Author Archives: Maria Langer

My Poor Man’s Hot Tub

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A step down from the poor man’s swimming pool.

You know how it is when you get an idea in your head and it nags at you until you do something about it? That was me this past week. But before I tell you about my poor man’s hot tub, let me give you some back story.

The Poor Man’s Swimming Pool

Back in 1997 (I think), not long after moving into my Wickenburg home, I bought a Jacuzzi hot tub on sale at Home Depot. It was about $1600 delivered — I found the receipt in my files just a few months ago! — and had two bench seats to accommodate four people. The idea was not to use it as a hot tub, but instead to use it as a soaking tub for cooling off. I called it my poor man’s swimming pool.

The challenge was keeping the water cool. I rarely ran the heater, left the top off at night, and kept the top on during the day. Still, the temperature hovered in the 90s throughout the summer months — which was actually fine for cooling off. After all, anything lower than body temperature will cool you.

In cooler months, a thermal blanket — think aqua blue bubble wrap — helped warm the water with the top left off during the day. I sometimes used it at night, but not very often. Eventually, I stopped using it entirely.

Hot Tub
When I couldn’t sell the hot tub, I gave it away. I certainly wasn’t going to leave it behind.

I returned home in September 2012 to spend my last few months in my Wickenburg home. The mild nights, dark skies, and bright moon attracted me back to the hot tub I knew I couldn’t take with me. I drained the water, sterilized the surface — after all, god knows what diseased scum was in there while I was gone — and refilled it. When I discovered that the heater had stopped working, I had it replaced, trading the spa repair guy the part plus labor for my old smoker, which I also couldn’t take with me. When I was home and the evening weather was mild, I spent evenings soaking with a candle beside me, sipping wine and gazing at the stars.

My poor man’s swimming pool had become a real hot tub.

I wound up giving it away in exchange for some moving services. After all, I wasn’t about to leave it behind for my wasband and his mommy.

The Poor Man’s Hot Tub

I’d gotten the idea of a poor man’s hot tub late summer 2011. I’ve been spending summers in my RV in Washington state since 2008, when I began doing cherry drying work with my helicopter. About two years ago, I started thinking of using a stock tank as a tub and recirculating the water through black hose in the sun to warm the water. Theoretically, by night time, the water should be warm enough for a good soak under the stars. I even began looking at stock tanks — Rubbermaid had a nice one with just the right shape and depth.

Stock Tank

The 100-gallon stock tank I chose for my poor man’s hot tub.

(If you’re not familiar with the concept of a stock tank, it’s like a giant water dish for horses, cows, and other livestock. They’re available in galvanized metal (which I don’t like), structural foam (which is like plastic), and plastic. If you think the idea of soaking in a stock tank is weird, you probably wouldn’t like the idea of swimming in a huge stock tank, either. Yet that’s what we did out at my friend’s off-the-grid Aguila ranch home a bunch of years back.)

But I never did anything with the idea. Why? Well, the first half of the 2012 season I was parked at an RV park at a golf course. I had no privacy and the folks who ran the place probably wouldn’t like me setting up such a thing anyway. The second half of the season was on a much more private site, but when personal matters back home got ugly, I was too distracted to deal with anything else. So the idea just simmered on a far back burner.

Until this year. When I got up to my semi-private campsite, I started thinking about how nice a soak would be in the evening when the day cooled off. My site has an amazing view of rolling hills, orchards, pine trees, and granite rock formations. It’s dark at night, so there are plenty of stars. And my future home is even more private, more beautiful, and more dark, so I’d get plenty of use out of it there.

I swung past the Ace hardware store in Quincy and saw they had the perfect tank. So I bought it.

I also bought a 25-foot length of black garden hose. Nice heavy-duty hose; I’m sure I’ll get a lot of use out of it. (I do regret, however, not buying the 50-foot length.) And I bought a hose adapter for the drain hole along with a spigot I can use to drain the tub.

I already had a piece of green bubble wrap to use as a thermal blanket. (I knew there was a reason I kept that thing.)

