Scary Sooner day

While we didn't attend the game, The Whee n I got our fill of game day craziness on Saturday. We're racking up some walking miles to get ready for a long pack trip, and we did six miles yesterday. We took our time, though, because you have to stop and see the sights. Game day insanity + Halloween weekend insanity = even more bizarre than usual college town.

This one won't make my weird wheels file, but we thought it was pretty cool anyway. The absolute cool weird wheel I missed getting a picture of was a bass boat made into a car. I will find that guy.

This one might make the file. At first glance, it's just a tractor for a tractor/trailer rig. Except it 's a king cab.

Until you see that it has a regular pickup bed. Well, regular shape, but super-sized. Please tell me who needs a truck like and why...

And then there's this guy. Every time we turned a corner it seemed he was in front of us. I wasn't sure if this was a Halloween get-up or just an affinity for tye-dye. He was the right age for tye-dye nostalgia.

Ohh. I remember my grandmother having these wonderful chairs. Except they were rusty and not these fabulous sherbet colors. I really, really want the cotton-candy pink one. Or the turquoise one the Whee is in. Or both.

And for all the strange, weird, odd, interesting people we saw, I couldn't help but wonder from time to time if the strangest one of all wasn't the short one walking by my side.

Something weird this way comes, so I must disappear!

Death of a Squash Man

The Whee is a petite, pretty little thing. It's hard to believe that under that soft, fluffy-chick-like, innocent looking veneer lies the heart of a Friday the 13th leading lady. With braces, and a prettier smile. And cuter clothes. She's wearing her rainboots because she doesn't want to get slimy pumpkin parts on her feet. Interestingly, she later took off the boots and stomped on the poor little pumpkin. All I could do was watch from the upstairs window and scream silently...

Or maybe what she really has is the makings of a surgeon. Notice the delicate movements, the exacting, perfect incision line, the precision with which the patient's innards were removed. This will not leave a scar.

Yum, at least this patient has edible parts. Wait, my apologies, this is going rapidly downhill in a direction we really don't want to go. Dr. Frankenstein, I presume? I do love toasted pumpkin seeds, though. And it looks like that's all we're going to salvage from this massacre.

This was going to be a pie, now it's more like soup. With chunks. It is wrong of me that I was more worried that she was going to ding my grandmother's good butcher knife on the concrete than I was that she was going to cut her toes off? Should I worry about the gleam in her eye when I hand her a knife?

Oh yeah, that's my ghoul...

          Happy Trails, and may your adventures never be squashed!

A berry good shot

While this is not a Kansas KaleidoScape, it is one of new favorites! In our recent meanderings through the woods of Arkansas, I spotted these beautiful purple berry clusters. I have no idea what they are, I just know that when I spotted them they spoke to my inner crayon scribbler, and I knew they would become a 'Scape.

Of course the KaleidoScape series is all about perception and manipulation (no comparisons to marital relationships, please). And finding art in the quotidian. It's about using your toothbrush holder as a vase, and the mosaic glass paperweight as a doorstop, and an old picture frame as a serving tray for hors d'œuvres. With the picture still in it.

This bush?  vine?  shrub?  lent itself to more than one prismatic interpretation. So, here is yet another version of plant pulchritude. Wilderness winsomeness. A visionary vine. A kaleidoscopic creeper.

Please, don't throw things at your computer.

                         Tell me which version you like better!!!


And then I got to wondering... would these berries make good.. ah... juice? With a lot of sugar and a little fermentation added? Are they perhaps cobbler material?

  Happy Trails, and may your adventures be berry, berry good!

When is a biscuit not a biscuit?

When is a biscuit not a biscuit?  When it's a scone, of course! (Or, if you live in England, it's a cookie, but we're not doing that today. We're only comparing cultures on the Plains.)

What's the difference between a biscuit and a scone when you live in Oklahoma?  If it has blueberries in it and you drink tea with it, it's a scone. If it has gravy on top and you drink coffee with it, it's a biscuit.

Why am I talking about biscuits and scones in an outdoor blog? Because when you find small companies that are trying to do good, you should recognize them. Especially if they make the most delicious blueberry biscuit, I mean scone, in the world.

Immaculate Baking Company is a small, privately owned company that is starting to be famous. And of course, they will be famous after you read about them here.

I discovered their blueberry scones this week when Daughter #1 took me to a local organics food market and handed me a gift certificate. It doesn't get much better than your children buying your groceries. I have obviously done something right as a mother.

