta, UT, we jumped over to I-50.   There are hay farms all the way to the mountains--alfalfa fields as far as the eye can see.  We stopped in town for a birthday cake, and other provisions we still hadn’t known we’d need.

 Darrel needs donuts for tonight.  Abby isn’t adapting well to no grass.  Utah’s grass is so valuable that all the parks have “no dog” signs.  She can’t get used to peeing on rocks, gets bullthorns in her feet from the weeds and is too much of an elitist to “use” asphalt.  So she waits, which is scary for us.  None of the RV parks has grass available.  I hope she’s still housetrained by time we get home.

Utah & the Ouray Reservation--pretty godforsaken land.  We climbed over the Confusion Mountain Range into Nevada.  The height is 6280 feet .  On its other side, our truck laughs as it whips over those impossible mountains.  Before we arrive at the Pacific coast we will have gone over eight massive mountain ranges.  Most of the time we don’t have cell service for our phones and we go over a hundred miles without seeing anything but dirt.  Even cars are scarce.

Yay for golden Nevada!  It looks alive as western Utah was just dead.  The road is so flat and straight there are water- and snake- mirages before us to the horizon, a trick of nature that caused heart ache and death for pioneers.  We thought about dry camping but the temperature went up to 90* and we may need some air conditioning an RV park’s electric hookups can provide.  Maybe we’ll stop at Baker, at the Ut/Ne border.  If it’s a dive we’ll go 40 more miles into Ely, which we’ve been to before.

Next we go over Sacramento Pass at 7154 feet, a scenic drive on my map.  Back to the beauty of fall’s high desert with golds, yellows and browns (and a little green!).  Then down again to the desert floor.  Next up again over Donner’s Pass, 7722 feet high.  We’ve been in Nevada for 50 miles.  Sort of a rollercoaster ride.  The mountains are massive--13063 feet--chain pullouts tell me it’s gonna get cold.  I’m thinking about painting a coyote on the Coyote.  No self-respecting coyote should be without a head.

The ground has become shale.  What?  The shrubs remain the same and will apparently grow on anything.  Now colored shale, white/pink/black--hard to believe.  Hey! Trees!  I might have to kiss a couple of them when we stop.

We have a trailer brake problem which has been hard on the truck coming down the mountain passes.  Darrel thinks a wire tore loose on the washboard Utah Highway 70.  We’re okay through to Carson City where  my friend Michaeleleah lives.  She’s doing my books’ covers because she’s an artist.  I’m anxious to see what she’s drawn for the latest, Chattahoochee Dead.  “Mike” raises horses, takes people on camp rides into the Rose Mountains and paints.  We plan to stay next to her barn.  That will be tomorrow night.

Ohmigosh, the Ely KOA has grass!  Abby will celebrate .

My Blog--New Series, From Sea To Shining Sea--Part 6

 

Sunday, Sept. 26

With regret, we leave Chama, (which means “group”.  It’s 44* and gold leaves are all over the Coyote and truck.  A flock of blackbirds with about four inches of white tipped wings and breasts and a white “V” at the shoulders flurry to get out of our path at the exit gate.  Darrel says he remembers those from Alaska, but I of course, just fell off the turnip truck, and have no memory of them.

On to Pagosa Springs, Colorado--upward about 10,000 feet into the San Juan Mountains.  After ten miles the temperature has dropped to 35*.  We stopped to take pictures of the monument type mountains all around us.  A real estate sign says we could buy 43 acres for $69,000.  What a good idea!  A Colorado horse ranch...I’m green with envy as we pass these farms.  Aspens look like Eucalyptus trees except for the yellow leaves no self-respecting Eucalyptus would don.

Monster mountain views at Pagosa Springs with alluvial fans of black dirt below them.  We pass the Red Rider Rodeo Fairgrounds.  It’s pretty steep this morning at 9:00 a.m.  A plume of steam curls off the sulfur springs in the center of town.  I bet that looks eerie at night.  Hmmm.  The huge lumber yard is empty and closed.  I can’t tell if that’s due to the economy or EPA.  Gas is $3.20 (diesel).  The air is so still that several giant balloons are getting ready to take off.  Pretty spectacular up close.  Very user unfriendly for RVs.

The Albuquerque Balloon Festival starts next week.  I guess these guys are just practicing, not wanting to waste a perfect day for ballooning.  Thousands of people are in town.

Were looking for lunch in Durango, but can’t take the Coyote down the narrow street to town.  And we’re really disgusted about that.  The big mountains have huge patches of orange spread on them that have to be Aspen tree groves tucked amongst the evergreens.  From our distance it looks like a random-patchwork quilt.

We’re in the high desert again--scarce coniferous trees about 20 ft. high--all plains surrounded by Rocky Mountains a few hundred miles away.  Highway 191 to Moab , Utah is a scenic Rd., so I’ll be interested to see what it’s about--dry land full of grasses and sagebrush. (Utah means “one that is higher up.”  Please remind me I don’t want anything in Dove Creek County.  Stark, brown, ugly treeless, junky.  People must be tied to the land to stay.  No farm animals even.

Utah’s adjoining plains are planted in hay and sunflowers.  Lots of clean sky and sideroads that go right over the horizon.  Traveling through Arches National Park we see a distinct formation called Church Rock.  It looks like a fat pile of dough with a couple of sporting horizontal colorful striations, some resembling geodesic buildings.  Some look like a giant child dropped a top.  Some look like castles.  Just like Utah pictures with caves in their cliffs.  We did take some pictures since there was a turnout available.

The land is adobe red now, sprinkled with brush.  Freeway fenceposts are impaled in red stone.  I feel pretty insignificant in relation to these formations.  Not even a person pebble.

Just before Moab on 191 the ground looks like somebody overturned a rock truck for 20 miles before town with a ton of homeless people squatted on this land--like Tijuana, Mexico, in case you’ve see that mess.  They’re either desperately poor or desperately stupid, but the city is charming--same western town facades we’ve been seeing--so cute.  But it’s definitely an oasis on the desert.  Not to mention a tourist trap.  Even though the season is supposed to be over, the place is overrun with tourists.  We tell ourselves we’re not lowly tourists.  I guess we’re just trailer trash.

We’ve taken 191 to the I-70 and West.  Moab is in a bowl with the Colorado River going through it.  Now the cliffs are back.  I wonder what mineral would cause that color.  I-70 West turns totally desolate.  We’ve planned to overnight in Green River--I hope it’s green--everything here is moonscape bald.