The last piece of the puzzle was a pump that would recirculate the water. I wound up with a 1/4 horsepower submersible pump that’s capable of pumping 30 gallons per hour. It’s not the speed that I need, but there weren’t many options on Amazon.com in the under $50 range. The pump arrived today.

Total cash outlay for this project: $175.

Monday, I filled the tank about 2/3 full — leaving room for my body to displace water — by trickling water from a spigot through my black hose. The water was about 70°F when I shut it off. I put the thermal blanket over the water, laying right on the surface where it floated nicely.

Tuesday morning, the temperature had dropped down into the 60s. Brrrr.

But by Tuesday evening, the water was up to 90°F — without even circulating the water! You see, the tank is charcoal gray and it really absorbs the sun’s rays. While 90°F would be nice for cooling off in the middle of the day, it wouldn’t work for that evening soak. I need it to be at least 98°F. Just over 100°F would be even better.

On Wednesday morning, the water was back down in the 60s. But by the time I hooked up the pump at 3:30 PM, it was close to 90.

Hot Tub Warming
Okay, so I admit it doesn’t look very impressive here. But it does seem to work.

I ran one end of the hose out of the top of the pump and lowered the pump into the water. I then stretched out the rest of the hose in a big loop in the sun and put the other end into the tank. I plugged in the pump and the water immediately began circulating.

Fifteen minutes later, it was 92°F. Fifteen minutes after that, it was 94°F. Thirty minutes later, it was 96°F.

Temperature
The $3.99 pool thermometer I bought registered nearly 100°F when I had to pull the plug for the day.

Keep in mind that the outside air temperature was only 88°F at the time, so I think I was doing pretty well.

By 5:15 PM, when I was getting ready to meet a friend in town, it was nearly 100°F. By that time, the sun’s strength was just starting to wane and the outside air temperature was gradually falling. I couldn’t let the experiment go on; the return end of the hose was not securely fastened and, if it came loose with the pump running, the tank would empty within 3 minutes and the pump would likely burn out. I had to shut it off when I was not around. So I pulled the plug, made sure the thermal blanket completely covered the surface of the water, and went out.

I got back around 9 PM. The air was much cooler — probably in the 70s. The sky was clear, with thin layers of clouds to the northwest catching the ray of the sun beyond the horizon. The water temperature was still very warm, although it was too dark to read the thermometer.

I didn’t waste any time stripping down and climbing into the tub. (Yes, I got naked outdoors in a stock tank. Gonna make something of it?)

My Feet and the Sunset
I rested my feet up on the rim of the tub for this shot of the evening sky.

The water was wonderfully warm, almost like a bathtub. The water level rose, as I expected it would, but I realized that I could easily squeeze another 4 inches of water in there without overflowing it. I’d do that the next day when the sun was high again. Even without that extra water, however, I could submerge all of my body and limbs without becoming a contortionist — which had been necessary in the fancy “garden tub” in my old house. Clearly, this was an improvement — made all the better by being able to enjoy it in complete privacy outdoors.

I soaked for a while, looking out to the west where the last light was fading in a violet sky. It was quiet — so amazingly quiet. Restful, too. I could easily imagine finishing every busy day with a nice soak.

I stepped out just as it was getting really dark. I wrapped a towel around me and replaced the thermal blanket atop the water.

I’m thinking that with a little extra time for heating — perhaps starting the pump around noon — I can get the temperature up around 105°F. We’ll see.

But in the meantime, I’ll consider this experiment a success.

Congratulations! You’ve made it to the end of yet another lengthy blog post here on An Eclectic Mind. If you got this far, you must have gotten something out of what you read. And isn’t it nice to read Web content that isn’t full of annoying ads?

How about doing something to show your appreciation? I’d love it if you’d add a comment at the end of this post to share your feedback with me and others. But I’d really love it if you’d visit my Support page and chip in a few dollars to help cover the cost of hosting this blog and motivate me to keep writing new, interesting content. It’ll only take a moment and I really would appreciate it!