These scones come in a can like "whop 'em on the counter" biscuits; you know, where you peel back the wrapping on the can and press with a spoon, or in my case, smack the can on the edge of the counter and it explodes open, and you try to catch all the dough before it hits the floor.

They looked like biscuits- they were dough and they were round.  I always thought scones were kinda dry and triangular. Maybe it's just my cooking.
Bake, (I added a butter cream glaze), enjoy. Even Philoboy, who's not a big fan of sweets, sweet breads, or icing on his breakfast, made a huge dent in them. Huge dent as in he ate five out of the eight.

But delicious is not the whole story here. Nor is the fact they have an organic products line. Immaculate Baking Company operates a program whereby you can buy their products at a special price and hold a bakesale to raise money in partnership with Cookies for Kids' cancer, a non-profit organization raising money for pediatric cancer research.

And I haven't even mentioned yet the folk artists they support, but here's a hint- look at the artwork on the can of scones above. Check out their website, enjoy the artwork, and if you can find these in your area, try them!!

Good food doing good. Now that's delicious news!

How 'bout them apples?

These are Granny Smith apples. One of these a day keeps my doctor away. So I've heard.

This is a horse apple, also known as hedge apple. One of these a day, thrown under your house, keeps the armadilloes away. So I've heard.

This apple tastes tart, tangy, and delicious.

I've never tasted this apple, and probably never will.

When people see this apple, they say "yum, pie..."

When people see this apple, they say  "gimme that thang, I'm gonna chuck it."

Lest you think I jest, please read about Eureka, Kansas's only real claim to fame, chuck a hedgeball. I would never lead you astray.

Peaceful interventions

Getting away from humanity and out on the trail is good for my sanity, which in turn is good for anyone who has to be around me. Finding a space with limited human contact soothes my soul.

I spent one day on the trail this past week by myself, and two days with Philoboy and PAF. That's pretty much like not being around other humans.

I can only go as fast as I can walk, or as fast as I can stroll while taking pictures. It forces me to slow down, to look closely, to examine, compare, and perceive how to interact with my environment. I have to make important decisions, such as do I take the picture with the sun behind the leaves, or looking up through the leaves?

I can find vistas open to the way-far-beyond, which creates fertile ground for my imagination, gives me plenty of room to fling my worries away, and restores my balance point of realizing I am only a speck in the universe, and all us specks are just floatin' through space as best we can.

Once I've had some breathing room, I can go back to the dustcloud made up of other specks of humanity, and better tolerate the constant bumping up against one another. Reliving those moments of hiking and camping help maintain my peace of mind in the suffocation we call society. Till it's time to hit the trail again.

Trailing along

Wakey wakey!  There's walking to do. The psycho squirrel above us was chucking acorns hard and fast, determined that no one was going to sleep in. I thought about throwing something back at him, but I was afraid to do any more damage to the tent. If you look carefully you can see the expert patch job with a specialty camping product-duct tape. Camping in southwest Kansas this summer we got caught in a storm and it flattened our tent, bending one aluminum pole badly and snapping the other pole in two. The broken bones of our mobile home then speared the rainfly, creating a t-shaped laceration in the skin of our woodsy womb.

The poles were sent off for repair, and now we're testing the rain repellent qualities of duct tape. So far so good. Today's plans included hiking a small section of the Ouachita Trail, which we have been told is a 192 mile long, good approximation of the Appalachian Trail. Just the fact that it spans two states is worth something in my book.

Does the AT have bear warning signs? Bear archery season was in effect, but the quota for the year was filled the first day and all hunting had been suspended. Four counties in southeast Oklahoma allow bear hunting, with a total of 20 bear tags allotted. The system is a bit odd, however, as hunters call in each morning to see if the annual quota has been filled before they head out to exercise their pursuit of brawn over bruin. Thirty-one bears were shot the first day, slightly over the quota.  Ooooops.  I bet they change the system before much longer.

We headed into town for breakfast, at the Skyline Cafe, with biscuits "so good you'll write home about 'em," so the waitress said.  Well, they were good enough I'll at least write about them. In fact, breakfast was good enough that I overate to the point I couldn't walk, so we decided to take the Talimena Scenic Drive instead.

Even with most of the trees here being of the evergreen type, there was still plenty of intense color. That color waved cheerily at us as we zipped by, begging us to slow down and enjoy the view. The 13% grade of the Scenic Drive has a tendency to make you take a quick glimpse, say "ain't that purty," and get back to the business of standing on your brakes.


There is so much color here it's almost blinding. One favorite way to recall and relive our trips is to have puzzles made from some of the photos. This looks like a good 500 piece memory.