 

Bees: A Closer Look

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A look inside my first hive.

I started my beekeeping hobby in June 2013 and have been blogging about it periodically. If you’re interested in reading the other posts in this series, follow the Adventures in Beekeeping tag. Keep in mind that the most recent posts always appear first on this blog.

I did my third hive inspection on my first beehive the other day. My primary goals were to check the overall health of the hive, make sure there was fresh brood (unhatched bees), verify that the queen was present and healthy, see how far along the bees had come in filling the 20 frames in the hive, and replace one of the frames in the lower hive box with a drone frame.

I accomplished all of these things except spotting the queen. The hive seems very healthy, though, and the bees seem to be multiplying nicely, so I can assume that the queen is in there somewhere. The presence of several supersedure cells, however, hinted that the queen may be aging or that the bees might not have confidence in her continued viability. I find this odd because the bees came in a nuc I bought locally and the man who sold it to me installed a new queen not long before I bought it. So I’m not sure what’s going on there.

You can see a supersedure cell, along with quite a few drone cells, in the photo below. The supersedure cell is the elongated cell near the center of the image. The drone cells are the cells with the domed caps. Also in the photo are cells of capped and uncapped brood and stored honey. It’s interesting to note that I shot this closeup with my iPhone’s camera; I’m pretty surprised it was able to focus so closely — I did not zoom in, although I did crop the image.

Closeup of Brood Comb

Eight of the upper hive box’s ten frames were full of partially capped honey. One frame was in progress and the other frame was completely untouched. The sheer quantity of stored honey and the speed at which these bees seem to produce convinced me to add the Ross Rounds frames I’d assembled on July 4. I returned the next morning and added it atop a queen excluder and spacer with exit. With luck, they’ll fill and cap those frames before the end of the season.

More on drone frames in another post.

Against the Odds? Whose Odds?

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Some more about perceived gender inequalities.

Readers who know me well know a few things about me that apply in this post:

  • I have succeeded in three “male dominated” careers: accounting and finance, technical (computer) writing, and (helicopter) aviation.
  • I have zero tolerance for women who use gender as an excuse not to succeed at something they set out to do.
  • I have zero tolerance for anyone who gives different or preferential treatment to an individual in the workplace because of gender.

I am sick and tired of fielding questions from women who seem to think that their gender may prevent them from pursuing a career. I thought I’d take a moment to review two recent ones that crossed my path, along with my responses and some comments from a like-minded woman I know.

Girly Girls

The other day, the following comment was added to a blog post I’d written here about becoming a helicopter pilot:

Can you tell me more about how gender matters in this industry? Wouldn’t they want to hire more women since it is so obviously a boys club? Or are ‘they’ quite happy to keep it that way?

I’m a 20 year old Canadian woman thinking about making this a career. I’ve done ground school previously for fixed wing aircrafts and got top of the class and surprised everybody when I did (to look at me one thinks “she’s pretty so she must be stupid. Girly, flirtatious, naive, pushover” – although the way I am constantly misjudged has never and will never stop me from doing what I love.) What challenges are ahead of me in regards to my being a woman?

The answer is simple: gender matters if you make it matter. Are you being girly, flirtatious, naive, or a pushover? If so, why? Do you know any successful male pilots who have these traits? None of these traits make for a professional pilot — and isn’t that what you want to be?

I’ll admit that I’m royally pissed off when I see a woman pilot wearing inappropriate clothes: low cut blouses, short or tight skirts, high heels, oversized jewelry. Do men dress that way? I understand that you want to be feminine, but if you go that route, how can you expect to be treated the same as men? You can’t expect to be treated the same when you’re obviously going out of your way to be different.

My advice to this person was simple, too: Act like a professional and you’ll be treated as one. On the job, there is no gender — or at least there shouldn’t be. Be “one of the guys” and you’ll be treated like one of the guys.

Don’t want that? Want to be treated like a “lady”? Expect guys to do the dirty work for you because you don’t want to get your clothes dirty or break a nail? Then you’re in the wrong profession.

Facing Reality

This Facebook update appeared in the Women Helicopter Pilots Forum on Facebook:

Seems like the only realistic way for us ladies who recently finished flight school at commercial level is to slave by being an instructor first to ever build over 1000 hours to be employed by any company. I understand you learn a lot but I have no patience to teach, hence I didn’t sign up to be a helicopter instructor. What’s left to do?

This update blew me away. Seriously. In fact, I included it in a blog post titled “Helicopter Pilot Reality Check” in May which covered, for the most part, how future pilots expect to walk into high-paying jobs without “paying dues.”

What bothered me about this update was the author’s insinuation that the 1000-hour experience requirement was different for women than men. It’s not. Why did she assume it was? Could it be because she’s heard so many other women whining and complaining about career hurdles? Could it be that she assumed the experience requirement was yet another hurdle that only women had to jump?

Who gives women these ideas?

Other women.

Do Women’s Organizations Really Help Women?

There are a lot of women’s organizations. Maybe too many.

The Organization I Joined

I did join one women’s organization: Whirly-Girls. Whirly-Girls was founded in 1955 as “an organization where female [helicopter] pilots could share information and camaraderie.” Sounds good to me.

I was a member exactly one year. What turned me off: I attended Heli-Expo, a huge professional helicopter conference sponsored by HAI (Helicopter Association International). This is where helicopter vendors and operators get together to show off their best stuff and learn what they can about each other. Imagine a huge conference hall stuffed to the gills with hundreds of millions of dollars worth of helicopters and helicopter equipment. I visited the Whirly-Girls booth and was absolutely shocked to see that it existed primarily to sell clothes, Christmas tree ornaments, and jewelry.

Yes, while other members of our profession were displaying and providing information about their products, services, and organizations, the organization I belonged to was selling baby clothes.

To say I was embarrassed to be a member is an understatement.

I’ve attended meetings of various women’s organizations with the idea that I might want to join them. In every single case I was so turned off by the whining and excuse-making by the members that I left without joining — and didn’t go back.

You see, most of these organizations seem to exist primarily as a place for women to share examples of how they struggle — mostly unsuccessfully — to get ahead in their careers. It’s so hard for them, you see, when they’re trying to be wives and mothers while holding down a job. They don’t understand why the men get the promotions when it’s pretty obvious — at least to me — that an employer would prefer to promote a worker who gets the job done than the person who misses work every time a kid at home sneezes or another kid needs to be picked up early from soccer practice. They’d rather employ a person who does the job without making waves than the woman who screams “sexual harassment” when a male worker complements her on her dress or shoes. They’d rather employ the professional who has some level of dedication to a career than the woman punching a clock until she decides it’s time to start a family. The women who belong to these organizations complain that the men get ahead and make more money than they do and that it’s simply not fair. And that’s the underlying theme in all their meetings, in all their literature, in all their members’ attitudes.

So these organizations become a place for women to continue spreading inequality myths of their own creation that, in many cases, have become self-fulfilling prophecies — because of their own attitudes and expectations. They don’t help women understand that the only differences between women and men in the workplace are the differences they make.

Against the Odds

Earlier today, I was corresponding via email with my friend Martha, a blogger who lives in New Hampshire. We’re starting discussions about working together on a project and I was very worried that she might have the “gender excuse” attitude I’ve discussed here. I could not be part of a project that either promoted or allowed such attitudes.

Her response to me was spot on (emphasis added):

I’m with you on the wife/mother whining and the excuses for not pursuing goals. The corporate world taught me that the only differences between men and women are the ones women perceive and propagate. Succeeding against the odds just means you focused on the “odds” to begin.

And that’s really what it’s all about these days. A woman thinks the odds are stacked against her because she’s been told they are. She does nothing to prove that they’re not. Instead, she walks around acting or dressing like a woman — instead of like the professional she wants to be. And she magnifies every single example of how she’s treated differently, using it as proof that the odds are stacked against her.