The land is so wavy here I'm getting seasick just looking at it. The trail goes up and over all those humps. A thousand feet up and down each side. I can't wait.

I should have brought some of those biscuits with me. I bet the bears would have appreciated it.

 Happy Trails, and may all your adventures be something to write home about!

Head to the Hills

I know a missed a day of posting this week. I am very sorry. Did you miss me?  I have a good excuse. To shush the whining of Philo Action Figure (PAF) we had to go on an adventure. A real adventure. The kind that includes tents and backpacks and such. He's been not-so-patiently waiting for some time now.

After seeing a whole day of post oak in Oklahoma, I was ready for some vivid fall colors in the mountains. Philoboy and I loaded up the car, set PAF on the dash and headed southeast.

By the time we arrived at the Talimena State Park, it was laaaate. And dark. Setting up camp in the middle of the night can be a challenge, but it's happened to us so often now that we have it down to a science.

When we awoke the next morning, it was to see... oak trees overhead. And all around.  I drove down here to get away from oak trees. I've been robbed!!!

OAK-a, at least that's not the only trees around here. Time to set off and see what there is to see. Hey!  That's my water bottle!

Tough.  Get walkin', woman.

"You, know, one of these days something bad's gonna happen to you, Philo Action Figure, and you're gonna need me...."


We needed some trail maps so we stopped at a Visitor Center, and decided to walk the interpretive trail around the Center, look at the tree markers and learn to identify some of the leaves.

PAF thought he knew them all already. To me, a lot of them looked just alike. I finally settled on categories of skinny leaves, serrated leaves, maple, oak, and everything else. About a quarter of a mile later, I noticed it was very quiet. No muttering from my backpack. Uh-oh. I ran back to the last place I remembered seeing my little hiking buddy, and found him marching along, saying words that were causing the grass to wither.

Sorry, PAF. 

Unh, huh, I'll remember this, woman.

From the Visitor's Center we moved on to Earthquake Ridge on the Arkansas side and the network of trails there. I couldn't stop singing "Walking in the Woods One Day," because I kept seeing vistas like this.

Heh  heh, this trail has a transportation infrastructure.

PAF!  Get off there!  Leave the wildlife alone!!  Dang it, boy.

The section of trail we did this day was very well marked, used but not overused, and devoid of any water sources. That seems to be our lot when we hike any Arkansas trail, no water. But otherwise, it was a perfect hiking day, weatherwise, companion wise, trailwise.

Hey woman, I'm tired. Let me know when dinner's ready.

You know PAF, it's a good thing I like you.

I have warm soup, a magazine, and a view from my hammock that looks like this. Not even a bossy action figure can bother me now.

          Happy Trails, and may you never lose your hiking buddies!

On the road again

After waking up waaaay too early one day this week, I decided to make good use of the time.  I was in Kansas, taking care of business. And errands. And paperwork, and tedium. Things like bills, and employment, insurance, registration, and a million other little mosquitoes of time sucking.  I'd rather have my gall bladder removed.

But after it was all over, and it was time to head back to Oklahoma and retrieve Philo and Philo Action Figure for an adventure, I decided to take the road less traveled to get there.

Criteria for road rambling:

1. Road must be paved, the Honda is not the truck. Repeat that 10 times.
2. Road must not be an interstate or state highway.
3. Road MAY be a state highway if that's the only paved road to get there.
4. Driver must stop at all interesting/odd/curious/strange spots and Balls of Twine (BOT's).

So off I went, a Civic explorer with two apples and a gatorade to my name. The colors in eastern Oklahoma are starting to change more than they are in Norman, so a foliage tour was in order.

This foliage happens to be in a cemetery. I like to visit cemeteries. They're quiet, not crowded, have nice paved paths to walk, and have interesting things to read. There is the occasional poignant headstone sitting atop a very small grave, but for the most part I find cemeteries to be a celebration of life and love, and a record of the local history, such as epidemics, clan wars, and culture.


From the cemetery I wandered until I ended up in the Osage Hills State Park.
I am eternally grateful to the Civilian Conservation Corps, they have been a part of so many of the parks and recreation areas we've frequented. Those guys were everywhere! I wish I could go back in time and tell them what a great thing they were doing and 'thank you'.

I began to notice a recurring theme as I wheeled along. I could tell I was in OAK-lahoma. Post oak. Scrub oak. Pin Oak. Everywhere it was oaky-dokey.