Self-fulfilling prophecy, often magnified by women’s organizations.

Focus on the odds and you’ll never beat them. Focus on the job at hand and you’ll succeed.

What Do You Think?

I know my views on this topic are not popular with most women. I think it’s because they don’t want to hear the truth. I think they like being “disadvantaged,” I think they like having the gender crutch to lean on when they don’t succeed and need an excuse.

(Harsh words? Yep. But that’s the way I am. No bullshit out of me.)

Still, I invite readers to share their thoughts about this. I just want to make two final points before I let you loose on that comment link or form:

  • I wrote this in the United States in 2013 — a land of “equal opportunity” where we have laws to help ensure that women are treated equally in the workplace. I’m not writing this in Saudi Arabia, where women aren’t even allowed to drive, or in 1910, when women weren’t even allowed to vote. If you want to bring up other nations and ancient history, that’s fine. Just don’t expect me to apply it to what I’ve written or even to comment on it. I only know what I’ve experienced.
  • Before commenting about how wrong I am and offering up your excuse for why you (or your friend or your mother or your daughter) did not succeed in a career, take a moment to analyze that excuse. What’s the whole story? To succeed in a career as well as a man, you need to be able to perform as well as a man. If you can’t do the job, you can’t complain about not succeeding. It’s as simple as that.
June 30, 2014 Update
I’ve finally gotten around to writing up the site comment policy on a regular page (rather than post) on this site. You can find it here: Comment Policy.

Remember the site comment policy, too. If you can’t be civil, don’t waste your time commenting.

And finally, I’d like very much to hear from other women who agree with Martha and me about this — especially female bloggers or other writers who think they have something to share with other women about their own success. Comment here with a link to your blog or other writing.

Another Social Networking FAIL

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Tip: When you wait five years to reply to a tweet, you’re doing it wrong.

Yesterday, a tweet addressed to me using Twitter’s @Reply feature appeared in my timeline on the Twitter app on my Mac:

Tweet from GotPrint

Thanks for my interest? What interest? I’d been using GotPrint.com for several years, but didn’t recall ever using Twitter to express my interest in the company.

Fortunately, the Twitter app (and Twitter.com, for that matter) makes it easy to see the original or “parent” tweet an @Reply is in response to. When I checked, I found the following Tweet:

Parent Tweet

Note the date on that tweet: December 10, 2007. Now note the date on this post: July 6, 2013. I tweeted about the company — not even using its Twitter name — five and a half years ago.

And they replied yesterday with a canned, spammy response.

Annoyed at being spammed, I responded:

Response

Apparently, the folks at GotPrint.com think I’m an idiot. Their response a short while later offered an unlikely and lame excuse:

Lame Excuse

Follow up? Five and half years later?

It’s far more likely that GotPrint.com got its hands on a Twitter bot that ran through all the old tweets that mentioned the company by name and generated spam like the message I got. While most people would likely ignore the message — because, let’s face it, most people don’t actually read the tweets on their timeline — I didn’t.

I replied:

Reply

And then I blogged about it here.

Why is this a social networking failure? Mostly because GotPrint.com — or the individual/organization it hired to handle its social networking — misses the point of social networking: engagement.

Social networking isn’t about gathering followers and spamming them with product info. Social networking is about making your company available for a dialog with your customers and potential customers. A timely dialog. (I complained about this in another blog post years ago, but I can’t seem to find the post to link to it. Sorry!)

The companies that use social networking effectively respond promptly and appropriately to social network mentions of their companies, especially when those mentions tag the company by its Twitter (or Facebook or other social network) name. They provide additional information when requested. They link to helpful documentation to solve specific problems. They provide customer service information when its needed.

They don’t generate automated responses using bots based on key words or phrases. They don’t come up with lame excuses when they’re caught doing something stupid (like responding to a 5-1/2 year old tweet). And they certainly don’t attack other social networking users who might have something negative to say about them (as Amy’s Baking Company so famously did earlier this year).

Twitter has been around for more than seven years now. Facebook, LinkedIn, and other social networks have also been around for quite some time. I find it incredible that organizations are still struggling to make social networking part of their customer service and marketing efforts. It’s pretty simple; why can’t they figure it out?

As for GotPrint.com, well, I’ll likely continue using them for my print marketing needs — which, admittedly is limited these days. But it isn’t because of the tweet I received from them yesterday. It’s because their price and quality meets my needs. If anything, yesterday’s tweet is a black mark against them — the only black mark so far.

And no, I won’t follow them on Twitter. In fact, if I hear from them again, I’ll likely report them for spam.

A Full Fourth

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Probably the busiest Fourth of July I’ve ever had.

These days, I’ve been challenging myself to keep busy. Downtime between jobs has been damaging in the past, causing depression, frustration, and weight gain. I began fighting back last summer and remain determined not to spend time sitting on my ass when there are better, more interesting things to do. And let’s face it — almost anything is better than sitting around on your ass, letting the days of your life just tick away like a clock with an aging battery that can’t be replaced.

I try to sketch out a rough plan for each day of my life. Sometimes I tweet what I’m tentatively planning. Sometimes I don’t. Having a rough idea of what I plan to do helps keep me focused. Stating it publicly makes me responsible for doing — or trying to do — it. But I always let things take their course when I can. After all, no plan is set in stone. Spontaneity is what makes live truly interesting.

Yesterday, July 4, I set a busy schedule for myself. But I did even more than I planned. (And boy, am I feeling it today!)

Ross Rounds

As the time on that tweet hints, I wake up very early nearly every morning. Although its great to get an early start on the day, there’s a limit to what you can do that early when stores are still closed and friends are still asleep.

So while I sipped my morning coffee, I assembled my Ross Rounds.

Ross Rounds
Completed Ross Rounds. Photo from the Ross Rounds website.

Ross Rounds are a comb honey system that makes it possible for bees to produce packaged honey comb. You set up the special frames with plastic rings and pure beeswax foundation and insert the frames in their custom hive box. You then put the box on top of a honey-producing hive of bees. Eventually, the bees move into the Ross box and begin building and filling honeycomb in the special frames. When the rings are completely full of honeycomb and honey, you remove them, cover them, label them, and either sell them or present them as gifts to friends.

Ross Rounds Frame
Here’s a fully assembled Ross Rounds frame.

Assembling the frames took some doing. I had to split each frame, lay in the ring halves and snap them into place, lay in a sheet of wax foundation, and snap the frame closed. The ring halves only go in a certain way, so much of the time was spent lining them up properly. But once I got the hang of it, the process went quickly. I got all 8 frames, with 4 pairs of rings each, done in about an hour.

I’m not sure when I’ll be able to use the Ross Rounds system. I’ve been told that because I started my bees so late in the season I probably won’t be able to take any honey from them. They’ll need all that they create now for winter. But I’ll do a hive inspection on my first hive — probably today — and see how much of their top hive box is full. If it’s more than 80% full, I’ll add a queen excluder and the Ross Rounds frame and see how far I get by the end of the season.

Motorcycle Ride

Meanwhile, I was texting back and forth with another early riser, my friend Brian, who lives in Wenatchee. He’d seen my plan for the day on Facebook and was wondering if I wanted company for my motorcycle ride. After some texting back and forth and a call to my friend in Chelan — who I woke at 8 AM! — we decided to ride up to Silver Falls together and do a hike before going our separate ways for the day.

Penny on my Motorcycle
Here’s Penny in her dog kennel on the back of my motorcycle. (Yes, she fits fine in there and can move around freely.)

Penny the Tiny Dog and I were at Brian’s apartment at 9 AM. Penny rides with me on the motorcycle. I bungee-netted her hard-sided dog carrier to my motorcycle’s little luggage rack. It’s rock solid there. She rides in the dog carrier behind me. I don’t think she actually likes the ride, but I do know that she likes coming with me wherever I go. So when I lift her up onto the motorcycle’s luggage, she scrambles into her carrier without protest.