Oaks don't change into the brilliant colors of beech, maple, or sycamore, they have seasonal shades of brown. If you live in an area covered with oak trees, there's no spring pastels, no vivid, primary colored summer, no rainbow fall shades. There's brown. Maybe a week in the spring of green, bracketed by brown winter and brown summer. Everywhere I looked, a wide, brown backdrop wearing a red sumac skirt.

There's summer brown: dusty, burnt crisp, brown.  Brusty brown.

There's fall brown: Ruddy, crackly brown.  Brackly brown.

There's winter brown: gray, dead grass brown.  Brayn brown.
I expect the Crayola Company to be calling me any day now.

Screeeeech.  That's the sound of me turning this car around. Time to head farther south and east, find some trees that are not oaks, but for a rambling day, it was more than oak-k.


       Happy Trails, and may all your adventures be more than OK!

ramblings

I think it's only fair to let you know up front this blog post has absolutely nothing to say. In case you don't want to waste the next 6 minutes of your life, run away now. This is why I am rambling:

This was the first thing I saw this morning. The only time that I like to see those numbers on the clock when it's dark outside is if I'm going hunting, leaving on a road trip, or giving birth. Otherwise, this is not a good thing. No, scratch that last thing.  Only hunting and traveling are worth getting up for this early.

Need.    more.    Coffee.

Fighting.   through... the.    Fog.


I don't know why I woke up at such an ungodly hour, but I know that every time I think about it today I will get tired. Even if I get a whole lot of things done and nobody's grumpy all day, in the back of my mind will be the thought of those red numbers, glowing in the dark.

Laughing at me.  You.   Can't.   Go.   Back.. to...   sleep.

And I had such good dreams, too.  About pumpkins.  And cat-eating pumpkins. And pumpkins watching me...

Wait a minute. This may have something to do with what the Whee 'n me did before bed last night. We played with the fondant. Isn't that what everyone does when they get bored?  Get out the fondant and manipulate it?

Amazingly cute, sugar paste pumpkins and cats.  Instant decor, instant sugar high if you're foolish enough to eat them. I was fine until I turned around and one of them had sprouted eyes. It was watching me.  I can't eat something that's watching me eat it.

And then I couldn't even eat the ones without eyes because I know the eye-balled one will know. This is unfortunate, because the sugar rush would go well with the caffeine pump.

I'm unplugging the clock tonight.

Millin, Miln, millery, oh HAT!

The Whee is a hat girl. That's a gift not everyone can claim. Not everyone looks good in hats. Or some people only look good in some hats. Or some hats only look good sometimes.  Whatever. I can see where this is headed.  oops, sorry.

In a moment of weakness, (or complete boredom) I succumbed to the incessant chorus of "ppllleeeeeeease can we go walk around the mall?"  I do not like the mall. The mall is evil. The mall is for people who are too unimaginative to think of something else to do. Here's my top 10 reasons why I do not like to go to the mall.

1. There are too many people.
2. Too many people are texting while they walk and I get tired of dodging them.
3. Parking is ridiculously hard to find.
4. There are too many tempting food places.
5. I always spend more money than I planned on.
6. There are always unhappy children shrieking at ear-piercing decibels.
7. I spend more money than I should.
8. I spend more money than I have.
9. I am not a recreational shopper.
10. Nothing ever fits when I try it on.

But, apparently I had a bad brain day and we ended up at the mall. That was bad choice #1. We had a pretzel. That was bad choice #2.  Then we had a cookie. That was bad choice #3.  No, on second thought, it made the mall more bearable.  Good choice #1.

Then we went into the store-of-only-seasonal-existance, which right now is full of costumes. Good choice #2.

The Whee tried on a multitude of costumes, masks, and hats. This was the best use of my time all day. There was the Rastafarian hat- I think she could go with the brunette dreadlocks look and be good.

Then there was the chicken hat. This was my personal favorite. I am perfectly OK with my child being seen in public wearing ridiculous headgear, especially if there is a chance we'll run into a boy who might have entertained the thought of calling her. I was willing to pay her $20 if she wore it through the whole mall and all of Campus Corner. She wavered for a moment, till she asked to see the twenty and I told her I'd give it to her later. Nix the chicken hat.

Then, ahhh- ahhh-  Oscar!  Oscar the Grouch! This was it. The hat of hats. The cool of hats, the "perfect as a new winter cap" hat, the "I'm making a statement about how cool I am" hat.

And so my darling offspring came home with a new hat, I came home with cookie breath, and everyone was happy. Our mall meanderings were not so hairy after all.

(ouch. stop that.  sorry)


This hat is so awesome, she sleeps with it on. 'Cause she's cool like that. And she makes the hat look good.

                           Happy Trails, wherever you're headed!