What’s weird is when we stop at a traffic light and she barks at other dogs she sees.

Brian rides a cruiser — my Seca II is more of a sport bike — and he led the way, keeping a good pace. We made the turnoff at the Entiat River about 15 minutes after leaving his place. We both thought Silver Falls was about 12 miles up the river, but a sign about a mile up the road said that it was 30 miles. I saw Brian look at his watch as we rode past the sign. He had a BBQ to go to that began in early afternoon; I had other plans, too. But we kept going. We’d make it a short hike.

I really enjoy riding my motorcycle in Washington State. This road, which wound along the banks of a rushing river, reminded me of the riding I’d done in New York State years before: mountains, farmland, trees, and cool, fresh air. I think one of the reasons I stopped riding motorcycles when I moved to Arizona is because it was simply not pleasant. Too much straight and flat and hot and dry. The road up to Silver Falls is full of curves and gentle hills, with orchards and hay fields forests along the way. Every twist in the road brings a new vista in the granite-studded canyon. Every mile brings a different sensation for the senses that are switched off inside a car: the feel of temperature and humidity changes, the smell of fresh-cut hay or horse manure or pine. This is part of what makes motorcycling special.

We arrived at the parking area, which had only one car. It was just after 10 AM. I got Penny out of her box and on her leash. We stripped off our riding gear and started the hike.

Silver Falls

This was my second trip to Silver Falls. My first was back in 2011, not long after I had my motorcycle shipped from Arizona to Washington. I blogged about that trip here. And, if you’re interested, you can read more about Silver Falls on the Washington Trails Association website.

Brian at the Creek
Here’s Brian alongside the creek. Penny refused to pose with him.

Penny and Maria on Bridge
Brian shot this photo of Penny and me on the bridge near the top of the falls.

The three of us — Brian, Penny, and I — headed up the trail together, stopping now and then to take photos. The stream was rushing wildly, with crystal clear water cascading over rocks and logs in the stream bed. We followed the same path I’d followed on my first trip there, taking the trail on the right up to the top of the falls and coming back the other side. The temperature was perfect — a bit cool in the shade but nice and warm on the wide switchbacks in the sun. Brian led at a fast pace and I did okay keeping up. I remembered my first trip there when I was still a fatty and how long the hike up to the top had taken. What a difference 45 pounds makes!

We ran into some other hikers on their way up the other side as we headed down. Because of time constraints, we only spent about an hour and a quarter there. It was 11:15 AM when we geared up and headed out.

Because we were going our separate ways and I was running late to meet my friends in Chelan, Brian let me lead the way with the understanding that I’d go at my own pace. I let it rip and covered the 30 miles in 30 minutes.

Blueberry Hills

It was 11:45 when I reached the junction of Entiat Road and Route 97A. I had a choice: continue with my plan to visit friends in Chelan or head back to Wenatchee Heights and take it easy for a while before heading out to the BBQ that afternoon.

I turned left toward Chelan.

There were a lot of cars on the road, but they kept at a good speed just over the speed limit. I fell into place behind them. It was a lot warmer back on the main road, but not too warm for my denim jacket. The road left the river, passed through a tunnel, and climbed into the mountains. It crested and started down, with beautiful Lake Chelan spread out before me: blue water surrounded by green orchards and vineyards capped by a perfectly clear blue sky.

I pulled over in town to get my friend Jim on the phone. He and his wife Teresa agreed to meet me at Blueberry Hills, a you-pick blueberry place and restaurant in Manson. Penny and I stopped for gas along the way. We wound up behind Jim and Teresa’s car as they pulled into the Blueberry Hills parking lot.

They had their dog, Zeus, a red heeler puppy with them. Penny and Zeus became friends months ago when we were in California on a frost contract with the helicopter. Zeus was much smaller then. He’s getting close to full grown now and is a lot bigger than Penny. They looked genuinely glad to see each other.

We climbed the stairs to the outside patio overlooking the blueberry fields. Jim and I went in to order lunch. I bought the dogs a pair of frozen beef bones, which the restaurant sells for their four-legged customers. Penny and Zeus got right down to business. When our food came, so did we. Blueberry Hills makes excellent food.

We talked about all kinds of things while waiting for our food and then eating. Teresa had just come back from a visit to their daughter’s family in Anchorage. Jim, like me, was just recovering from a hectic week of cherry drying. We had stories to swap and insights to share. It was a pleasant lunch — one I wish I could have lingered over, perhaps with a piece of pie. But it was getting late and I was supposed to be at a friend’s house in Wenatchee at 3:30. So we headed out, stopping to pick up two pounds of blueberries along the way.

I took the road on the east side of the river on the way back to avoid the traffic in Chelan, Entiat, and Wenatchee. It was a quick 50-mile ride to the south bridges between East Wenatchee and Wenatchee. Two more traffic lights and I was winding my way up Squilchuck Canyon, back to my temporary home in Wenatchee Heights.

The Teachers’ BBQ

By the time I got into the Mobile Mansion, it was 3:26 PM. I texted Kriss, who I was supposed to meet in 4 minutes to let her know I’d need at least an hour. That was fine; we weren’t due at the BBQ until 5 PM anyway.

I cleaned up, dressed, and threw the blueberries into a cooler bag. I still needed to get the other ingredients for what I planned to bring to the BBQ: strawberries, whipped cream, and cake. But when I got down to Safeway, there wasn’t a single strawberry in the store. I wound up with a single package — the last one! — of raspberries. And frozen whipped topping. I did get a good deal on a July 4 themed serving plate, which I’d leave behind with my hostess.

At Kriss and Jim’s house, I assembled my fruit and cream and put it in the serving dish. Kriss gave me some red sprinkles to dress it up. I was disappointed at myself for not bringing something better. (I’m really looking forward to having a full kitchen again.)

I met Kriss and Jim’s daughter and husband. I gave Jim the nuc box and frame holder I’d gotten as a little gift for him. (I met them through beekeeping; Jim has four hives and has been going out catching swarms lately. My first bee hive is in their backyard until I close on my Malaga property later this summer.) I watched at their three kittens, two of which are just staying with them temporarily. I unwound from the frantic pace I’d been keeping all morning.

We all headed out to a friend’s home about a mile away. It was an annual July 4 BBQ where Kriss’s fellow teachers — some still teaching, others retired — gathered for burgers, grilled salmon, excellent sides, and dessert. I met a lot of new people and answered a lot of questions about my cherry drying and other flying work.

The BBQ wound up after 7:30 PM. I said my thanks and goodbyes and climbed back into my truck. I was exhausted from my day out and stuffed from a good meal. I wanted to go see the fireworks but had no desire to deal with the traffic. A nice evening back home might be a good end to the day…

The Spoons Party

But I passed right by another friend’s house on my way home. Shawn and his wife were hosting the BBQ that Brian had gone to. I’d been invited but had turned it down to attend the other BBQ with Kriss and Jim. Was the party still going on?

I drove past and discovered that it was. I parked and walked around back to see what was going on. My rafting friends — as I’d begun to think of them — were playing a card came I’d heard about on my last rafting trip with them. It involved collecting four of a kind and grabbing a spoon off the table. There were five players and four spoons. The person who didn’t get a spoon lost.

A silly game, but nonetheless, I pulled up a chair and another spoon was added to the table. I didn’t play very well at first, but got slightly better. The vodka may have helped.

This party had kids — four of them — and later had fireworks out on the street. The whole area, in fact, was full of fireworks. Fireworks are legal in Washington — at least this part of Washington — and were readily available all over the place. Shawn and Brian had bought a bunch. When it got dark enough to enjoy them, they put on a show out in the street. Family fun.

When they broke up and headed back to the backyard, I took my leave. It was about 10 PM and I’d had enough for one day.